#rather than pulling themselves together and recognizing shared struggle. not always but often enough

[handweavers]

ive said this before but it's hard being an lgbt malaysian and listening to western lgbt people freak out over things that have been our reality the entire time. i've had to come to terms with the fact that i'll likely never be able to legally transition in malaysia, will never be able to change my name or gender on documents and it will probably remain illegal for me to use public bathrooms, seek medical care, exist in public, do literally anything as a trans person there for the rest of my life. i am not happy about this and i am luckier than most having the ability to medically transition in canada but i'm always hyperaware that this can be taken away from me at any moment (and is likely to in the near future with the slow death of liberalism in canada as well), that whenever i return i'm at risk of imprisonment if i'm caught by the wrong person, and i know the reality of what life is like for people back home who do not have the privileges i do. but the thing is that even in malaysia trans people use the bathroom and exist in public and have jobs and fall in love and see the doctor and it is possible to carve out a life that is not wholly built upon despair. it's really really fucking hard and scary but we do it anyway because we have to. so it's just really hard to stomach white people in like california freaking out like it's impossible to live in these circumstances or no one else could possibly understand, sorry

[lavampira]

‘kissing your lover so gently, worried that if you pull away for just a second, they might disappear’ for mindrien? 🩷

ty beloved and good luck 🖤

kissing your lover so gently, worried that if you pull away for just a second, they might disappear | swtor. cadrien tirai/minaiph. 907 words. [prompts]

They had been separated for too long. It’s been like this for some time, but it never gets any easier. The Sanctum sends Cadrien somewhere offworld while Min remains tied to Dromund Kaas, and after a frustrating stretch of loneliness and worry weighing over him, never assuaged until his boots are cast off in the doorway and layers of his armor are peeled away, and Min’s vibrant figure flits before him in the Force.

This last mission had been simple enough. Cadrien returns with only minor bruises, and perhaps a burning ego from being wasted on pithy assignments, another form of punishment for the Claws’ failure on Nar Shaddaa. Not that it matters. Given the choice, Cadrien would still choose to bring Min back alive than finish it.

And the reminder of Min alive and well, and back in his arms, rips him from his thoughts. He had never hoped to have this with him, still floods him with shock with the knowledge that he’s allowed to want it after so long, even let himself sink into it, replacing everything else with relief and love.

Min is the first to close the gap between them. His hand cradles Cadrien’s cheek with fingertips brushing the edge of his mask, and though his kiss is gentle and languid, almost reveling in the reunion, Cadrien is nearly dizzy with it. His own arms encircle Min’s back and shoulder for purchase, recognizing the absurdity yet unwilling to let go or else he may dissipate like mist in his hands.

“Missed me that much?” Min teases when he finally breaks away to speak.

Of course I did, Cadrien thinks, but he swallows it down with a harsh bob of his throat, resting his forehead against him. It’s apparently the wrong response—or rather, Min reads his nonanswer too well. Threads of worry emanate through him and their noses bump together in Min’s hurried attempt to draw back enough to look at him.

“Cade,” Min calls so softly in spite of his deep voice, leaning only a breath apart. “Cadrien.”

His initial response is the slightest tilt of his head, but Min seems to understand, as only he ever does. I’m listening.

Min’s thumb sweeps a slow, gentle path from his scarred lip to his taut jaw before he tries again. “Talk to me.”

Cadrien briefly squeezes his shoulder before releasing him, running the same hand through his hair as he mulls over the tangled thoughts in his head. At this, Min allows him the reprieve to think, not often a patient man but always patient in this, understanding his need to process, to formulate his words before he shares them. He loves him all the more for it, even if he struggles to put voice to them now.

The truth is this: Cadrien hates being apart from him. It’s an unfortunate necessity in Min’s recovery, Cadrien still bound to his own duty, but Min’s absence on each mission gnaws at him like a phantom limb. Ever since the red sands of Korriban they’ve honed themselves as warriors at each other’s sides, been wielded by the Empire as two halves of a deadly blade. And he nearly lost Min before either of them ever knew they had each other’s heart.

He doesn’t need the Force to witness the emotional toll it’s had on Min, too. If not for him taking that horrific hit in his place, Cadrien would not be standing before him, and now Min must stay behind while he leaves, again and again, still not in his place beside him. The anguish roils through him fierce and murky even now.

Their greatest strength is their partnership, but their worst fear is losing it forever. A disjointed matching set of scars between his shoulder and Min’s abdomen proves that fact. But what right does Cadrien have to share his worry of him slipping through his fingers when Min carries the brunt of their predicament?

“I did miss you,” Cadrien tries anyway, pushing through if only because Min asked, and he had given up withholding himself from him somewhere in that alleyway in a pool of his blood. “Always do.”

A brief pause follows as Min absorbs the underlying frustration in his tone before he releases a breath. “Did anything happen?”

“Nothing that I couldn’t handle.”

“I should be there with you,” Min laments.

“Soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Soon,” Cadrien repeats, more fervently this time, reaching for his left hand. As he expects, Min flinches ever so slightly before allowing him to take it. He brushes his thumb over the back of it, across the healing joints beneath it, as gentle as he possibly can. “And then you’ll be back to talking my ear off mid-mission again.”

A shaky laugh escapes Min as he leans against his shoulder in turn. “Someone has to keep you occupied so you don’t get stuck in your head. Might as well be my mouth.”

“Min—” Cadrien sighs, but he can’t quite stop the quirk of his lips pulling into a smirk. “You’re a menace.”

“Still missed me, though.”

“Always.”

Leaning close to brush his lips against Min’s once more, Cadrien tries to will away their worries, at least for the moment. Nothing may change how difficult things are and there might be no immediate answers or solutions that he can think of right now, but they have come this far together. He doesn’t let go of Min’s hand.

[syndianites]

A Queen Serves and Protects

Chapter Three

First Chapter --> Last Chapter --> Current --> Next Chapter Summary:

Post-Style Queen, Pre-Queen Wasp.

Chloe finds the Bee Miraculous, but instead of finding an obliging, subservient Kwami, she finds the Kwami of Order and Subjugation, and Pollen is not about to let herself be used like Nooroo was.

Granted, the only danger in a teenage girl is the damage she poses to herself. Can Pollen shape Chloe into a hero? Or will she stubbornly refuse to change and remain the bitter, harsh person the city has long since known?

[My take on how Chloe’s character could have developed] ——————————————————————————————

Getting akumatized was a special sort of uncomfortable. But it was exhilarating in all the same ways. Everything that one felt became louder, bigger, something beyond what it used to be. It grew into power. The power to act and take what was yours.

For Chloe, it just made her more upset. The anger had almost fizzled out, but the akuma brought it back with a vengeance. But unlike the last time she had been akumatized, her sorrow manifested much stronger than her rage.

Her skin darkened to a deep blue, almost purple, like the edge of the night sky after the sun had set. Where her hair had been in a high ponytail, it was undone and draped down and around her face. It looked stuck together and damp as though she had just been rained on. Chloe’s makeup looked washed out and runny both from her own tears and the transformation.

Most notably, her clothes became a simple long t-shirt and sweatpants that looked worn down and overused. The pants were a bright, light blue, while the shirt was a dark, deep crimson. To top it off, her sunglasses molded into a hat not unlike what her mother wore, but with goggles inlaid into them.

Without a word, Chloe put her hands before her and a large pair of scissors, easily the size of her chest, formed in her hand. Transformation complete, she turned on a dime and walked out the locker room.

A moment of silence followed before Pollen poked her head out the locker she had hidden away in. “Well, this isn’t good.”

//////

Marinette had never been so uncomfortable in her life. That included that time when she was seven and her twice removed cousins from her dad’s side came over and asked her why she didn’t wear dresses if she liked making them so much. And that one time she stepped foot first into a mud puddle, lost her shoe, and had to walk home with a sock soaked in mud.

It was bad.

Audrey, once Chloe had stormed out, continued on her tirade. “Ugh, how dramatic. Little Charlie needs to learn her place. She simply can’t compare to talent like yours, dear.”

Starting at being addressed, Marinette gave her a pinched smile.

“Now,” Audrey continued. “You simply must come to New York with me. The opportunities are endless, and skill such as yours would flourish under my attention!”

Her heart skipped a beat. New York was a big deal for fashion. Next to Paris, it was the place to be, and opening up her contacts to overseas big names would be a huge step for her career.

But could she work with someone this awful?

Sure, Marinette didn’t like Chloe, but even she thought that how her own mother treated her was cruel. It made her feel bad for the girl. It explained a lot about her, and for a moment Marinette considered being nicer to Chloe.

Not that that would make Chloe suddenly decide to be a good person. It would take the inevitable explosion of the sun for that to happen.

“I-i, um, I need to think about it, Mrs. Bourgeois.” Marinette glanced over at her parents. “I have a lot to consider about leaving or staying, and my parents still need my help at the bakery.”

Her parents, and oh how she loved them, spoke up immediately, “Oh, we can manage the bakery dear! Don’t worry about little old us, what’s important is your future.”

Please, take the hint guys.

Before Marinette can struggle to find more excuses to deny her request, Adrien pipes up, “Mrs. Bourgeois,” he flashes her an award winning smile, “Don’t you think that the way Chloe was handled was a bit… out of hand?” Gabriel laid a hand on Adrien’s shoulder, squeezing it gently before sharing a look with Natalie and wandering off.

Audrey rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. “Oh, darling, for such a sweet thing you can be so daft. Girls like that need a quick strike down before they let their misguidedness get to their head.”

Adrien, for his part, kept smiling. For those who knew him well enough, they could see the twitch in his eye as he struggled not to snap at the woman. “Ah, my apologies. In my experience, the best growth comes from a guiding hand that focuses on building a person up rather than tearing them down. But I suppose, for a critic, that is not the case at all. Though, the modelling experience is often different from the experience of those who make judgement calls on others’ hard work.”

Bringing a hand to her chest, Audrey sniffs derisively. “Sure, dear. Of course, most models are meant to make anything they wear look pretty, so it can be hard to see where their accessories are lacking when all they see is themselves.”

Marinette wanted to desperately be anywhere but where she was standing. She almost wished that someone had bust in with the Bee miraculous and caused a scene just so she could excuse herself.

She’d rather deal with her own mistakes a million fold over than this.

Mayor Andre, for his part, smiled a shaky press smile as he tried to talk his wife down. 

Adrien, fed up with Audrey, grabbed Marinette ’s hand and pulled her away quickly. Natalie spared him a glance before going to converse with his bodyguard.

“Can you believe her!” Adrien simmered. “How cruel can you be to your own child!”

Marinette laughed awkwardly. “I mean, at least we know where Chloe gets it from?”

Adrien rounded on her. “Chloe is not as bad as her!”

Taking a step back, she watched Adrien wide-eyed. He sighed, taking a breath to calm himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. That display was just awful.”

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing up carefully styled locks.

Hesitating, Marinette asked, “Is she… always like that?”

Adrien gave a tense nod. “Since we were young. Chloe always wanted her mother’s support, but well,” he waved his hand back in her direction, “You try reasoning with that.”

Before either could pick the conversation back up the front doors to the building burst open. Carrying comically large scissors and dressed as what could only be called a fashion disaster was an akuma that looked one bad day away from a mental breakdown.

Or, well, in the middle of a breakdown.

“Audrey Bourgeois! You claim to recognize talent when you see it, but failed to see how your own daughter can be exceptional. Well, I am the Queen Killer and if I cannot be exceptional then no one can! I’ll cut your reign to shreds.” The akuma accented her speech with a threatening snip of her scissors before launching forward at the Style Queen.

Before anyone could react, Queen Killer had Audrey between her blades and closed. A thing, white line appeared where the blades connected and, as Queen drew her weapon away, there was a horrifying moment where Marinette was sure Audrey was split into two pieces.

Instead, a dark shadow started spilling out of Audrey, enveloping her body as she screamed. When the shadow dissipates, a twisted, snarling version of Audrey that looked like she was fused together with five other versions of herself appeared. It lashed out at those around her, screeching and clawing at them.

Queen Killer laughed. “Now everyone will see how hideous and cruel you are!”

Marinette jolted out her shock as Adrien roughly pulled her away. This, unfortunately, brought Queen’s attention to them as the rest of the room also began to run. 

“Dupain-Cheng!” If she had any doubt that that was Chloe, she had none now. ”You stole my mother’s love from me!”

As Queen launched forward with her scissors open, Marinette screamed, “That was not my intention! I didn’t know she would ask me to go to New York with her all over a hat!”

Alas, her pleas were not enough. Stuck in her civilian form, Marinette could not outrun the enraged Queen. Twin blades circled around her waist and cut, forcing Marinette to stumble and fall.

Adrien, worried for his friend, stopped and tried to go back for her. But, between a snarling Queen and Marinette urging him to keep running as a dark shadow overtook her, he kept running. The best thing for Marinette would be Chat Noir and Ladybug. He would have time to check on her later.

Marinette , meanwhile, felt the shadows come off her and… she looked the same. For a moment, she was confused. What was the akuma’s power supposed to be?

But then it bubbled up. Nothing physical. No, that would be too easy. As she looked up towards Queen and thought ‘I need to transform into Ladybug’ a wave of crushing doubt and insecurity gripped her throat.

She would just mess up again. Like she had when she started out, when she lost the Bee miraculous, and every time she let someone get harmed by an akuma. There was no way she could do this. Chat Noir would be better off without her.

As the building cleared and Queen ran out to terrorize the fleeing patrons, Marinette stayed on the ground, shaking. What could she do? Make things worse? Disappoint all of Paris? Put Fu and Chat Noir in danger?

Distantly, she heard someone talking to her, urging her to get up and move. The voice disappeared as he heard footsteps and she was lifted into someone’s arms. A hop, skip, and a jump later had her safely placed down on a chair in a private room, looking into the eyes of Chat Noir. His eyebrows were brought together in concern.

“Stay here, okay? I promise Ladybug and I will fix things for you.” He offered a reassuring smile before dashing out of the room.

When she couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, Tikki flew out of her pocket. “ Marinette !” The little ladybug placed her paws on her face, getting her to look at Tikki. “Are you okay? What happened after she cut you?”

Shaking her head, Marinette focused on her breathing. ‘C’mon Mari,’ she thought to herself, ‘You can’t let Chat do this alone.’

“I, uh,” she looked back at Tikki, “It’s so bad Tikki. I’m going to mess up and make things worse. Like yesterday with the Bee miraculous! I lost it! Instead of getting help, I lost a potential ally and a powerful magical artifact. If I can’t even keep track of things placed under my care, how can I protect Paris?”

Tikki was at a loss for words. This reminded her so much of the Marinette she first met- unconfident, afraid, and so uncertain in her actions. It was like the cut brought out all the most hurtful parts of herself…

“ Marinette ,” Tikki began, “We all make mistakes. What’s important is working to fix them. Sure, if you do nothing you can’t mess up or disappoint people, but you also can’t grow and succeed. Paris needs its Ladybug, regardless of what the people think of you. I know you can do this. Chat will be there to help you too, I’m sure of it.”

Doubt in her eyes, Marinette nodded. While her doubts and insecurity swirled in her mind, the urge to help others reigned supreme. She had to at least stop the akuma and set things back to normal.

“Alright Tikki,” Marinette swallowed thickly. “Spots On!”

///////////

Chat was not having a good time.

His first thought upon finding Queen snipping people in half with her scissors was that he could easily beat her in combat. What could she do with a pair of large scissors when he had a versatile staff?

A lot, apparently.

As he dodged backwards from another attempt to cut him in half from Queen, he tossed a jab her way. “So is clashing colors the new look, or did I miss the memo?”

Queen huffed at him, “Says the boy in full leather! I would know a fashion disaster when I see one!”

She ran at him again, holding the scissors completely open so she could swipe at him with a blade. Chat blocked it with his staff, before pushing her away as she tried to close the blades on him.

“Excuse you, Queenie!” He retorted. “I’ll have you know that my outfit is purr-fect.”

Clearly, she disagreed, if the groan and slash at him was anything to go by.

What a party pooper.

But what was worse was that he couldn’t get close enough to her to properly disarm her. Nor could he figure out where the akuma was while trying his best to not get cut in half. Chat needed to regroup with Ladybug, but she was nowhere in sight.

Biting his lip, Chat jumped back and up onto a rooftop. Giving Queen Killer a salute, he started away from her.

“Get back here you mangy cat!” Queen simmered on the ground below where he ran off. “You better bring back Ladybug so I can take you both off your high horse!”

///////////

Pollen was not the best at sneaking around. Not for lack of trying, of course, but people were ingrained to see a blur of yellow and the sound of buzzing and think ‘Bee!’ It didn’t help that she was larger than the average bee.

What did help, however, was people being too busy staring at an akuma running full tilt down the street to pay attention to the yellow being that was trying to stay unnoticed behind them. So Pollen got a front row seat to Queen’s akuma speech and display of her powers. When Chat Noir showed up she waited for her chance to talk to him or Ladybug whenever she came around.

And, well, there went Chat running for his life.

Pollen sighed. At least flying along rooftops was less obvious than following an akuma.

After shooting past building after building, she manages to get closer to the black blur that was Chat Noir. He was vaulting along, keeping an eye out as he worked on not plummeting to the ground. When he finally stopped to catch his breath, Pollen nearly sped past him.

As Chat retracts his staff and starts to dial Ladybug, Pollen drops down in front of him. “Oh!” He stumbles back, “Hello? Who are you?”

Pollen smooths out her fluff and offers a paw. “I am Pollen, Kwami and Order and Subjugation, and the one who dwells inside the Bee Miraculous. You must be Chat Noir. A pleasure.”

Chat, mystified, offers a finger. “Nice to meet you. I thought you would be with Master Fu and your miraculous?”

“Ah, well,” Pollen tilted her head. “Did Ladybug not tell you?”

He pinched his lips. “No?”

“Ladybug lost my miraculous in the fight with Style Queen. You weren’t there, though, were you?” Pollen considered him for a moment. “I don’t blame you for that, nor do I blame Ladybug for losing my miraculous. But that isn’t important right now.”

Accepting the hand Chat placed out for her, she settles into his palm. “I need to talk to you and Ladybug, but the akuma is our first priority. What do you know about them?”

“Well,” Chat began, “I believe it is Chloe Bourgeois. But as for the akuma,” He scratched the back of his head with his free hand, “I’m not too sure. My current two guesses are her scissors or her hat, since she normally doesn’t have either on her.”

Pollen nodded thoughtfully, despite having seen the akuma land in Chloe’s sunglasses. There was no way she could tell Chat Noir without him having at least some suspicions as to who she was with at the moment. At the very least, he could narrow it down to who had been around Chloe when she transformed.

Chat pushed on. “Even if we managed to subdue Queen Killer and get the akuma out, we wouldn’t be able to do anything until Ladybug gets here to purify it. The best we can do is wait and try to stop as much damage as possible.”

“Actually,” Pollen butt in, with a slow smile spreading across her face, “I may have a solution to that.” Chat tipped his head to the side. “I can immobilize people with my power. As long as I can hold onto the power they will remain frozen, or until I touch them to let them free.”

He perked up, stars in his eyes. “Like how Plagg can use Cataclysm when he’s himself! That’s perfect, Pollen.”

She nodded eagerly, before stopping. “Wait, did you not know kwamis can use their own power?”

Chat looked confused, but nodded slowly. “I didnt figure that out until he used it to free from an akuma a while ago.”

Pollen buzzed, frustrated, before saying, “The Guardian should have told you that! It’s important for a holder to know about their miraculous and kwami, especially a trouble maker like Plagg.”

“Well,” Chat scuffed his foot on the roof, “I don’t speak to the Guardian that much. Last time we talked was when he came to my house and talked about the Miracle Box and such.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Pollen moved out of Chat’s hand and floated in an irritated circle. “You should be just as informed as Ladybug. It’s not fair to you or her to pile information on one of you and expect the other to just go along with it!”

Chat shrugged. “That’s how it’s been for most of it. Besides, I trust Ladybug with my life.”

“But, when keeping so many secrets, can she trust hers with you?” Pollen replied with a meaningful look in her eyes.

She received no response. Instead of dwelling on the matter, she urged Chat to get back to Queen Killer. They still had a job to do, after all.

/////////

Ladybug arrived on the scene to find Chat nowhere in site and Queen Killer happily snipping at random citizens. Great. Before she can engage with the akuma, she hesitates. Could she really do this without Chat? What if she lost her miraculous because she let her civilian self get hit with the akuma’s power?

Shaking her head, she prepared to head in when a flash of black caught her eye. The familiar form of Chat pole vaulting across the rooftops to her left filled her with a sense of relief. She really, seriously needed to keep it together.

Taking a second, she throws her yo-yo to wrap around a chimney in Chat’s path. Her heart races as she tests the line and jumps. Shit, shit, shit, she’s gonna hit the wall, then Queen will notice her, then-

She made it on the roof with two scraped knees. Not flawless, but still unseen. Chat landed beside her, more than happy to see his Lady. A frown creased his brow as he took in her demeanor.

“Are you alright?” He checks her over for wounds, but comes back with nothing beyond a few scratches. “Did something happen?”

Ladybug goes to dismiss the idea before Tikki’s words ring in her head again ‘Chat will be there to help you too.’ Shaking her head, she gave Chat a grimace. “Queen managed to cut me while I was in my civilian form. Even after I transformed the effects are bothering me. It’s… brought back a lot of my insecurity and confidence issues. But we can do this, I know we can.”

Chat nodded, resting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry, I have a plan. And some back up.”

“Backup?”

A yellow figure lands on Chat’s shoulder. “Hello, Ladybug. It’s nice to see you again.”

Blinking in shock, Ladybug exclaims, “You’re the kwami from the Bee miraculous! Oh god, another thing I messed up, I’m so, so sorry.”

Pollen holds up a paw, stopping her. “It’s not your fault. You were in a tight situation and did the best you could. Besides, I’m with someone who may be a good ally in the future. They just need time.”

Chat and Pollen brought Ladybug up to speed on their ideas, to which she poked and prodded at. They exchanged glances before nodding and Chat and Pollen split. Still standing on the roof, Ladybug calls her Lucky Charm. It dropped from the sky as a red and black spotted crowbar.

Keeping the crowbar in hand, Ladybug drew Queen’s attention with a hit to her scissors. “Hey!” Ladybug called out, “Don’t you know scissors are dangerous?”

Queen Killer growled back, “Of course you would start preaching at me, little miss perfect. I bet everyone in the whole city loves you. Well I’m here to cut your heroic tales short!” She launched forward, bouncing off a car and digging her scissors into the side of the building to propel her up to the rooftop to get on Ladybug’s level.

Ladybug, in a quick move, flipped over her and flung her yo-yo around the scissors to send Queen flying back to the ground. Before she could hit a lamppost, Queen dug the blades into the street to slow herself down, only to run back to Ladybug.

‘Good,’ Ladybug thought to herself, ‘Keep coming.’

In the moments before Queen got back in range, Ladybug took a moment to eye the area around her for clues on how to use the Lucky Charm. Nothing stood out, so she sprung from the rooftop to land before Queen and send her yo-yo swinging at her feet.

Queen, quick to the punch, lowered her scissors to cut the yo-yo string. Ah, what a lovely and easy mistake to make when fighting a person who used scissors with a string based weapon. Panicking, Ladybug brought up the crowbar to stop the scissors from striking her.

Pulling back, Queen raced in again with the blades open, looking to trap Ladybug the same way she had Chat in their fight before. Ladybug readied her crowbar, bringing it up to block again. Queen smirked, shutting the blades in a smooth motion. By luck or skill, Ladybug managed to sidestep the action, getting the crowbar’s hook caught in between the blades. Seeing her chance, Ladybug used the hook to pull the scissors from Queen’s hands.

Spitting a curse, Queen abandoned her scissors to tackle Ladybug.

Chat, meanwhile, called forth his Cataclysm and rushed the scissors, destroying them with a touch. When no akuma appeared, he looked back confused. Queen kept fighting Ladybug, managing to get the upper hand as Ladybug hesitated in kicking her off. As Queen pinned Ladybug’s hand with one of her own and reached for her miraculous Chat sprung towards her.

He wouldn’t make it in time.

But Queen stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide beneath the wide-brimmed hat. Pollen popped up from behind her, giving Ladybug a little giggle. “Sorry, I meant to do that a little earlier.”

This time with no reservations, Ladybug pushed Queen off of her. Chat bounded over to her to help her up, to which she shook her head and pointed at Queen. “Find the akuma.”

Receiving a nod, she picked herself up to retrieve the cut off part of her yo-yo. Chat, in this time, took Queen’s hat and ripped it. For good measure, he broke the goggles on them as well. Lo and behold, the akuma haphazardly fluttered out. Before it could escape, Ladybug snapped it up in her yo-yo.

“Bye, bye little butterfly,” Ladybug murmured, letting it fly off into the sky. With a nod to her partner, she threw her crowbar into the air and let forth the rush of ladybugs to fix the damage done.

Pollen, seeing Chloe safely de-akumatized, gave Chat a little nod before rushing off. He made a move to go after her when a bawl reached his ears. Chloe, freshly purified, was trying her best to keep it together. But as Chat knelt to help her to her feet, she jumped him for a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m sorry that I was too pathetic to not get akumatized again. My mother was right about me, I’m so, so sorry.”

Chat rubbed her back slowly. “What your mother said was cruel and unfounded. You’re not pathetic at all, Chloe.”

“And it’s definitely not your fault. Even the strongest, most exceptional people can get akumatized,” Ladybug added, “Besides, even heroes have bad days.” Not that she considered Chloe even close to a hero.

Andre chose this moment to come bustling through the doors of the building behind them. “Princess, my darling!”

Seeing that she was in good hands, Chat and Ladybug pound their fists together and part ways.

Ladybug, however, is stopped by Pollen two blocks over. “There you are! Thank goodness. Can you show me where your miraculous is so I can return it to Master Fu?”

“No,” Pollen told her quietly, “But I want to ask you to trust me. I’ve found someone who needs my help. Maybe one day she could be a great hero, maybe not. But this person has gone through a lot of heartbreak and I don’t want to be another person that leaves her behind. I want you to tell Fu that I have decided to stay with them.”

“Wait, but what about secrecy? How will we know they won't spread the word about the miraculous or accidentally lead Hawkmoth to you?” Ladybug fretted, cupping her hands for Pollen to land in.

“I haven’t told her the transformation words, yet.” Pollen stroked her hand reassuringly. “That way if things go south I can still manage to keep my power from being abused. Please, Ladybug, trust me.”

Biting her lip, Ladybug hesitantly nodded. “Please stay safe, Pollen. If you ever need my help don’t hesitate to ask.”

Giving her a bright smile, Pollen floated up to nuzzle Ladybug’s forehead. After giving parting words, they went off in different directions.

Hopefully, Pollen hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

[yandere-daydreams]

Scenario of Kageyama and Oikawa sharing an s/o. I can’t get this dynamic out of my head oml

I’d say they’d be competitive, but I don’t think I can sum it up as simply as that. Hopefully, a general scenario like this is enlightening enough to the complexity of their dynamic.

Title: Equivalent Exchange

TW: Unhealthy Relationships and Implied Abuse.

~

“Your boyfriend’s awfully talented.”

You stiffened as soon as you heard his voice, gritting your teeth and pressing your back against the undecorated drywall as those steady, measured footsteps began to approach. Your eyes were shut, they had been since you left the stands, but you didn’t have to see to recognize that smug tone, dripping with so much confidence, it nearly hid the insecurity brewing just below. It was instinct, by now, a necessary reflux to your survival. Moreso for you than most, considering your circumstance.

“I know,” You mumbled, half-heartedly, your voice doing little to alleviate the anxiety beginning to gather in the pit of your stomach. “Better than you could ever be, Oikawa.”

You opened your eyes, glancing towards him, if only to see the faux-hurt spread across his features, a hand rising to press against his heart as he came to a stop in front of you. It was a practiced motion, a playful tease so over-used, even a complete stranger would be able to tell Oikawa had abused the gesture far too thoroughly to ever let an ounce of truth penetrate his act. Still, that rarely stopped him from whining, and you doubted he’d make an exception now. You wondered if his persistence was meant to make you feel special, sometimes, but dismissed the thought quickly. He’d take any excuse he was given to be this dramatic. 

“You’re so mean, babe, it’s like you don’t even care about my feelings anymore.” There was a pause, a pout, and slowly, he took a step forward, eyeing the rest of the hall for any bystanders. You were alone, unfortunately. Anyone who wasn’t on the court was watching those lucky enough to play, leaving you and Oikawa as the only ones still wandering the arena. “Karasuno’s changed you. I knew I couldn’t trust those kids with your safety, not when they let you get so-” He scanned over you, his neutral smirk fading into an earnest, cruel sneer. “-cold.”

“I have every right to be cold, especially towards you.” You couldn’t help but cross your arms, narrowing your eyes towards his feet. An alarm went off from somewhere further into the arena, a referee soon yelling something about the score. You listened intently, refusing to give Oikawa the satisfaction of having your full attention. “Aoba Johsai was never the problem. You made my first-year hell, and you would’ve ruined my second year, too, if I hadn’t transferred. The people at Karasuno are nice, and Kageyama is--”

“Tobio is currently playing a match you aren’t watching. Why do you think that is, (Y/n)?” He hummed, a single finger coming up to tap against his lips in thought. As rehearsed as the rest of his speech. “Is it because our favorite little cheerleader doesn’t quite like the team they’ve sided with? Do you think he’s going to lose? Or, is it that you’re tired of him?” At that, his grin returned, toothy and self-satisfied. You grimaced, and he took that as a sign to continue. “Oh, c’mon, I treated you like an angel, it’s only fair that you’re unhappy with someone who looks at you like a piece of meat. Maybe it’s karma. It’s not like you ever appreciated what I did for you.”

“You isolated me.” It was a weak counter, one that barely fazed him. You went on for yourself, rather than him. It wasn’t like he was listening, anyway. “I wasn’t allowed to make friends because you couldn’t understand that I might need someone else. I was miserable, and you were delusional. Kageyama’s… He’s distant, but he doesn’t try to control me. That’s more than I had when I was with you.”

You turned on your heel as you finished, but Oikawa was quick to catch your wrist, keeping you in place with little more than a vice-grip and a sharp pull. “There’s no ‘was’,” He hissed, under his breath, the words barely audible. “We’re together, and we’re going to be together, whether or not you try to hide with your second-rate team. As soon as I graduate, you’re going to see how much of a brat you were. If your boyfriend wasn’t so clingy, I’d be tempted to drag you to the locker room and show you how grateful you should be, or--”

Oikawa stopped, suddenly, pursing his lips and letting you go as abruptly as he’d taken hold. You opened your mouth, not trusting his swift change of heart, but you could hear it too, in a moment. Footsteps, approaching at a feverish pace. A witness Oikawa didn’t care for.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, stunning you momentarily and giving Oikawa time to take his leave while you were distracted. It didn’t take long for the intruder to show themselves, a mop of disheveled black hair lingering in the corner of your vision as Kageyama pressed his chest against your back, leaning against you like he couldn’t bear to hold up his own weight. He seemed exhausted, labored breaths making themselves apparent as he struggled to draw you closer, but it was only appropriate. From the glimpses of the match you’d caught, their opponent hadn’t been a benign one. It was nothing Karasuno couldn’t handle, though.

He answered before you could ask, his face soon buried in the crook of your shoulder. His favorite place to be, judging by how often he chose to make your skin his home. “We won.”

“That’s great, Tobio.” You tried to make up for your lack of enthusiasm with a smile, reaching back to run your fingers through his messy hair. “I knew you would, you’ve all been working too hard to drop out this early. But, doesn’t Daichi want to--”

“You weren’t there.” The interruption was rash, careless in a way that gave you the impression that he’d done any listening he planned to do. He spoke hurriedly, stumbling through his thoughts with all the grace of a man deprived. Whether it was due to exhaustion or haste, you couldn’t tell, and you certainly didn’t care to ask. “After the first set, I couldn’t find you in the crowd, and I wasn’t sure where you went… I asked you to stay, right? I remember asking you to stay.”

“I just got a little overwhelmed,” You explained, deflating slightly. Kageyama’s grip only tightened, as if to make up the slack. “I’ll be there next time, alright?. I saw Oikawa and I panicked, I wasn’t thinking. I’m really, really sorry.”

“You will be.” You cringed, reaching down to rub soothing, measured circles in Kageyama’s wrist, but he was shaking his head before you could speak, rejecting your attempts at comfort as adamantly as someone so desperate could. His back straightened, and without hesitation, he pulled away, taking you by the hand and beginning to drag you forward, in a direction you weren’t quite sure of. Not towards the court, though, and that was enough to fuel the steady pressure now pressing down on your chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. You almost wished it would finish the job. “You’re always talking about Oikawa, like he’s the one your dating, like he’s the one that matters, right now. This was supposed to be special, but you had to run away because you were too busy thinking about someone else. It’s unfair. I need you to see that, before I can forgive you.”

Another pull, this one rough, unforgiving. You winced, then crashed into his side as he paused, fiddling with the handle of a plain, white door, giving you just enough time to read the sign lazily tacked onto the metal panel. The painted-on letters were chipped and fading, but its sentence as deadly as any other.

He was taking you to the locker room.

The panic was familiar, your heart beginning to race and your blood rushing past your years as you realized what he intended, and yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be surprised. The dread was there, but the shock wasn’t. It couldn’t be. 

Not when Kageyama suddenly looked so much like Oikawa, from behind.

[bardofthursdays]

Your Love is Sunlight...

Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier 

Rating: Gen 

Content Warnings: None 

Summary: Geralt finally visits Oxenfurt and sees Jaskier interacting with people like him in an environment that suits him and... feelings present themselves.

Read on Ao3 here

Jaskier sighed, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at his companion. Geralt was being unusually huffy and unusual huffy-ness from the Witcher usually indicated one of three things. Lack of food, lack of sex, or a struggle to suppress unwanted emotions.

It couldn't be hunger, Jaskier reasoned. They had been in Oxenfurt for almost a week now, feasting so much every night that even a Witcher’s hunger would be easily satisfied. And at said feasts, more than one particularly brave student had propositioned the Witcher, most likely emboldened by the many tales Jaskier often spun of the man whilst wintering there.

You see, Oxenfurt was a safe haven of sorts, a place where Bards could sing their more heartfelt ballads. Songs the general public would find too maudlin or sappy. So, of course, every winter Jaskier would sing of his hopeless pining and endless longing, with thinly veiled metaphors and pronoun changes that fooled absolutely no one.

Anyway, surprisingly enough, the Witcher had turned every one of those brave students down. So it was likely not the second option... besides, Jaskier could practically hear him thinking over there with his creased brow and the fact that he’d been fucking pacing around the Bard's chambers for the last half hour.

Option three then. Lovely.

"Alright, spit it out then Witcher, what's got your emotional knickers in a twist?"

He winced at his own word choice before pulling his travelling companion over to the hutch in the corner. They sat next to each other in silence for a beat.

Jaskier sighed loudly.

"We both know I'll get it out of you eventually, so we might as well skip the…" He waved his hand around, racking his brains for the right word. "Haggling."

Geralt let out a sigh of his own, opening and closing his mouth a few times before sighing yet again. Frowning slightly.

Jaskier ached to reach out and smooth the creases from his face, take all of his cares away and share the load for a while. He pushed the desire down, rubbing his fingers together instead. An old nervous habit.

The Witcher ran a hand over his face before finally speaking. When he spoke, he spoke in groups, as he often did when searching for the right words.

"Seeing... seeing you here, in your home... with your people... this, this is where you belong, Jaskier. This place is filled with everything you love. Music, color, endless food and ale. People who not only listen to you, but hang off your every word..."

The words Geralt couldn't say weighed on him heavily, clawing at his throat, filling his every last thought.

It's by the coast. You love the coast. I'm sorry I never took you there. I wanted to. Even though I hate the coast. It's beautiful here, you're beautiful here. It feels like you. Smells like you. Flowers, and those stupid perfumes you like. You... You. You. You-

"You belong here..." He finished lamely.

A series of emotions crossed the Bards face, eventually landing on something forlorn.

"Are you... are you trying to say I don't belong by your side?"

He smirked, putting on an offended front. But Geralt saw right through it. His voice was too quiet and uncharacteristically shaky...

The Witcher's eyes widened, and he quickly realized that despite his best efforts, he had once again managed to fuck up his wording.

"No! No, Jaskier I-" He grunted, scowling as the words refused to come out. "This. This is what you... what you deserve. You deserve a warm bed every night... friends... friends who listen... who understand you-" He paused, looking down at his clenched fists and taking a deep breath. "Friends who aren't afraid to admit that they care for you..."

He heard the Bard's breath hitch, and somehow managed to power on despite his sudden urge to pull the other man into his arms. To run his hands through his chestnut brown hair and tell him just how important, just how loved he truly is. But he wasn't even sure he was ready for that conversation. No matter how overdue it was.

"You don't deserve sleepless nights on the dirt. Fearing for your life not only on the road, but in towns... travelling with a mutant that often gets you kicked out of the few taverns you actually get to stay in."

Jaskier nudged him slightly with his shoulder at the word mutant, giving him a look he knew very well. It was his 'stop degrading yourself, Geralt, it doesn't suit you in the slightest and you know it isn't true' look. Geralt huffed, rolling his eyes and continuing.

"You could be here, you could teach, share your music. Be bright. I mean- I just don't understand why you follow me. Me, of all people."

"Oh, Geralt..." The Bard's voice was shaky, as was the hand he laid hesitantly upon the Witcher's too slow heart. Geralt suppressed a smile at the familiar gesture. It had started when one of his hunts had gone wrong.

He'd stumbled back to camp, half dead. His heart had stopped, and luckily Yennefer had been there to start it again. When he awoke, Jaskier had his hand pressed to his chest, feeling his heartbeat. The Bard had tried to apologize, taking his hand away with obvious effort, but Geralt had only pulled it right back.

Now it was a sort of grounding method, for both of them. A way to connect and fully be there with each other in the moment.

Bright blue eyes flicked up to his. He paused, taking a shaky breath, and then suddenly began to sing, ever so softly.

"The moment I met you the colors of my life began to pool..."

Geralt easily recognized it. It was from one of his ballads. One of the real ones, the ones he never played. Not in dingy taverns nor grand courts. No, these… these he sang late into the night, when he thought the Witcher was asleep. With only the trees and the moths that flitted near their dying fire as an audience... and Geralt, always Geralt. For he'd never admit it, but those ballads seemed to speak to his very soul, in ways he never knew possible. He recognized it, but he didn't understand.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, he hadn't expected him to understand, but he never missed an opportunity to quote himself.

"Geralt, Oxenfurt… Oxenfurt may very well be bright and colorful, filled with my admirers, and endless food and ale." He chuckled softly. "But… Without you by my side, the colors of the world seem... dull. Without you, my music fades and the colors fade with it. You are my muse, Geralt of Rivia, a life without you is a life without music. And a life without music is one I simply cannot live."

Geralt reached out and pressed his thumb to the Bard's cheek, wiping away a tear Jaskier hadn't noticed fall. The Bard continued, shakier yet.

"Besides, these people, they- they listen, yes, and they care, and they… Ah, They understand what I'm saying, sure. But... They don't 'understand me' like you say. That's the thing, Geralt, and listen well. That's what makes this- this... friendship work. Against all odds. We aren't as different as it seems. No one understands us and, frankly, we hardly understand ourselves most of the time." He laughed wetly. "But we understand each other. Somehow, we understand."

He let the tears fall, not feeling any need to hide them. Geralt wiped away every one of them, each touch more tender and gentle than the last. Who ever would have guessed that a Witcher could be so soft. Well, Jaskier would have. But still.

"Because Geralt, Oxenfurt was never my home, nor was my birthplace... I-I never had a home... until, until you."

His voice broke, and the hand not cradling the Bard's face fell, tangling with the hand still pressed against his heart. Jaskier threaded their fingers together happily before continuing.

"You are my home, Geralt. You are my light, my sun, you are everything to me and more. I know you. Know you better than almost anyone... And-"

"Jaskier-"

Geralt rasped.

"And I love you."

All of the air was punched from Geralt's lungs. Jaskier reached up, resting his fingers on the Witcher's chin and gently tilting his head to catch his eyes.

Gold met cornflower blue.

"I know you... And I love you."

Geralt let out a choked noise.

The bard smiled sadly then.

"I am aware that you don't feel the same... but that doesn't matter because- because y-"

Geralt cut him off with a kiss. Because he was being idiotic and it seemed to be the right solution.

he had no regrets as the Bard's lips were impossibly soft against his. Softer than he had imagined… and he had imagined. The kiss was short and surprisingly chaste, as Jaskier seemed to be having trouble breathing. A smile tugged at Geralt's lips, and he let it.

Resting their foreheads together, one hand still tangled with the Bard's on his chest, the other cradling his neck softly.

"I love you too you idiot"

Jaskier laughed, a hint of hysteria to it.

"Took you long enough to tell me you buffoon."

Geralt smiled then, really smiled, crinkly eyes, overly sharp teeth and all.

Jaskier kissed him then, because it was just about the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Geralt broke off rather quickly, much to Jaskier's annoyance. He had been waiting quite long enough, they both had...

The Witcher soothed him by running a hand through his hair. The Bard hummed and leaned into the touch as Geralt spoke.

"I was just thinking... well I always thought you were the sun, all bright and warm. But you said I'm your sun... I don't understand."

Jaskier grinned crookedly, wrapping his arms around the Witcher's neck.

"That’s incredibly poetic of you, Geralt. But no, you are the sun, I am the moon. Because I am only bright and warm because of your light, dear Witcher. Besides, have you seen your eyes? Golden like the sun. Or like fresh honey or- or a wheat field or-"

He kissed the bard once again. Finding it a quite effective and mutually beneficial method of shutting him up... though it wasn't the only one that came to mind. At this thought he grinned, a feral thing, and lifted the bard, carrying him to the bed and promptly shutting him up once more.

And again...

And again.

Their laughter and general, ahem, noise making, rang in the corridors until even the Bards had had quite enough of their merriment.

Luckily, the open road had no such complaint.

Needless to say... Geralt was rarely found to be in an especially Huffy mood after that day.

[musedblues]

okay hear me out

you're a college freshman in the 60's and have a forbidden romance with your TA, john deacon

sorry not sorry for how long this turned out 😘

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You floated through the library like you'd breezed into town with nothing better to do. Running the tips of your fingers across the spines of books as your eyes looked ahead to the upcoming shelf. Beyond spaces empty of volumes, you saw him.

John was hunched over a desk doing work with a look of concentration you'd come to recognize and adore. You breezed near, clearing your throat, sure that you were close enough for him to hear, and that no one else would. Like you knew he would, he looked up and saw you. But to anyone who might've noticed, it seemed he didn't care. You knew that wasn't true. You didn't have to look back, as you breezed behind the shelf again, to know he was going to follow you.

Funny. When you started uni, you had no idea what to expect. But besides the overwhelming amount of coursework, and the struggle you had finding friends who stayed sober enough to remember you'd become acquainted, one thing surprised you the most. Out of all the things you'd failed to properly prepare yourself for, getting caught up with a TA... with John Deacon, wasn't one of them. He was in his final year of uni, and a rather unassuming presence. He seemed to stick to the shadows, off-campus. And when he was busy with classroom duties, he was a man of few words then too.

Maybe his quiet nature was what drew you to him. You longed to know the sort of thoughts that ran through his head. If there were any of you... Or maybe it was the look in his eye, when he finally dared to look right at you. No one had ever looked at you like that. With such assuredness. Like something of you belonged to him, before he even knew your name.

After a couple weeks of gathering up the courage to trade longing gazes for something more, you'd planned to take advantage of office hours with your fingers crossed behind your back. You'd made it late that afternoon and John said,

"You shouldn't be here." As he sat hunched over a pile of work, then. Alway so determined with every task at hand.

"Why?" You dared to ask with every scrap of confidence you could feign. "Afraid you'll get in trouble?"

John shook his head of flaxen waves, ever so slightly, scribbling on the papers below his steady hand.

"Afraid you'll be a distraction."

And then he looked at you, in that way you'd come to recognize. But it was always a thrill, that stormy gaze of his. It took your breath away, and you wondered if he knew. If he'd meant to.

Now, like then, John was at your side before you could blink. His fingers lost in your hair, his mouth on yours. Every bit of him fit against you, in a way that made your heart ache at the very thought of him taking one step back.

You only had a few minutes to spare before you had to dash to a class. But you and John had gotten pretty good at this. You knew exactly where to find each other on any given day. And you knew exactly which corner of the room to escape to, where you might get to share something more than a quick kiss or two.

And besides classrooms under renovation or the restrooms outside the gymnasium that no one ever used, the back of the dustiest part of the library was easiest. With little to no traffic, and the perfect nook between shelves, you'd find John here more often than not.

He'd whisper things in your ear that echoed through your head as you sat through one of the lessons he was called in to teach. Here, he'd give you previews of things he'd invite you over to his place to put into practice on extra long weekends and rare holidays you each had nothing planned for.

But invitations over were as rare as holidays themselves. He lived alone, in the quaintest flat with navy walls and lots of extra blankets. And the nights you spent there were the highlight of every odd month.

It had gone on like this for so long, you were sure you could survive till he graduated. You'd managed to keep your distance when it counted, even on the increasingly frequent nights out with a set of mutual friends. His best mate hooked up with your flatmate, Casandra. She was older, and their match made sense. But how could you know John would be mixed among the crew you'd agreed to meet up with for drinks?

Casandra asked what had you looking so flushed as she shoved a shot into your hand. You shrugged, and said something about how bad the lighting in the pub was. And even though shaking John's hand like you'd never met before nearly made you laugh out of sheer nervousness, you managed through the night without a hitch. He kept his distance, and only shot you that thrilling look a handful of times. You didn't even talk about the run in next time you flagged each other down for a quickie behind the auditorium.

You just kept it up, crossing paths like you had been, and acting like you hadn't when your friends got together. There were ball games, movie nights, and birthday parties you'd breezed through without sitting too close together.

And there were still nights you'd stayed alone together, and those were becoming more common. John would ask you to stay over to waste days with him, and you tried your best at slyly accepting, as to not seem too utterly desperate for his company.

But you really had become attached. You weren't sure if he had, but suddenly, all you thought of was the next time you'd get to see John. Suddenly you didn't even care what it was you'd do together. Suddenly, when he caught your eye in class, you couldn't help but smile no matter who saw.

Then one of your friends bought a new place. And she invited everyone over. All the mates you'd come to love, and some new faces too, who flooded her sparsely decorated home and filled the countertops with sweets and liquor. You were the last to arrive, and when you spotted John across the room, he didn't look your way. You shrugged it off, realizing there were a lot of unfamiliar faces to be wary of, on your way to the kitchen. Still, you fetched a couple of beers and found John in the living room between a pair of art majors, rambling about something you couldn't imagine held his interest.

You approached him and extended the extra bottle, a gift disguised as a greeting- something you'd do for any friend. But without even really looking at you, John stepped to the side and mumbled something about getting his own drink. As soon as you whipped to watch him slink off to the kitchen, another pal slid up and stole the beer you had one too many of. You let him, and laughed a little, hoping to erase the furrow in your brow.

Had you done something? Stepped too close? Looked to John too fondly? Couldn't you still be friends, mixed among so many others? You had done a fine job as such so far, you thought. But something was up. You just had no idea why, or what to do about it. 

So as the night moved on, you just kept trying to act like his extra cold shoulder was in fact, the norm. You withheld a frown when John left the rooms you were in, and bit back frustrated tears when he rose from the sofa in a room sparse of people enough you'd hoped to ask him what the matter was.

And when you left on your own, you'd felt lonelier than any time just like this one. You didn't look back to see if John had rushed to meet up or stop you. Because you couldn't decide if it would be worse to find he'd followed, or not. So you went home and waited.

You lost yourself to a never-ending sea of coursework, and prayed that the next time you floated into the library that you'd find John there. You'd never questioned it before. He'd always been there.

But you were right too. Because John wasn't at the table with a stack of work under his nose, that week. You couldn't find him behind the auditorium, and the classroom was suspiciously closed during office hours. You tried not to worry. You figured maybe he needed space. So you debated for hours, the night you'd promised to sneak over to his next.

A ray of hope beamed from the light in the living room he always left on as a signal that it was safe for you to sneak over. But something was still amiss. And you knew John knew so too, when he opened the door with a pursed smile, instead of pulling you in with a sultry grin, like usual.

You lingered near the entrance with your rain-wet boots in place, your arms over your chest.

"What's wrong?" You asked with a waver in your tone.

John shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and let out a sight before uttering the word "Nothing." As if only to convince himself.

"Nothing?" You breathed. "All month you've been begging me to spend practical weeks here with you, but you wouldn't even look my way at Maureen's party?"

John paced before you, listening reluctantly.

"And I'm pretty sure they know about us, anyway. Last week Jery basically cheered us on when he noticed us trying to quietly sneak out of his walk-in closet."

John said nothing still, bringing a hand to his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose as silence stole the air from the room, and when John's silvery gaze met yours at last, it wasn't like all the other times before. There was a sadness there that drained the colour from your world, and as his mouth started to open to presumably let you down easy, you wouldn't let him.

"I'm sorry I thought this was something it wasn't." You choked out, before spinning to open the door.

John called out your name, then, and you could feel he was hot on your trail. He called for you to turn around and come back, when your feet hit the pavement. But you just kept going, too close to the verge of tears, and John couldn't see that. You marched away until his pleas for you to come back were echoes, and the sweeter things he said over the year mockingly rang in your head.

Cassandra worried over what was wrong as you stormed into your shared flat, and hurried to your room. You threw yourself to the shelter of your bed, and let out the worlds longest held breath. But you didn't let yourself cry. Not yet.

Not until the class he sat in for came around, and John wasn't there. Instead, the cynical old professor who found every reason to skip out on teaching that he could find. The guy started his course by saying something painfully vague about having to find a new TA. All during a dry lesson, you took notes and bit your lip to stop it from quivering. And when the hour was up, you hurried out into the hall and to the corner of campus no one would see you cry.

You wouldn't let yourself for long. You just allowed yourself a moment to let out a little of what you'd been keeping in for so long. All the frustration you'd been confounded by the past week, out of nowhere at all it seemed. Even the thrill of being with John was something you'd been keeping dormant, hidden away from anyone who might've caught a loving gaze or grazing of the hand. Your adoration for John and the hurt that came from his ignoring you all mixed together and weighed heavy on your heart. After your tears bubbled over, you started home with a reluctant plan.

Now, you figured it best to toss out that old jumper of his you'd stolen, the week and a half he headed home and left you all by your lonesome. You'd have to burn the notes he'd leave in your textbooks, the mornings you'd finish work at his coffee table. You'd have to spend the weekend getting over John Deacon, but you really didn't want to.

Out of all the things you'd come to expect from your first year of uni, falling head over heels for someone you just couldn't have wasn't one of them. You'd learned, over the course of time, when he'd pop into halls and pull you around corners that John was very good at catching you off guard.

So, on your sorry stroll home, when the guy on your mind suddenly appeared in the middle of your path, you couldn't be too surprised. It was like him to show up when you least expected, in good times and bad, it seemed. But the pace of John's walk stopped you in your tracks. He shouldered past groups of friends eager to kick off weekend plans they chattered about. And in a couple of strides, John was toe to toe with you. And his fingers were lost in your hair. And his mouth was on yours.

John kissed you, right there on the pavement, in front of everyone. He held you against him, a good thing too, because you couldn't be sure of your own strength to hold you from fainting into a puddle of shock. Surprise took such a hold of you that you hadn't even attempted to kiss John back until he was pulling away from you.

"I'm sorry." He breathed, searching your eyes with his in a way you recognized. "About the party, I'm sorry. Maureen asked me out for drinks and wound up finding out about us. She was so bloody pissed and we got in this big fight about morality. And she threatened to sell me out and cost my job a minute before you showed up, and I was just so caught off guard, but I should have explained so earlier." John told, keeping two firm hands on your shoulders.

Your heart sank with the weight of the realization, all too suddenly recalling Maureen, and the strange things she kept saying that night. About you, and where you belonged in the world. You figured she was just drunk, and maybe she was. But her ramblings about finding your way in life didn't seem so random now.

"So I worked it out. I managed to finish things up early. I've been here for so long, working so hard for this degree. But the moment you showed up I knew there was nothing in this world I'd ever want more." John rang, desperation pouring from his tone. His long fingers dug into your arms as he rambled, and his eyes peered into yours with such intent. "And, that can happen now. I just hope you can forgi-"

You threw yourself toward him, taking the collar of John's shirt in your fists and kissing him with all the stored up adoration you'd been collecting over the year, right in front of everybody. John held you against him, and you fit perfectly like you always had.

Then, with a coy grin, John took your hand in his and you started to walk together like a couple of bashful teens on their first-ever date. Your heart had belonged to his for a while now, though. But you could really get used to acting like it. And you didn't have to ask to know John felt the same.

[willowbird]

Prompts open? Bet maybe foxes(and Andrew) slowly finding out how fucked up Neil’s mom was to him?(I get it was to survive but it was still abuse)

Since this one got kinda... Uh... Long... And answered both of these prompts I decided to combine them!! I didn't include a separate one for Andrew because he's present for a couple of them and by the time I reached the end it was like 6600 words and an Andrew POV would probably add another 2000 because I'm me and I always get carried away with Andrew POV.

If you’d rather read this on AO3 you can do so here.

4 times the Foxes found out how fucked up Mary was to Neil, and the 1 time Neil actually admitted it

ONE - ALLISON

Allison had been taking Neil shopping, which in itself wasn't really a weird occurrence. Allison would take any of her teammates shopping if that's what needed to happen to get them to stop looking like a dirty hobo. As it happened, Neil was just the worst offender and so she pestered him about it more often than not. It was remarkable how the guy could be dating the Monster and still look like that. Not that Andrew Minyard was a fashion icon or anything, but the miniature psychopath at least understood the concept of aesthetic and made sure the people around him wore things that actually fit. 

Well, most of the people around him. 

Point being, Neil needed a bit of extra help, and Allison was more than happy to supply it. So she'd taken to dragging him out shopping with her once a week. It was basically therapy - and fuck if that boy didn't need some of that.

(But Allison wasn't going to say that in front of Neil or he'd probably get hives…)

Usually, the shopping trips all went about the same. Allison would drag Neil along, Neil would acquiesce until he got hungry, then he'd get bitchy and after Allison fed him he'd calm the fuck down enough to try on more things before refusing to get anything. On a very rare occasion she would get him to accept a shirt or a new pair of pants. His weakness was shoes, but she tries not to exploit that too often.

Today, however, was different - because today Allison caught Neil's eyes catching on a particular hoodie. If it had been just once she would have passed it off, but this was at least the fourth time Neil had sought it out in the whole ten minutes they'd been in the narrow clothing store and his eyes didn't just catch, they lingered. Which meant that Neil was interested, that he liked something. This was a breakthrough! Especially since the hoodie was new and had color, rather than the drab shit he was always wearing. It was a very pretty cerulean blue with black stitching and was of a less bulky design than the other two Neil owned (one of which was the Foxes one she'd never seen him wear off-campus). In the proper size it would fit his frame nicely, she could tell just by looking at it, and she was low-key impressed that something with general style had been the thing to catch his eye. 

Allison grinned and nudged him. "Hey, just grab it. You could use a new hoodie."

Neil's attention snapped to her and Allison wasn't prepared for the flash of instinctive panic that raked through his eyes. "No, I didn't- I don't-" He raised his hands apologetically, which was weird, then seemed to catch himself and dropped them immediately. Allison could see him struggling not to look over at the sweatshirt and for the life of her she didn't understand why. But now she needed to know.

She gave him a look. "Uh, yes you did, and you do. What's the big deal? So what, you like it. Get it." She shrugged, hoping nonchalance would encourage him to stop being a weirdo about it.

"Nah," Neil said with a shrug. "It's fine. I've got hoodies."

Allison thought about letting it go, she really did, but she was too curious. But she also knew that the more she seemed to care about the answer she was prodding for, the less likely Neil was going to give it. So she pretended to look at some of the surrounding clothing without really registering what she was shuffling through. "You act like you've never bought something just because you wanted it before," she said with her usual level of scathing judgement.

"It was too dangerous," came Neil's distracted response. When Allison peaked over at him, her hand freezing on the shoulder of a sweater, about to slide it down the rack, she saw that he was looking at the hoodie again, studying it with a too-careful blankness she was beginning to recognize as Neil-in-memory.

"Getting something you wanted was too dangerous?" It was harder this time to keep her tone casual but she managed it well enough that Neil didn't fully snap out of his thoughts, wherever they were.

He shrugged. "It was distracting. If you had things you cared about you'd lose sight of survival, or make stupid mistakes."

Allison just stared at him. "You weren't allowed to have things you wanted… because they'd be distracting? Neil that's really fucked up." 

Neil looked over at her and grimaced, pulling away from the hoodie. "Whatever, it's not a big deal. Come on, are you done shopping yet?"

For another moment Allison stared, then she stalked forward and violently grabbed the hoodie from the rack, ignoring Neil's startled protests. 

"No," she said, pointing at him with her free hand. "You aren't some kid on the run anymore and you don't have to follow your mom's fucked up rules. If you want something, you're going to get it, damn it." If Neil tried to protest again she didn't see it because she'd already whirled around to head up toward the checkout.

Fuck you, Mary.

TWO - DAN

Team Night was something Dan instated right after finals last year. One night a week they all got dinner after practice. The whole team had to be there for at least part of the time. Sometimes they got along, sometimes they fought like half-crazed rabbis raccoons, but they were all together in a situation that wasn't about exy (no matter how many times Kevin or Neil brought it up). If there was anything Dan had learned over her years as Team Captain, it was that they would always operate better on the court if they could also work together off of it.

Tonight they'd gone out to dinner with the whole team before splitting off into various groups back at the dorms. Renee had gone off with Allison and Nicky while Aaron had left right from the restaurant to meet up with Katelyn. The freshmen had split into their own groups - they were still working out their hierarchy among themselves and Dan knew by now that she just had to let it happen - which had left her and Matt and, surprisingly enough, Neil and Andrew. She hadn't really expected the other two to accept her invitation to join them in Matt's room for a movie, but when she's offered Neil had easily agreed and Andrew hadn't protested. 

A part of her had still expected Andrew to peel off and go back to his own dorm once they'd returned to Fox Tower, but the reticent goalkeeper had followed them all into the room with no complaint.

"All right!" Matt announced with a grin once the door was shut and locked behind them, crossing to where he kept the booze. "Power Couple Movie Night! Whatcha guys want? Babe?"

Dan chuckled and rolled her eyes affectionately. "You're ridiculous and I love you. I'll have a whisky sour." She looked to Andrew and Neil. "What about you guys? He just stocked up so there's a bit of everything."

"Babe, you're making me sound like an alcoholic." 

Dan dismissed the complaint with a wave of her hand and smiled over at the other two. 

"Whisky straight." That was Andrew.

Neil just shrugged. "I don't need anything," he said.

"Do you have Dr. Pepper?" Andrew asked, apparently not done.

Matt nodded, lifting a mostly-full two-liter for him to see and setting it on the surface of the cabinet. 

"He'll have that with amaretto."

"Andrew."

"Neil."

Dan tried not to be too obvious about how closely she was watching them. It wasn't even a 'how could they be together?' thing. It was just that… Neil was this big mystery, and Andrew was also a big mystery. And now they were together and that just made the mystery balloon exponentially. The two of them fit together in a way that was somehow both surprising and like nothing in the world could make more sense. They had a whole language together of looks and gestures, of silent understandings that the rest of them couldn't even begin to interpret. In a way, this was just like any other couple. Even now, Dan shot a glance over at Matt and they shared a look of their own before resuming their subtle observations of the other couple. Somehow it was different with Andrew and Neil though. Somehow it seemed… heavier. It was fascinating and also kinda unsettling, which only made Dan want to figure it out even more.

After an extended silence where Neil and Andrew had some indecipherable conversation with their eyes alone, Neil sighed, apparently conceding defeat, and nodded agreement to his boyfriend's drink order. 

"All right! Neilio is drinking with us tonight!" Matt pumped a fist into the air, shattering the residual tension with his enthusiasm. Dan had probably never loved anyone so much in her life.

Neil smirked his own affection for the big lug and flopped onto the couch, Andrew following with less flourish but a level of relaxed comfort that made Dan's heart soar. It was really happening. Andrew was letting himself trust them, letting himself be a part of the team, letting himself be… one of their friends.

Matt finished making their drinks and brought them over on a serving tray he had been a little bit too excited to buy.

Neil took his drink and cautiously sniffed it, wrinkling his nose. "It smells sweet," he complained.

"You have two choices when it comes to liquor, Josten. It either tastes sweet or it tastes like alcohol." Andrew was entirely unsympathetic, though his gaze remained focused on Neil even as he sipped his whisky. Apparently, this was some either-or that Neil was willing to concede to because he sighed and sipped the drink. After a moment he hummed and took another sip. Another sip turned into a second drink as the four of them collectively decided to skip the movie and instead hang out and talk about the worst movies they'd ever seen. Andrew, surprisingly, had a lot to contribute - as he had apparently seen a lot of movies and had Opinions about all of them. It was very weird and kinda surreal, but also made Dan feel almost giddy.

"Well shit, Neil, if it was just a matter of you not liking the taste of alcohol we'd have stocked up on wine coolers ages ago," Matt said as he handed Neil his third glass later on in the night. He grinned and perched on the armrest of her chair. Dan smiled up at him when he put his arm around her, leaning against him and sipping her own drink as she turned her attention back to the other couple.

The other couple. Well, that was weird.

"Nah, I still wouldn't have had anything," Neil said after another, fuller drink. He leaned back, comfortable. Dan noticed that he and Andrew weren't touching but there was still a weird intimacy with their proximity. It hurt her brain to think about so she didn't focus on it overmuch. Then Neil said, "Mom only brought out the alcohol when I needed to be stitched up," and Dan froze with her drink halfway back up to her mouth. Neil didn't seem to notice, looking into his cup as he continued. "No hospitals, you know, and when I was a kid I always cried a lot and was really loud about it unless I was too drunk to feel anything at all."

And when I was a kid I always cried a lot and was really loud unless I was too drunk to feel anything at all.

When I was a kid…

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Dan peripherally noticed that she wasn't the only one who had gone still. It was so rare for Neil to say anything about his time before he joined the Foxes. It was even more rare for him to bring up his mother - especially in such a… disturbingly revealing way. 

Matt was the one to break the silence. "When you say you were a kid you mean…?" There was a false lightness in his voice, like he was trying not to alert Neil to how much he was revealing. Andrew cut him a glare but then looked to Neil without interrupting.

Neil shrugged, swirling his glass lightly, apparently fascinated with the ice as it clinked gently against the sides of the glass. He poked at them with his mixing straw. "Mm, Lola scared me, y'know? I didn't want her to stitch me up. So I begged mum. Dad would hurt her too if she couldn't keep me quiet. I tried, but being noisy was always a problem for me. 's how I usually got in trouble anyhow. Or by not being still enough. Or dropping knives." Neil shivered, his free hand rubbing against a spot on his abdomen like he was worrying away at a memory, some phantom ache from a past that he could never quiet escape from.

Andrew, apparently, had decided this was enough. He reached forward and pulled the glass from Neil's hand with a gentleness that shouldn't surprise Dan anymore. He set the glass on the table and stood, then tugged Neil up with him. He didn't let go of the striker's hand even when he got the other man standing. Once he was sure the other would be steady he glanced over at them with a dark, steady threat in his eyes. "We are leaving now."

A sound beside her alerted Dan to the beginning of Matt's protest and she elbowed him before he could complete it. In its place, she gave a strained smile and nodded. "Of course. You guys are probably tired. See you tomorrow!"

Neil raised his hand in a small wave but he still seemed a little lost, his expression closed, his mind somewhere else. 

When the door closed behind them, Matt stood up and walked over to lock it, then he stood there for a moment before turning to face her. His expression was dark and angry and echoed the storm stirring in his own heart.

"Neil went on the run when he was ten."

It might have seemed a random statement, but Dan was following the same line of thought and she nodded. They'd known that Neil's dad was a bastard, knew he'd been hurt by him and his people when they'd been on the run and it wasn't a far toss to infer that he'd been hurt earlier too. But this confirmation was blood-chilling. Mary's part in it was not comforting.

"She did nothing, Dan. She did nothing. She let him get hurt and then she got him drunk as a little fucking kid to stitch him up again. I know it was a fucked up situation, and I'm sure it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows for her but fuck Dan. Fuck."

Dan nodded, setting down her drink and rising from the chair so she could go to Matt. She knew that she only had a surface understanding of the situation. She couldn't imagine what Mary might have gone through herself, but she couldn't find enough compassion in her heart to make excuses for her. Maybe that made her heartless, she didn't fucking care. What she cared about was that Mary let her own son be hurt badly enough that he needed to get drunk and get stitched up over and over again, before and after they went on the run. What she cared about was that Mary hurt her son over and over herself in order to control him, to keep him under her thumb. Maybe she did it because that's how she thought she was protecting him but intentions meant shit.

Lesser evils were still evil.

There are always choices, always options, and Mary's choices had traumatized Neil just as much as the Butcher's had. Maybe Neil had complicated feelings about his mother but Dan didn't. She had a very clear opinion, actually.

Fuck you, Mary.

THREE - MATT

"Okay so, but why Andrew?" Matt didn't mean anything negative with the question, but he flipped a hand in apology when Neil glared over at him. "I didn't mean it that way. I mean like -- is your type short, blond, and stabby or…?"

"I don't have a type. I don't swing."

Well that made no sense.

"Except for Andrew," Matt clarified, reminding Neil that he was self-admittedly committed to the Monster.

Neil nodded without hesitation. "Except for Andrew," he agreed.

"Right… but… why? Why only Andrew? Didn't you ever like… like other guys, or girls?" Matt studied his best friend, desperate to understand him. He wasn't even being anti-Andrew about this, he was just trying to learn more about Neil and this integral part of him. Neil said he didn't swing, and then of all people to fall for - he falls for Andrew. Matt had thought that maybe Neil had been shy about admitting he was gay or something, but Neil was pretty confident about the whole not-swinging thing. Matt got that there were other sexualities out there, but the idea of just… not wanting anything just didn't make sense to him.

He was surprised when Neil actually said -- "Sure, yeah, when I was like, fourteen or whatever. I wouldn't say I liked anyone, but I noticed girls."

Matt blinked and looked over at him, letting the game controller rest on his lap. "Wait, you did?"

Neil shrugged. "Yeah, but it wasn't allowed so…"

"It wasn't… allowed?" Matt frowned, lost.

"My mom knew they'd be a distraction, that it was too dangerous for me to fall for someone. I don't think it occurred to her that I might like a guy, so when she realized I was noticing girls she made sure I didn't anymore."

Matt was silent for a long moment, letting the implication of that sink in. "When you said she 'made sure' you didn't notice girls…?"

Neil shrugged. "I was stupid. Just telling me wasn't going to do anything." But his friend's casual nonchalance was gone and Matt watched as the other man withdrew into himself. His expression closed down and he scratched his nails through his hair, against his scalp in an anxious tick Matt was pretty sure Neil didn't even realize he did.

A flare of rage heated his lungs and it took concentrated effort to swallow it down. He could imagine what Mary might have done to her son to drill the lesson home. 

"That's really fucked up, Neil."

Neil just shrugged, then nodded at the tv. "Are you gonna play or what?" Matt could see that his friend didn't want to talk about it so he let it go, but he wasn't going to forget it.

"Yeah. How about you order some pizza or something? I'm getting fucking hungry." A bit of the tension broke and Neil flashed him a small smile before pushing off the couch to go get his phone to make the order. Matt watched him go and took another breath to make sure his anger was packed away for later.

Fuck you, Mary.

FOUR - NICKY

Christmas! Nicky was so fucking excited about Christmas this year. Not only would Erik be coming into town, but the whole family would be there! Well, the family that mattered anyway. Aaron was bringing Katelyn, Andrew would be there and participating, and Neil was staying with them for the entirety of winter break. It was going to be amazing!!

Already, in the few days since school had let out, Nicky had set about Christmas-ifying the whole house and it was looking amazing if he did say so himself, which he did.

Today was going to be particularly exciting because he had managed to get Neil to agree to go Christmas shopping with him. Erik would be arriving tomorrow morning and Nicky still hadn't gotten his present. Or Aaron's. Or Andrew's. Or Neil's… He'd gotten Katelyn's though! He'd seen an absolutely gorgeous sweater at the mall the other week in just her color so he'd swiped it up. Point being, he had some catching up to do and he suspected that Neil was also behind on his Christmas shopping.

This was confirmed shortly after they arrived at the mall and Nicky asked Neil what he'd gotten for Andrew.

Neil blinked at him, like he was caught off guard by the question. 

"I don't think we're getting each other anything," he said, looking downright confused.

"Oh. Oh Neil. Oh Neil no. No, you are definitely getting gifts for each other. You're a couple!"

Neil looked vaguely uncomfortable as he shrugged, but he didn't deny the label and Nicky counted that as progress. "I don't think we're the gift-giving kind…"

Clearly, Neil hadn't been paying attention to the fact that Andrew had been gifting Neil at every fucking opportunity since they'd met. Clothes, keys, food, drinks, more clothes, a phone. At first, Nicky had just thought it was Andrew being possessive in the way he was possessive of all the people he'd decided we're his. It wasn't until after the two had come clean about their relationship (relationship!!!) that Nicky had thought back and realized that Andrew wasn't half as generous with the rest of them. Honestly, Nicky was a bit embarrassed for not noticing it all sooner. This whole time, Nicky thought he was being cryptic when he was just being really, really gay. For shame.

"Mm, well," Nicky hedged, feeling pity for the poor blind idiot. At least he was cute. "You're wrong, but we won't get into it. Just trust me when I say that Andrew has definitely gotten you something." Probably multiple things, actually, but Nicky didn't want to shock the poor cute dummy. "And you can't tell me that you don't want to give him a gift." Nicky stopped, frowning at Neil in disapproval.

"It's not that," Neil admitted, and Nicky wasn't sure he'd ever seen the younger man look more awkward. 

"Then what is it. Come on, kid, tell Uncle Nicky."

Neil made a face. "Only if you never say that again."

Nicky laughed, though he realized Neil had a point. That might have been a bit much. "Deal. So what is it?"

Neil shrugged, fidgeting in a restless way that Nicky recognized as one of Neil's tells when he was uncertain or nervous. Neil was someone who needed to be in motion, someone who needed to do things. Nicky related to that, heavily, so he linked his arm through Neil's and tugged him into walking again. The motion seemed to help, and after a few minutes, Neil finally spoke up.

"I've never really done the whole Christmas or birthday thing. Especially not since me and my mom, you know…" He drifted off vaguely, gesturing with one hand like that's was supposed to indicate all the time he and his mom were running from his psycho dad and his evil butcher-buddy minions. Nicky nodded like it had and Neil continued. "It just feels… weird, you know. Like it's a thing that real people do. They go to school and they have holidays with families that don't want to kill them or each other. They buy each other presents that they don't need and that's… normal. But it just doesn't make sense to me."

There was a lot to unpack there, but Nicky's mind caught on the first thing Neil had said and it kept replaying over and over on his head like a skipping record.

Like it's a thing that real people do.

Like Neil wasn't… real.

Nicky stopped walking again, his heart clenching suddenly in his chest. "Wait, hold on. Rewind. Neil, you realize that you are a real person, right?"

Tension wiped Neil's face into an awful blankness and normally Nicky would let it go. He'd make a joke and try and get them back to something lighter, but this was… something was just so wrong about that and he couldn't ignore it.

"Neil," he implored, hands on both the younger man's shoulders, gripping tightly, willing him to open up to him.

Maybe it was a testament to the season of sharing, or maybe it was proof that he and Neil had come a long way since those first few months over a year ago, but for whatever reason, Neil didn't brush him off and he didn't pull away. Instead, he sighed and gave a small shrug, shuffling his feet as he apparently searched for the right words like they were hidden between his shoelaces.

"I didn't feel real for a long time, you know. I couldn't be. Mom was the one who made all the identities for me, the one who chose the names and the covers. She was the one who created everything about the boys I was supposed to be, down to their interests in school and outside of it, just in case someone asked me when she wasn't around. She'd test me on them. I studied those boys with more dedication than I studied for my classes when I was actually in school."

Nicky frowned, confused. "What about your interests and what you were like."

Neil shrugged. "I didn't have any. I wasn't like anything, unless you can count fear as a personality trait."

That… didn't make sense. Neil was saying words, and individually, Nicky knew what they meant, but his brain was struggling to comprehend exactly what they meant when put together in that order. 

"But… that's not possible. What about when you saw something you liked, or wanted, or did something that you just… enjoyed. A tv show or, fuck, math. You like math right? That's a part of your personality." He heard the desperation in his own voice but he was too distracted by the conundrum of Neil's 'I wasn't a real person's reveal that he didn't even care to attempt to rein it in.

"Not until I got to Palmetto," Neil admitted. "I didn't have to take a math class my senior year because my forged transcripts already had the required number of classes to graduate and it seemed conspicuous to take more than that. Your average teenager doesn't like math."

"But you thought about it, right? When you were signing up for classes, you thought about adding math, then actively chose not to." A picture of understanding was beginning to form and Nicky felt a little bit sick with what it showed.

Neil frowned, like he was thinking about it, then gave a small nod of reluctant agreement.

"So… there was something you liked, something that was you and you just, what, instinctively went 'No, bad idea'. Why?"

"It's what my mom would have done," was Neil's instant, confident reply. He hadn't even had to think about that one. Then, to Nicky's horror, he elaborated with, "Mom was a stickler on that kind of stuff. If I liked something, if I felt pulled to anything, it was dangerous and bad. I learned quickly enough to avoid anything that interested me so it wouldn't distract me. Surviving was what was important."

Yeah. Yeah Nicky definitely felt a bit sick now. 

"When you say that you 'learned quickly enough'...?" Nicky wasn't sure he actually wanted to know, but that didn't stop him from asking the question.

"Mom--" Neil actively stopped himself this time. "It isn't important. Look… are we going to go shopping or what?"

Nicky wasn't willing to let it go. "Neil. Did she… like, hurt you? For having interests?"

Now Neil looked more than just a little uncomfortable, and the way he didn't meet Nicky's eyes was all the answer he needed. Nicky wanted to hug Neil just then, but he managed, at the last second, to hold himself back. He'd probably pushed harder than he should have already and he was trying to be better about boundaries. Instead he squeezes his shoulders and then pulled his hands away.

"Well, come on. Let's finish shopping. I'll help you pick out something for Andrew if you aren't sure what to get him." 

Neil looked so visibly relieved that Nicky's heart broke. "Ah, yeah… thanks Nicky." The small smile he shot him was enough that Nicky forgot the boundary thing and just hugged him. Ugh, that poor kid. No wonder he was so confused whenever anyone was kind to him if his own mother had treated him like he wasn't even a real person to the point where Neil had legitimately started to believe it. Nicky had his issues with his parents, all the Foxes did -- it was part of what made them Foxes -- but this was kind of another level.

Nicky kept his arm around Neil's shoulders as he lead the younger man off to shop, now determined to make this the best fucking Christmas ever. Because Neil was a real fucking person and he deserved that frivolous normalcy. He deserved to like things and to want things.

Fuck you, Mary.

+1 - AARON

Aaron didn't usually care about whatever was happening in Josten's weird little brain. It wasn't a place he was eager to explore, to be perfectly fucking honest, and he was unfortunate enough to be subjected with the assshole's proximity often enough as it was. However, it was hard to ignore the man when he was having a literal mental breakdown right in front of him. He wished he could. He wished he could turn around and walk away, shut the door, and go back to not caring. Unfortunately, parallels had just been drawn that he couldn't unsee and now turning his back on Neil almost felt personal. It was incredibly uncomfortable and for a long moment Aaron just sat there, silent, in the wake of what just happened.

It had gone like this:

Andrew and Neil had been on separate ends of the couch doing homework. Nicky and Kevin were still sleeping off the trip to Eden's Twilight last night, and Aaron was slowly letting himself wake up to a hot cup of coffee and some random show on tv. Then that random show had transitioned into some kind of true crime show that had dragged everyone's attention to the screen with a single word.

Wesninski.

As it turned out, the show wasn't actually about the Wesninskis, but rather about crime in Europe. The Wesninski mention was due to the current segment on the Hatfords, a British crime syndicate -- the one Neil's mother hailed from. It was her picture on the screen when their collective attention all snapped to the screen, and the tension in the room suddenly increased tenfold.

Mothers were a bit of a complicated topic for everyone in the room. It was also probably the one thing that Andrew was unwilling to touch with a ten-foot pole, not even for Neil - and Aaron was long since past denying that those two had something going on far deeper than sexual tension and a disdain for ninety percent of humanity. 

So the room had frozen, holding a breath with a shared lung. Then Andrew had stood, moving to snatch up the remote so he could turn off the TV when Neil said, "No."

Aaron had never seen Andrew stop so fast in his life. His twin's face remained blank, but there was a darkness in his eyes that Aaron was queasily familiar with. It was a cruel, angry darkness and he didn't envy Neil for being the subject of it as Andrew turned his gaze on the striker. 

"If you want to cry over that bitch I am not going to stick around to suffer it." The words came out low and hissed and even Aaron could hear the sharp rage beneath the forced facade of indifference Andrew was attempting to keep in place.

Neil looked like he wanted to hit Andrew but he managed to keep his response to a sharp, venomous, "Fuck you." 

Andrew held the remote up to eye level then dropped it. It landed hard enough on the table that it bounced off, the back popping off and the batteries scattering. Then he was striding out the front door. Aaron expected it to slam, but somehow the gentle click of it just under the murmur of the crime show was just as finite.

It was like getting to watch a moment he'd lived over and over again over the course of years from the outside for the first time. In fact, it wasn't like that - that's what it was. Something anxious and sick curled in the pit of his stomach as Aaron looked from the closed door to Neil's tense, shaken form. He hated this. He hated sympathising with Neil. He hated understanding Andrew's anger. He hated not being able to pick a side. Aaron had heard enough about Mary Hatford to know that she was just as fucked up as Nathan Wesninski, dragging her son around, forcing him into isolation, beating him, fucking him over socially for his whole damn life when she probably could have just saved them both by either going straight to the FBI or calling up her own crime family. He knew that Neil didn't blame his mom when he probably should. He knew he made excuses, that he grieved for her. He knew he missed her and he also knew that it was really, supremely fucked up.

He also knew that he was just as guilty for the unworthy idolization of an abuser. It had taken him years to get to the point where he was willing to admit that, though. It was meeting Katelyn that had him finally looking at his past with a sobering dose of reality. It was only after months of wrestling with himself that he'd finally been able to accept the truth. Months of Katelyn's steadfast support, months of sessions with Bee beyond the joint sessions with Andrew, months of introspection that left him mentally and emotionally wrung dry -- and Tilda hadn't had half the physical and emotional ammo that Mary Hatford had probably levied against her young son.

Aaron watched Neil vibrate in place, watched his hands curl and his throat work, watched the pain and the rage and the grief flash through his eyes even as he tried to swallow it all down. He watched Neil, but he saw himself, and it was more than disconcerting.

He didn't make the conscious decision to speak before he said, "I get it." In fact, he almost didn't realize he had spoken until Neil snapped his attention over to him like he'd forgotten he was still in the room at all.

Neil didn't respond, probably too caught up with the war in his own head to form words -- a rarity for the loud-mouthed striker.

"She was all you had," Aaron said, and he wasn't sure if he was actually talking to Neil, or talking to the version of himself that still clung to the corner of his memories, desperate to validate the only person that might have loved him, the one person that should have loved him, when he needed it the most. "She was all you had, and that's what kept you going. Not her rules and not whatever it was that she did to make sure you survived. That it was her and you, that you had each other, and that that meant something. She'd do whatever it took to protect you, she was the only one who would do that, and it was everything, right?"

He could tell by the widening of Neil's eyes that he'd hit the nail on the head. He didn't look away as he continued with his truths, knowing he was probably the only person that had ever vocalized an understanding -- that he was probably the only person who could understand. 

"And then she was gone. And it wasn't only her that died. It was everything that she was supposed to be. She died, and all you had left were the 'almost's and 'not enough's and the 'never again's. And if you let yourself believe that she was just as bad then everything was for nothing. All the times you cared. All the times you tried. All the times you did everything you could to be what she expected of you. None of it would matter, because she was gone, and she could never redeem herself, and it was all pointless." Aaron heard his voice like someone else was speaking. It was too calm, too quiet, too knowing. It didn't feel the desert in his chest, scorching and dry and far too exposed. He saw Neil's reaction like he was looking in a mirror and it was more than a little bit unsettling. He understood the flash of anger in his eyes, the stubborn refusal in the set of his jaw, then the reluctant acceptance when his shoulders dropped. Aaron hated understanding anything about Neil Josten. He hated even more that it was this that they had to share. Something so raw, so close to home it had a permanent home inside his chest, nestled between his lungs. It wasn't fair.

Then again, he was a Fox for a reason he guessed. Life just wasn't fucking fair to a Fox.

Neil looked away, then deflated against his corner of the couch. He tilted his head back and Aaron saw his throat work as he fought emotions neither of them wanted Aaron to be a witness to. Aaron averted his eyes. He only looked up again when Neil spoke. The other man's voice was quiet but steady.

"The one thing she harped on most, more than anything else, was how attachments to anyone or anything other than my own survival were going to get me killed. Even to her. She told me so many times to run, leave her behind, but I… I never could. She never left me behind, even when there were times when I wanted her to. She'd probably be rolling in her grave if she could see me now…" Neil's voice drifted off as his gaze locked on the front door over Aaron's shoulder. Aaron didn't need to be psychic to know that he was thinking specifically about Andrew, about how much he'd risked for Andrew - not just to be with him, but also to protect him. Going to Evermore, allowing Nathan's men to take him quietly… yeah, Mary probably wouldn't be too happy about that, and not in the caring, not wanting Neil hurt way. She'd be pissed that Neil cared about something so much to take that risk, after all she'd done to try and beat that ability out of him.

"She was trying to make me soulless," Neil said without taking his eyes away from the door. "She hated it so much whenever I showed any glimmer of a personality. Whenever I was anything other than a possession she kept and controlled. My mother loved me, in her own way…" His mouth tensed, pursed, then he looked at Aaron.

For a moment, the two of them just looked at each other, a shared understanding between them.

"That's not enough," Aaron finally said.

Neil looked down, then up, meeting his eyes. "No," he agreed, "it's not."

On the tv, the show was still talking about the Hatfords. Not all that much time had actually passed since the segment started. Neil looked at the tv, then stood and gathered up the scattered pieces of the remote. He put it back together and spared one more glance at the screen, which now showed a picture of the Hatford family at some event when Mary and her brothers were teenagers. Then he lifted the remote and resolutely changed the channel.

"I'm going to take the car to pick up some food, you want anything?" Neil asked as he moved to get his shoes, then take his keys from the hook near the door.

Aaron snorted. "No. I'll order something if I get hungry." There was still some time until he'd want lunch, but he knew this dance by now. Neil and Andrew would drive off together. If he wanted food he was better off taking it into his own hands. It was entirely likely the other two wouldn't be back until closer to dinner.

Neil nodded once, then was out the door. Aaron watched him go, then sighed and turned back to his coffee, considering it.

He didn't like sharing something with Neil fucking Josten. It was annoying and uncomfortable. But all the same… he understood. And like it or not, they were tied together now. Maybe he wasn't ready to say 'fuck you' to the memory of his own mother, and Neil definitely wasn't ready to do the same regarding Mary Hatford, but they could acknowledge the similarities in their stories and that was a start -- for both of them.

Aaron sighed and closed his eyes. He pointedly didn't think about his own mother and instead let himself eagerly latch onto the other man's sympathetic demon as he thought, with vehemence, 'Fuck you, Mary.'

[notthatiwilleverwriteit]

Let's say that there was no tianshan and zhanyi. Could you see a situation where zhang and mo would be together romantically? And he tian and jian yi?

Hello, dear anon!

Before I get to my answer, let me apologize for keeping your ask waiting for so long. To make up for the wait, I thought I would do some edits inspired by your question. I hope those will add some extra.

Also, I have talked about the relationships between HT/JY and ZZX/MGS a couple of times before:

My thoughts on HT & JY and ZZX & MGS (platonic)

Did HT get bored of JY?

HT’s behavior with JY vs. with MGS

Could ZZX interact more with the other boys?

ZZX’s opinion on HT?

Mostly those are about platonic friendships, though. I’m always interested in the boys interacting outside of their canon ships but I can’t really say I ship them. I can see where people shipping HT/JY, for example, are coming from but I can’t really feel the ship in my heart.

So, your ask, dear anon, was quite a challenging one. The canon ships were too distracting for me to really get to the bottom of this. Finally, I decided to try and pretend like Zhanyi and Tianshan didn’t exist at all. I dropped them and built stories for HT/JY and ZZX/MGS to make it a bit easier. So, this answer will be somewhat of a mix of canon pondering and creative fanon.

I’m going to cut this here because this turned out to be quite a long post.

“Could you see a situation where zhang and mo would be together romantically?”

I think seeing a romantic connection between ZZX and MGS was definitely more difficult than between HT and JY. ZZX doesn’t really interact with MGS that much, and what little he does, it’s usually very neutral in tone. We know he cares about MGS as a friend, but it seems that’s just how ZZX is outside his relationship with JY.

To be honest, even if Zhanyi wasn’t a thing, I couldn’t see MGS and ZZX being romantically involved in canon. In a way that felt natural and fluent, at least. I feel like the story (and even the characters) would have to be quite different for these two to be romantically interested in each other.

Putting ZZX and MGS in a romantic context raises a laundry list of all kinds of questions. Would JY still be ZZX’s best friend? Or would ZZX have some kind of childhood history with MGS? If not, how did they cross paths? Would MGS still be in gangs? Did ZZX develop romantic feelings first? Are they unrequited or would MGS eventually feel the same? How would ZZX’s love and affection guide MGS?

I feel like canon-wise MGS and ZZX are too “far” from each other to really have a romantic connection. Sure, they have their little bonding moments, but I can’t really see those carrying them all the way to romance. They are also quite similar characters in the sense that when left alone, they are both rather quiet and keep to themselves. For a romantic relationship, I think ZZX would have to become the one who takes the initiative and perhaps even chases after MGS in his own way.

I also struggle to see MGS’s character development in that relationship. If he was still a delinquent and involved in gangs, what would push and pull him to change the direction of his life? I’m not saying ZZX couldn’t have that influence but I kind of have to squint to imagine it. Rather I could see it be an angsty love story where ZZX watches MGS get in fights from the sidelines and MGS refusing his help but also feeling guilty about disappointing and troubling ZZX yet again.

And that is what I took as the basis for my little edits for ZZX/MGS. The canon panels offered at least some interesting moments that could build a story when tweaked a little.

In this scenario, ZZX and JY are still best friends but MGS is his childhood friend from kindergarten. ZZX remembers MGS as an adventurous boy always eager to follow a random path. He never backed down when the older boys bullied him which often landed him in the principle’s office. To the grownups, he might have come across as a wild kid but ZZX knew he was also kind and caring.

When ZZX reunited with MGS in the last year of middle school, he recognized MGS immediately from his red hair (ch. 177):

But compared to their childhood, he seemed more hostile. He glared at people and spat curses and threats. None of his child-like curiosity and caring heart seemed to be left. It didn’t take long for him to get involved with the school gangs where he was known as a bit of a mad dog.

When ZZX heard MGS had gotten mixed up in assaulting some girl, he knew immediately it was a lie. MGS would never do something like that. Seeing him in the principle’s office was so hard for ZZX (ch. 184):

When MGS was released from the office, ZZX followed him. That’s when he found him getting in the face of one of the biggest delinquent leaders. ZZX could hear him screaming about something not being the way they had agreed. When one of the gang members attacked MGS from behind, ZZX’s legs moved on their own. He ran over and threw himself in the fight not really thinking about what he was doing. All he was aware of was that he needed to keep swinging for both of them.

The faculty eventually broke up the fight. MGS had gotten quite badly hurt and was taken to a hospital. ZZX spend a few nights there, too. After the fight, JY was relieved beyond words. (ch. 150):

But ZZX knew he had to do something. Things couldn’t keep going like this with MGS. So, he went to see MGS at the hospital (ch. 248): 

MGS said he had recognized ZZX at school almost right away but hadn’t approached him. They were from different worlds now. ZZX fell silent at that but he couldn’t accept it. He wanted things to go back to how they had used to be and get his friend back.

After MGS got out of the hospital, ZZX refused to back down even though MGS resisted his efforts. ZZX waited for MGS in the morning at the school gates and he and JY would stick to him as much as possible throughout the day. ZZX didn’t want to let MGS out of his sight, but MGS’s reluctance weighed on him. (ch. 196):

And that pretty much wraps up what I could come up for ZZX/MGS. As I said, I had to change the canon somewhat. I felt like I needed a premise of some kind for them to have a (romantic) connection.

“And he tian and jian yi?”

Now, HT/JY on the other hand was easier. As I said, I don’t ship them personally but I can see where people who do are coming from. I didn’t interpret HT’s interest in JY in the beginning as romantic feelings but I do think the opposite readings are also valid. So, I will utilize those vibes for them.

Canon-wise, I think HT and JY have enough contact where you could continue to build a romantic interest quite naturally. HT has a naturally flirty disposition that would spark butterflies in JY’s stomach easily. He also feels protective of JY, especially given the fact that HT doesn’t want JY to get involved in the mafia world.

JY would be a good counter for HT’s darkness and inner angst. His airheaded, oblivious energy could end up comforting and reassuring HT without JY even knowing about it. JY also trusts HT judging by the way he often consults him about relationships. I think those heart-to-hearts have opened a special bond between them in canon which could be easily continued as a romantic pull. Kind of like JY being the only one to whom HT has revealed his true thoughts about relationships and the world. JY had seen those glimpses.

The scenario I came up for HT/JY didn’t stray as far from canon as did ZZX/MGS, so it was easier to manage. The comic also had more material for them to work with.

In this scenario, JY and ZZX are still best friends but JY has unrequited feelings for HT instead. Even ZZX doesn’t know about them or that he likes men. They are similar to the secret “light on the outside, heavy on the inside” kind of love JY had for ZZX before kissing him and confessing to him. When ZZX found out about all this, it was similarly dramatic as in the Zhanyi canon (ch. 144):

The unrequited feelings JY has are quite painful for him. He’s afraid of confessing them. What if HT will be disgusted? What if he just plays around without actually meaning the things he says? What if he rejects JY and he loses their friendship? ZZX becomes the only person who knows about JY loving HT.

What makes JY’s position even more difficult is the way HT likes to naturally flirt with people, JY included. (ch. 104, 108, 115, 122, 323):

He touches JY nonchalantly and JY’s stomach and heart make little flips. He says things that make JY blush like an idiot. Being around HT makes JY both nervous and excited.

But it still hurts. HT is quite popular among girls which hasn’t escaped JY either (ch. 186, 102):

Sometimes a careless question or choice of topic can deliver a blow of heartache. Sometimes JY hates HT for a reason he can’t even name himself. He hates him for being so smooth and handsome and cruelly playing with JY’s heart.

But there are also times when JY can have HT just for himself (ch. 132,133):

Those times when it’s just the two of them, JY feels special in HT’s eyes. It feels like every touch, joke, and tease is just for him and only he knows about them. JY finds himself laughing a bit easier, leaning into the touch, and enjoying the butterflies.

But the truth is HT is actually aware of JY’s feelings for him. He knows. And they’re not as unrequited as JY believes. HT cares about him a lot, and those moments they share are also precious to him. He wants to protect and cherish JY which is why he’s reluctant to acknowledge the pink blushing elephant in the room. He’s a part of something that he never wants to reach JY. The last thing he wishes is for JY to know about all the messed up darkness HT carries and is involved in. So, he teases and flirts to get some kind of “in-between” satisfaction.

However, there are times when he can’t help but lean into the comfort JY unknowingly offers (ch. 260, 227, 228):

Those are the times when HT wishes he could just tell JY that he knows and that he wants it too. Fuck the rest of the world, let’s just be us. That he will never let anything happen to JY. That he sometimes wants to hear his voice at 2am, so is it okay if he calls.

And that concludes the little story for HT/JY. If compared to ZZX/MGS, I don’t think it changes the canon as much and it flows more naturally to me. But I did enjoy writing both scenarios, don’t get me wrong.

I hope this little extra material makes up for the wait! Thank you for your questions, dear anon!

[dayseternal-blog]

Naruto calls Hiashi “father” for the first time.

For NaruHina2020 January Firsts / Toward the Future, Vision

Rating: Teen

Matcha

To say that he’s stressed out about visiting Hinata’s family would be an overstatement, right?  Because he’s not stressed.  He’s not.  He’s talked with Hanabi and Hiashi enough times by now in preparation for the wedding, so it won’t be anything different this time around.  Even if he kissed her in front of everyone at the wedding, even if he took Hinata home with him, even if he’s kept her all to himself for the past few days, even if he did all of that, today’s visit will be the same as anytime before.  Nothing to be really stressed out about.

It’ll be the same as before.

So he tells himself.

He pulls on his black jacket and zips up his pants.

He turns in time to watch his wife pull on her pink blouse, white skin at her waist disappearing beneath loose-fitting cotton.  He lets his gaze linger and smiles when she pops out.

She blushes a smile back, her nose scrunching up in suppressed embarrassment.

It’s so natural to come nearer, to pull her into a hug, and squeeze her so tightly, that the comfort of her form fluffs up into his brain like puffy clouds beneath his eyelids.

...Nothing’s the same.  Not at all.  Since marrying her, his home and life have changed completely.

No loneliness.  Every single waking moment has been filled with her presence.  Sitting together at their dining table, washing dishes in their kitchen, cuddling on their couch.

Just complete bliss.  Brushing their teeth side-by-side, falling asleep with her tucked close in his arms, waking up with sleepy kisses and snuggles.

He took her from her family, her smile and voice lighting his life in warm colors unknown to him.  And he can only imagine how lonely it must be at the Hyuuga household without her.

He guesses it’s only fair that he shares her today, now that they’ve settled a bit into married life…

He breathes her in.  “Ready to go?”

“Mhm,” she hums, nodding, against his chest.

One more tight squeeze, and he lets her go.

Her satisfied smile warms all the places she left vacant.

Hinata unlocks the door of the main entrance.  She slides it open, and she pauses, one foot in the air above the threshold.  “I guess ‘Tadaima’ is not quite right, is it?”  She smiles brightly at him, as if she thought her moment of confusion funny.  Her eyes shine with a warmth that he can only conclude is joy.  Love.

Her home is with me now.  It’s relieving to consider that she doesn’t seem sad about that at all.  Rather, she seems just as happy as he is about it.  He hopes she doesn’t miss her family too much.  But after today’s lunch...will she?...

Light steps approach quickly, and bright yellow darts into view.  “Nee-sama!” she yells, her voice several volumes louder and sharper than what he’s been used to hearing for the past few days.

“Hanabi!”  Hinata welcomes her younger sister into a hug.

When they part, he can tell how much Hanabi missed her.  It makes him feel a little bad…

The teen jerks a sudden smile his way.  “Naruto-nii~san,” she sings.

He scrunches a smile at her, wondering at the playfulness in her tone.  “Hey, Hanabi.”

“So you finally decided to share my Nee-sama.”

“Uhh…”  That’s exactly what he was thinking earlier.

She laughs, proud of her own teasing, and turns around.  “C’mon, Otou-sama is waiting!”

He follows behind Hinata and Hanabi, letting them have their time to catch up.

Hanabi takes them toward the tea room, and he immediately starts feeling a little more anxious.  Each visit has started or ended with tea ceremony, depending on how their father feels.  Hinata assured him that it’s not anything near formal tea ceremony since it’s just among family.  She even taught him about basic etiquette the first time he did it with them, on how to sit, how to hold the chawan, how to admire the tea.  But it’s still not a tradition he feels comfortable in.  

Hiashi is sitting seiza, and Hinata immediately sits down across from him.  Naruto settles carefully into seiza, too, piling on hopes that his legs won’t fall asleep this time.

“Otou-sama, good afternoon,” Hinata greets.

“Good afternoon, Hinata, Naruto,” he says, and there’s a smile, a small one, but it’s nice.

Naruto realizes her father missed her, too.  “Good afternoon, Hiashi-san-”

“Otou-san.”

Naruto blinks, wondering if he understood Hiashi’s correction.

“You and Hinata are married now, you are a part of our family,” he explains.  “You may call me ‘Otou-san.’”

...It’s like the first time he came home from a quick trip to the Tower, and Hinata welcomed him back with, “Okaerinasai.”  He just stood there in the genkan, unable to move his feet at all, unable to think at all, until her happy smile dropped into concern.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there in stupefied silence, but he eventually realizes that Hiashi is staring at him, waiting.

“Otou-san.  Good afternoon.”

He nods slightly, apparently satisfied, then turns away to face his tools.  They watch silently as he scoops matcha powder, then reaches out to pour the water into the chawan.

“Your wedding had such great timing!” Hanabi gushes, breaking the silence.  “The sakura were in full bloom!”

“Yes, we were so lucky to have such wonderful weather,” Hinata agrees.

Hiashi’s low voice comes over the light sound of the whisk against the sides of the chawan.  “It was a beautiful wedding.”

Hinata smiles.  “Thank you, Otou-sama.”

“And a beautiful couple!” Hanabi gleefully adds.

“Hanabi!” Hinata quietly scolds, but he can clearly hear the blush on her cheeks.

He knows he himself is too red to even talk, his nerves still shot with something akin to amazement or appreciation, perhaps somewhere in-between.

To sort through the emotion shining within his veins will take his time and attention, a task best saved for later.  

Not while they’re passing around the tea, taking smooth, bitter sips from the chawan together, and he realizes, he’s a part of this “casual” family ritual, too.  

Not while he’s struggling to stand, and Hinata helps him onto his tingling numb legs, and Hanabi laughs that he’ll have plenty of chances to get used to seiza, and Hiashi...his father...nods in amused agreement, too.

Not while they’re eating lunch together, and he recognizes that the dishes are plated and flavored the same way Hinata cooks for him.

He starts thinking about it much later when they’re leaving, and Hanabi tells him to not keep Hinata all to himself.

“We’ll be back soon,” he promises with a laugh, and it’s not a lie.

Hinata is “his,” just as he is “hers,” and he finds out that this sense of belonging to another extends beyond just themselves.

They visit often.

Her family home becomes his family home, a place where he finds himself welcomed and taken care of.

Hanabi becomes his sister, teasing him and stealing away his son whenever possible to play.

Hiashi becomes his father, teaching him all sorts of customs and manners, including formal tea ceremony, that suddenly become relevant in his Hokage duties.

He thinks about it often, that though he has always been Uzumaki, half of his heart is now Hyuuga.  He never “took” Hinata from her family.

Hinata took him.

His home is with her now.

[lightinhersmile]

PERSONALITY TYPE: ENFJ-A

[ For more detail, click READ MORE. ]

Introduction

Everything you do right now ripples outward and affects everyone. Your posture can shine your heart or transmit anxiety. Your breath can radiate love or muddy the room in depression. Your glance can awaken joy. Your words can inspire freedom. Your every act can open hearts and minds.

Protagonists are natural-born leaders, full of passion and charisma. Forming around two percent of the population, they are oftentimes our politicians, our coaches and our teachers, reaching out and inspiring others to achieve and to do good in the world. With a natural confidence that begets influence, Protagonists take a great deal of pride and joy in guiding others to work together to improve themselves and their community.

Firm Believers in the People

People are drawn to strong personalities, and Protagonists radiate authenticity, concern and altruism, unafraid to stand up and speak when they feel something needs to be said. They find it natural and easy to communicate with others, especially in person, and their Intuitive (N) trait helps people with the Protagonist personality type to reach every mind, be it through facts and logic or raw emotion. Protagonists easily see people’s motivations and seemingly disconnected events, and are able to bring these ideas together and communicate them as a common goal with an eloquence that is nothing short of mesmerizing.

The interest Protagonists have in others is genuine, almost to a fault – when they believe in someone, they can become too involved in the other person’s problems, place too much trust in them. Luckily, this trust tends to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, as Protagonists’ altruism and authenticity inspire those they care about to become better themselves. But if they aren’t careful, they can overextend their optimism, sometimes pushing others further than they’re ready or willing to go.

Protagonists are vulnerable to another snare as well: they have a tremendous capacity for reflecting on and analyzing their own feelings, but if they get too caught up in another person’s plight, they can develop a sort of emotional hypochondria, seeing other people’s problems in themselves, trying to fix something in themselves that isn’t wrong. If they get to a point where they are held back by limitations someone else is experiencing, it can hinder Protagonists’ ability to see past the dilemma and be of any help at all. When this happens, it’s important for Protagonists to pull back and use that self-reflection to distinguish between what they really feel, and what is a separate issue that needs to be looked at from another perspective.

...The Struggle Ought Not to Deter Us From the Support of a Cause We Believe to Be Just

Protagonists are genuine, caring people who talk the talk and walk the walk, and nothing makes them happier than leading the charge, uniting and motivating their team with infectious enthusiasm.

People with the Protagonist personality type are passionate altruists, sometimes even to a fault, and they are unlikely to be afraid to take the slings and arrows while standing up for the people and ideas they believe in. It is no wonder that many famous Protagonists are cultural or political icons – this personality type wants to lead the way to a brighter future, whether it’s by leading a nation to prosperity, or leading their little league softball team to a hard-fought victory.

Strengths & Weaknesses

Protagonist Strengths

Tolerant – Protagonists are true team players, and they recognize that that means listening to other peoples’ opinions, even when they contradict their own. They admit they don’t have all the answers, and are often receptive to dissent, so long as it remains constructive.

Reliable – The one thing that galls Protagonists the most is the idea of letting down a person or cause they believe in. If it’s possible, Protagonists can always be counted on to see it through.

Charismatic – Charm and popularity are qualities Protagonists have in spades. They instinctively know how to capture an audience, and pick up on mood and motivation in ways that allow them to communicate with reason, emotion, passion, restraint – whatever the situation calls for. Talented imitators, Protagonists are able to shift their tone and manner to reflect the needs of the audience, while still maintaining their own voice.

Altruistic – Uniting these qualities is Protagonists’ unyielding desire to do good in and for their communities, be it in their own home or the global stage. Warm and selfless, Protagonists genuinely believe that if they can just bring people together, they can do a world of good.

Natural Leaders – More than seeking authority themselves, Protagonists often end up in leadership roles at the request of others, cheered on by the many admirers of their strong personality and positive vision.

Protagonist Weaknesses

Overly Idealistic – People with the Protagonist personality type can be caught off guard as they find that, through circumstance or nature, or simple misunderstanding, people fight against them and defy the principles they’ve adopted, however well-intentioned they may be. They are more likely to feel pity for this opposition than anger, and can earn a reputation of naïveté.

Too Selfless – Protagonists can bury themselves in their hopeful promises, feeling others’ problems as their own and striving hard to meet their word. If they aren’t careful, they can spread themselves too thin, and be left unable to help anyone.

Too Sensitive – While receptive to criticism, seeing it as a tool for leading a better team, it’s easy for Protagonists to take it a little too much to heart. Their sensitivity to others means that Protagonists sometimes feel problems that aren’t their own and try to fix things they can’t fix, worrying if they are doing enough.

Fluctuating Self-Esteem – Protagonists define their self-esteem by whether they are able to live up to their ideals, and sometimes ask for criticism more out of insecurity than out of confidence, always wondering what they could do better. If they fail to meet a goal or to help someone they said they’d help, their self-confidence will undoubtedly plummet.

Struggle to Make Tough Decisions – If caught between a rock and a hard place, Protagonists can be stricken with paralysis, imagining all the consequences of their actions, especially if those consequences are humanitarian.

Romantic Relationships

People who share the Protagonist personality type feel most at home when they are in a relationship, and few types are more eager to establish a loving commitment with their chosen partners. Protagonists take dating and relationships seriously, selecting partners with an eye towards the long haul, rather than the more casual approach that might be expected from some types in the Explorer Role group. There’s really no greater joy for Protagonists than to help along the goals of someone they care about, and the interweaving of lives that a committed relationship represents is the perfect opportunity to do just that.

I’m a Slow Walker, but I Never Walk Back

Even in the dating phase, people with the Protagonist personality type are ready to show their commitment by taking the time and effort to establish themselves as dependable, trustworthy partners.

Their Intuitive (N) trait helps them to keep up with the rapidly shifting moods that are common early in relationships, but Protagonists will still rely on conversations about their mutual feelings, checking the pulse of the relationship by asking how things are, and if there’s anything else they can do. While this can help to keep conflict, which Protagonists abhor, to a minimum, they also risk being overbearing or needy – Protagonists should keep in mind that sometimes the only thing that’s wrong is being asked what’s wrong too often.

Protagonists don’t need much to be happy, just to know that their partner is happy, and for their partner to express that happiness through visible affection. Making others’ goals come to fruition is often the chiefest concern of Protagonists, and they will spare no effort in helping their partner to live the dream. If they aren’t careful though, Protagonists’ quest for their partners’ satisfaction can leave them neglecting their own needs, and it’s important for them to remember to express those needs on occasion, especially early on.

You Cannot Escape the Responsibility of Tomorrow by Evading It Today

Protagonists’ tendency to avoid any kind of conflict, sometimes even sacrificing their own principles to keep the peace, can lead to long-term problems if these efforts never fully resolve the underlying issues that they mask. On the other hand, people with the Protagonist personality type can sometimes be too preemptive in resolving their conflicts, asking for criticisms and suggestions in ways that convey neediness or insecurity. Protagonists invest their emotions wholly in their relationships, and are sometimes so eager to please that it actually undermines the relationship – this can lead to resentment, and even the failure of the relationship. When this happens, Protagonists experience strong senses of guilt and betrayal, as they see all their efforts slip away.

If potential partners appreciate these qualities though, and make an effort themselves to look after the needs of their Protagonist partners, they will enjoy long, happy, passionate relationships. Protagonists are known to be dependable lovers, perhaps more interested in routine and stability than spontaneity in their sex lives, but always dedicated to the selfless satisfaction of their partners. Ultimately, Protagonist personality types believe that the only true happiness is mutual happiness, and that’s the stuff successful relationships are made of.

Friendships

When it comes to friendships, Protagonists are anything but passive. While some personality types may accept the circumstantial highs and lows of friendship, their feelings waxing and waning with the times, Protagonists will put active effort into maintaining these connections, viewing them as substantial and important, not something to let slip away through laziness or inattention.

This philosophy of genuine connection is core to the Protagonist personality type, and while it is visible in the workplace and in romance, it is clearest in the breadth and depth of Protagonist friendships.

All My Life I Have Tried to Pluck a Thistle and Plant a Flower Wherever the Flower Would Grow...

People with the Protagonist personality type take genuine pleasure in getting to know other people, and have no trouble talking with people of all types and modes of thought. Even in disagreement, other perspectives are fascinating to Protagonists – though like most people, they connect best with individuals who share their principles and ideals, and types in Diplomat and Analyst Role groups are best able to explore Protagonists’ viewpoints with them, which are simply too idealistic for most. It is with these closest friends that Protagonists will truly open up, keeping their many other connections in a realm of lighthearted but genuine support and encouragement.

Others truly value their Protagonist friends, appreciating the warmth, kindness, and sincere optimism and cheer they bring to the table. Protagonists want to be the best friends possible, and it shows in how they work to find out not just the superficial interests of their friends, but their strengths, passions, hopes and dreams. Nothing makes Protagonists happier than to see the people they care about do well, and they are more than happy to take their own time and energy to help make it happen.

We Should Be Too Big to Take Offense, and Too Noble to Give It

While Protagonists enjoy lending this helping hand, other personality types may simply not have the energy or drive to keep up with it – creating further strain, people with the Protagonist personality type can become offended if their efforts aren’t reciprocated when the opportunity arises. Ultimately, Protagonists’ give and take can become stifling to types who are more interested in the moment than the future, or who simply have Identities that rest firmly on the Assertive side, making them content with who they are and uninterested in the sort of self-improvement and goal-setting that Protagonists hold so dear.

When this happens Protagonist personalities can be critical, if they believe it necessary. While usually tactful and often helpful, if their friend is already annoyed by Protagonists’ attempts to push them forward, it can simply cause them to dig in their heels further. Protagonists should try to avoid taking this personally when it happens, and relax their inflexibility into an occasional “live and let live” attitude.

Ultimately though, Protagonists will find that their excitement and unyielding optimism will yield them many satisfying relationships with people who appreciate and share their vision and authenticity. The joy Protagonists take in moving things forward means that there is always a sense of purpose behind their friendships, creating bonds that are not easily shaken.

Parenthood

As natural leaders, Protagonists make excellent parents, striving to strike a balance between being encouraging and supportive friends to their children, while also working to instill strong values and a sense of personal responsibility. If there’s one strong trend with the Protagonist personality type, it’s that they are a bedrock of empathetic support, not bullheadedly telling people what they ought to do, but helping them to explore their options and encouraging them to follow their hearts.

Protagonist parents will encourage their children to explore and grow, recognizing and appreciating the individuality of the people they bring into this world and help to raise.

Whatever You Are, Be a Good One

Protagonist parents take pride in nurturing and inspiring strong values, and they take care to ensure that the basis for these values comes from understanding, not blind obedience. Whatever their children need in order to learn and grow, Protagonist parents give the time and energy necessary to provide it. While in their weaker moments they may succumb to more manipulative behavior, Protagonists mostly rely on their charm and idealism to make sure their children take these lessons to heart.

Owing to their aversion to conflict, Protagonist parents strive to ensure that their homes provide a safe and conflict-free environment. While they can deliver criticism, it’s not Protagonists’ strong suit, and laying down the occasionally necessary discipline won’t come naturally. But, people with the Protagonist personality type have high standards for their children, encouraging them to be the best they can be, and when these confrontations do happen, they try to frame the lessons as archetypes, moral constants in life which they hope their children will embrace.

As their children enter adolescence, they begin to truly make their own decisions, sometimes contrary to what their parents want – while Protagonists will do their best to meet this with grace and humor, they can feel hurt, and even unloved, in the face of this rebellion. Protagonists are sensitive, and if their child goes so far as to launch into criticisms, they may become truly upset, digging in their heels and locking horns.

Luckily, these occasions will likely be rare. Protagonists’ intuition gives them a talent for understanding, and regardless of the heat of the moment, their children will move on, remembering the genuine warmth, care, love and encouragement they’ve always received from their Protagonist parents. They grow up feeling the lessons that have been woven into the fabric of their character, and recognize that they are the better for their parents’ efforts.

Career Paths

When it comes to finding a career, people with the Protagonist personality type cast their eyes towards anything that lets them do what they love most – helping other people! Lucky for them, people like being helped, and are even willing to pay for it, which means that Protagonists are rarely wanting for inspiration and opportunity in their search for meaningful work.

Don’t Worry When You Are Not Recognized, but Strive to Be Worthy of Recognition

Protagonists take a genuine interest in other people, approaching them with warm sociability and a helpful earnestness that rarely goes unnoticed. Altruistic careers like social and religious work, teaching, counseling, and advising of all sorts are popular avenues, giving people with the Protagonist personality type a chance to help others learn, grow, and become more independent. This attitude, alongside their social skills, emotional intelligence and tendency to be “that person who knows everybody”, can be adapted to quite a range of other careers as well, making Protagonists natural HR administrators, event coordinators, and politicians – anything that helps a community or organization to operate more smoothly.

To top it all off, Protagonists are able to express themselves both creatively and honestly, allowing them to approach positions as sales representatives and advertising consultants from a certain idealistic perspective, intuitively picking up on the needs and wants of their customers, and working to make them happier. However, Protagonists need to make sure they get to focus on people, not systems and spreadsheets, and they are unlikely to have the stomach for making the sort of decisions required in corporate governance positions – they will feel haunted, knowing that their decision cost someone their job, or that their product cost someone their life.

Having a preference for Intuitive (N) trait over its Observant (S) counterpart also means that careers demanding exceptional situational awareness, such as law enforcement, military service, and emergency response, will cause Protagonists to burn out quickly. While great at organizing willing parties and winning over skeptics, in dangerous situations Protagonists just won’t be able to maintain the sort of focus on their immediate physical surroundings that they inevitably demand of themselves hour after hour, day after day.

Always Bear in Mind That Your Own Resolution to Succeed Is More Important Than Any Other

It makes a great deal more sense for Protagonists to be the force keeping these vital services organized and running well, taking their long-term views, people skills and idealism, and using them to shape the situation on the ground, while more physical personality types manage the moment-to-moment crises. People with the Protagonist personality type are always up for a good challenge – and nothing thrills them quite like helping others. But while willing to train the necessary skills, Protagonists will always show an underlying preference for the sort of help that draws a positive long-term trend, that effects change that really sticks.

At the heart of it, Protagonists need to see how the story ends, to feel and experience the gratitude and appreciation of the people they’ve helped in order to be happy.

Careers operating behind enemy lines and arriving at the scene of the crime too late to help will simply weigh on Protagonists’ sensitive hearts and minds, especially if criticized despite their efforts. On the other hand, Protagonists are a driven, versatile group, and that same vision that pulls them towards administration and politics can help them focus through the stress of the moment, knowing that each second of effort contributes to something bigger than themselves.

Workplace Habits

People with the Protagonist personality type are intelligent, warm, idealistic, charismatic, creative, social... With this wind at their backs, Protagonists are able to thrive in many diverse roles, at any level of seniority. Moreover, they are simply likeable people, and this quality propels them to success wherever they have a chance to work with others.

Protagonist Subordinates

As subordinates, Protagonists will often underestimate themselves – nevertheless, they quickly make an impression on their managers. Quick learners and excellent multitaskers, people with the Protagonist personality type are able to take on multiple responsibilities with competence and good cheer. Protagonists are hardworking, reliable and eager to help – but this can all be a double-edged sword, as some managers will take advantage of Protagonists’ excellent quality of character by making too many requests and overburdening their Protagonist subordinates with extra work. Protagonists are conflict-averse and try to avoid unnecessary criticism, and in all likelihood will accept these extra tasks in an attempt to maintain a positive impression and frictionless environment.

Protagonist Colleagues

As colleagues, Protagonists’ desire to assist and cooperate is even more evident as they draw their coworkers into teams where everyone can feel comfortable expressing their opinions and suggestions, working together to develop win-win situations that get the job done. Protagonists’ tolerance, open-mindedness and easy sociability make it easy for them to relate to their colleagues, but also make it perhaps a little too easy for their colleagues to shift their problems onto Protagonists’ plates. People with the Protagonist personality type are sensitive to the needs of others, and their role as a social nexus means that problems inevitably find their way to Protagonists’ doorsteps, where colleagues will find a willing, if overburdened, associate.

Protagonist Managers

While perfectly capable as subordinates and colleagues, Protagonists’ true calling, where their capacity for insightful and inspiring communication and sensitivity to the needs of others really shows, is in managing teams. As managers, Protagonists combine their skill in recognizing individual motivations with their natural charisma to not only push their teams and projects forward, but to make their teams want to push forward. They may sometimes stoop to manipulation, the alternative often being a more direct confrontation, but Protagonists’ end goal is always to get done what they set out to do in a way that leaves everyone involved satisfied with their roles and the results they achieved together.

Conclusion

Few personality types are as inspiring and charismatic as Protagonists. Their idealism and vision allow Protagonists to overcome many challenging obstacles, more often than not brightening the lives of those around them. Protagonists’ imagination is invaluable in many areas, including their own personal growth.

Yet Protagonists can be easily tripped up in areas where idealism and altruism are more of a liability than an asset. Whether it is finding (or keeping) a partner, staying calm under pressure, reaching dazzling heights on the career ladder or making difficult decisions, Protagonists need to put in a conscious effort to develop their weaker traits and additional skills.

[stacijya]

K personality break down!

I spent way too much time on this but here we go! (am willing to do other idols as well)

K has such a strong personality. To me its a beautiful thing. I think he is passionate, kind, hard working, and exudes natural confidence that I find very magnetic. However, I can see how some people may misunderstand that. So, in response to some “fans” who seem to not understand this beautiful creature for all his complexity and nuances, and armed with the information available on his profile, have researched and put together a breakdown of the facets of his personality. 

(disclaimer, I cannot pretend to know K on a personal level. I used parts of articles and descriptions that I thought best described his interactions within ILAND and that could be supported by i-cam footage or clips from the actual show.) 

Zodiac: Ox (1997)

Much like the image of an Ox, people born in this year tend to be persistent, honest, and straightforward. They are “talent leaders with strong faith, and strong devotion to work. They are contemplative before taking actions, not easily affected by the surroundings but just follow their concept and ability.” (travelchinaguide.com)

This is most likely where K gets the image of being arrogant or  stubborn. While this might be the undercurrent, I think the other facets of his personality are more often highlighted. Mind you Jungkook, Jaehyun, Cha Eunwoo, Mingyu, and Yugyeom are all Ox’s as well. These people hardly strike me as arrogant now, though I can see their stubborness and devotion (all positive ways). 

Blood Type: A

K, according to his profile, is blood type A which is often described as sensitive, passionate, clever, loyal, calm, consistent, and perfectionist. However type A’s can also be stubborn and overly sensitive. Generally, type A’s are stoic, majestic  and confident, three qualities that can often be misinterpreted as intimidating or rude when in actuality they are very sensitive and caring as well. 

Star Sign: Libra-Scorpio cusp

Libras are known for their flirtatious magnetism while scorpios are known for passion and power. This article sums it up pretty perfectly so I’ll just post a screenshot: 

Libra-scorpio cusps are also known for their fierce loyalty to friends and family. They would willingly sacrifice themselves for their people. They are a combo of water and air which means they blend together the free spirited nature of an air sign with the calm and honest nature of a water sign. Sometimes their honesty can get away from them however and they have to take care not to hurt anyone with their words. 

MBTI: ENFP

K is an ENFP, also known as the Campaigner or the Creative Idealist. They move through the world in a way that draws natural attention. They have a wonderful knack for dividing work from play. They are driven idealists while working but passionate free spirits in their down time. 

Function stacks: extroverted intuition, introverted feeling, extroverted thinking, and introverted sensing. (Look up cognitive functions and function stacks if you need more context). This is also known as NeFi types which prioritize extroverted intuition and introverted feeling. 

ENFPs are passionate, motivating, and versatile. Their primary function is extroverted intuition which means they pull meaning and draw connections out of the social world (relationships and interactions). They then use those meanings to better understand people, their motivations, and their true intentions(Fi). ENFx’s highly value genuine and honest people who don’t have ulterior motives or forced personas. They are very open and honest and expect the same returned to them. 

Also, ENFP’s are very creative, independent people who struggle to work within rigid structures and hierarchies. They hate being micromanaged and would prefer to have the time and space to do the work. Too much micromanagement can cause stress in an ENFP which often leads them to neglect their personal health and happiness. They tend to give more than others are able to reciprocate. 

But above all, ENFPs are kind. They “are very emotional and sensitive, and when they step on someones toes, they both feel it.” (16 personalities). They love open communication and want to listen as well. They really believe that everyone should take the time to recognize and express their emotions. 

Age Hierarchy in Japan vs Korea:

(I am not Korean or Japanese so I looked up scholarly articles to help me with this section. But, for context, I have been to both countries) 

In broad terms, Korea and Japan both have a system of age hierarchy that stems from Confucianism. The general idea is that older people, or people in positions of power, are to be highly respected by the younger generation or my subordinates. However, Japan and Korea have different interpretations of this ideal. 

The Japanese version is focused on “Senpai-Kohai” (student teacher) relationship. This is expressed in many contexts even outside of school. The idea is that the older generation is responsible for teaching the younger generation manners and skills. The Younger generation is expected to listen and learn all the lessons of their teacher or mentor. These roles aren’t always associated with age however. In fact, in recent years, the younger generations, especially in work places, have somewhat turned their backs on the idea that an older colleague is deserving of more honor simply because of their age. In some instances, Kohais will fake their respect for their senpais. Many companies have been forced to abandon this ideal all together, promoting and giving raises to workers who are more skilled rather than workers who are older, thus abandoning age in their hierarchy of honor. 

In Korea, however, the ideals of an age hierarchy are intenched much deeper in the culture. The age hierarchy is encouraged by confucianism but enforced by language and military culture. The korean language is organized around the idea of informal and formal speech in reference to someones age. One of the first questions asked in a conversation with a new person is “what is your age?” This established the social context and solidifies they type of speech a person must use. Older people must be spoken to with formal speech unless they give express permission otherwise. This is also enforced by military culture and the concepts of hoobae (subordinate) and sunbae (older/more experienced person). These roles have specific social expectations attached to them and carry significant weight. 

Citations: 

https://www.nst.com.my/opinion/letters/2018/08/404088/age-means-respect-japan-culture

http://evoice.ewha.ac.kr/news/articleView.html?idxno=1293

Physical Appearance

K is physically intimidating, no denying that. He’s tall, athletically built, outwardly confident, and mature. He shows his emotions plainly on his face and takes up a lot of space with his body and energy. His presence is felt regardless of where he is in a room. 

How it all works together

K is a wonderful person, but he has many aspects about his personality, culture, and appearance that can be misinterpreted as intimidating. Again, not only is he physically dominate in the space, his libra-scorpio cusp trait also make him ooze enigmatic appeal,  and his ENFP fills him with passion and drive. He dislikes hierarchy yet must work within a very hierarchical system and culture. He is the oldest among people much younger than him. He’s attempting to use his NeFi personality to create open bonds with many people who are afraid to share their feelings with him. He doesn’t speak enough Korean to fully express his emotions despite that being a fundamental part of his personality. 

K is enigmatic and mysterious with a combination of traits that are easily misunderstood. Every person, regardless of their personality, can grow and work through weaknesses, but, please be kind to them on their journey. We are all humans who must grow and learn as we develop and we can only hope that grace is granted to us as well. So give K grace as he learns to adapt to his surrounding, just as we gave grace to Heeseung, Jay, Niki, and all the others. 

I hope fans of K appreciate him even more and I hope those who doubt him can be more understanding of his perspective. Spread love not hate! 

[adriennemareebrown]

what do we do with unthinkable thoughts?

who are we in our unthinkable thinking moments?

how do we adapt together if the clues to our next pivot are unthinkable?

maybe sharing these unthinkable thoughts will help?

i’ll start with the scariest unthinkable thought for me, which is that maybe we are in a state of collective suicidal ideation – the state of thinking about, even planning, the end of us. i have thought this thought many times, for years.

i have ideated suicide in the past, thought it didn’t much matter if i was here or not, and so it didn’t much matter how i treated myself or others. when i was in that phase of ambiguous commitment to life, i took risks with my mind and body that i couldn’t imagine taking now. i practiced cynicism and hopelessness, as if they were the measures of humor, of intelligence. it was a brief phase of my life, but during that time i believed in nothing.

i tried to exit.

i then had to choose life from deep within me. that’s why i’m still here. i want to live. i want to want to live. i think everyone chooses to move towards life or away from it, though some don’t realize that they are making the choice. capitalism makes it hard to see your own direction.

as i have watched the world respond to the pandemic, the borders between nations shift meaning in my mind. i can see which countries choose life, and which don’t. which countries have a majority life-minded citizenship, which countries/regions elect leaders who care for them. which countries pivot at the highest governmental level to protect their people, to guide their people to protect themselves – places with a variety of economies and exposure have found ways to move towards life.

i wonder about the movements in those countries, what it might feel like to live and organize in a place that chooses life.

choosing life means being able to admit we are wrong when new information presents itself about the dangers around and amongst us.

choosing life means committing to the adaptations to stay alive, rather than the stubbornness to stay the same.

the u.s., as a nation, does not choose, or love, life. not yet, and possibly never before now.

other nations, many amongst the most developed in the world, initially shrugged at COVID-19. then they adapted.

the u.s. response has been more egregious than a shrug; it’s been a flagrant disregard, running towards a category five pandemic tornado. it’s meant that those of us who want to live are watching in horror as the mutating coronavirus fills in the pre-existing grooves of collective suicidal ideation and the resistance of those who love life – with climate deniers and corporate polluters on one side, environmental and climate justice movements on the other. white supremacists and patriarchs on one side, solidarity movements in race, ethnicity, class, gender, ability and sexuality arenas on the other.

we are a nation not divided but torn – pulled towards life and pulled towards death.

when i get that torn feeling within, which in recent years comes very rarely, in twinges and whisps, i now recognize it as the suicidal tendency in me. it’s not the truth, not the only truth, not my truth, not the choice i want to make. but the tendency is wiley, using the voices of people i love to make itself heard. i have to be vigilant, listen between the lines, ask: who would benefit from my absence? who benefits from my self-doubt?

our nation has a tendency towards its own destruction, a doubt of its right to exist, that is rooted in our foundation.

i think our movements struggle inside this larger national suicidal tendency – we want to grow, but at the same time some of us don’t believe we will all get there, or get anywhere better, in time. that we can’t, and won’t, put forth the effort.

maybe the idea of our future generations experiencing peace and abundance is not enough to keep us going.

maybe we just need some more immediate signs of life.

maybe we are terrified.

i, we, have to be able to discern what is me/us, and what is fear.

which leads to my next unthinkable thought: do i really know the difference between my discernment and my fear?

my dear friend Malkia teaches me that there is the fear intended to save your life, vs fear intended to end it. what i mean by discernment is the set of noticings, fears, wisdoms, deductions, and gut tremblings that want to save, or even just improve, my life, versus the fear that makes me unable to do anything, which makes me unable to draw on my life force to take action.

do i think i am being discerning when i am actually frozen in place, scared to change?

am i too scared of standing out from the crowd to pause and discern right action?

am i acting from terror?

am i able to discern a decision or action that makes sense?

i was in italy when the pandemic really became clear as a threat to my well-being. i went to one of the places i felt at home. and once i got there, i again found myself freezing, in denial of next moves, as everyone asked me where i was and when i was going home-home or elsewhere.

in my frozen state i would hear just a bit of the news, the new numbers of crisis, and shake my head at the idiots in office, and then numb back out. having quickly identified who i blamed, i was even less able to feel any agency in me. i froze and delayed and froze until i was overwhelmed by the inquiries.

then i had an excellent therapy session where i noticed:

oh. i am afraid. i am afraid that the pandemic is on the rise everywhere and i am going to leave safety for a dangerous unknown. oh! i don’t know what to do!

as soon as i acknowledged i was afraid i was able to move into discernment. my fear became data – i am afraid because the numbers are clear that i am in a safer place than any of the locations i am considering going to. i should stay put, not because i am afraid, but because, as my fear is actually screaming on behalf of my informed intuition, this is the best place to be in this moment.

my fear made me freeze until i had to move. therapy helped me notice i was afraid, deepen my breath, and return to discernment.

i see the same vacillation between fear and discernment in our movements right now, with no therapist in sight.

we are afraid of being hurt, afraid because we have been hurt, afraid because we have caused hurt, afraid because we live in a world that wants to hurt us whether we have hurt others or not, just based on who we are, on any otherness from some long-ago determined norm. supremacy is our ongoing pandemic. it partners with every other sickness to tear us from life, or from lives worth living.

so we stay put and scream into the void, moving our rage across the internet like a tornado that, without discernment, sucks up all in its path for destruction.

our emotions and need for control are heightened during this pandemic – we are stuck in our houses or endangering ourselves to go out and work, terrified and angry at the loss of our plans and normalcy, terrified and angry at living under the oppressive rule of an administration that does not love us and that is racist and ignorant and violent. grieving our unnecessary dead, many of whom are dying alone, unheld by us. we are full of justified rage. and we want to release that rage. and one really fast and easy way to do this is what i experience as a salem witch trial, a false bid for justice, or the even faster method of lynching.

before i move on, i need to acknowledge that these are extreme terms, terms that refer to systems of death. i know that i am speaking of a social destruction, a significantly less extreme consequence – and i am trying to place my finger on a feeling of punitive justice unleashed in our movements.

in our movements, this feeling of punitive justice comes in the wake of call outs of leaders or those with some increased exposure or access. in the past week i have seen people called out for embodying white supremacy in the workplace, for causing repeated or one-time sexual harm, for physical, emotional or digital abuse, for appropriation of ideas and images, for patriarchy, for ableism, for being dishonest, for saying harmful things a decade ago, for doing things that were later understood as harm – for embodying all of the pain that supremacy holds. the call outs generally share one side of what’s happened and then call for immediate consequences. and within a day, the call out is everywhere, the cycle of blame and shame activated, and whoever was called out has begun being punished.

we are afraid, and we think it will assuage our fears and make us safer if we can clarify an enemy, a someone outside of ourselves who is to blame, who is guilty, who is the origin of harm. we can get spun into such frenzy in our fear that we don’t even realize we are deploying the master’s tools.

ah, audre, come in.

we’ve always known lynch mobs are a master’s tool. meaning: moving as an angry mob, sparked by fear (often unfounded or misguided) with the power to issue instant judgment and instant punishment. these are master’s tools.

we in movements for justice didn’t create lynch mobs. we didn’t create witch trials. we didn’t create this punitive system of justice. we didn’t create the state, we didn’t choose to be socialized within it. we want to dismantle these systems of mass harm, and i know that most of us have no intention of ever mimicking state processes of navigating justice.

the master’s tools feel good to use, groove in the hand easily from repeated use and training. but they are often blunt and senseless.

unless we have a true analysis of abolition and dismantling systems of oppression, we will not realize what’s in our hands, we will never put the master’s tools down and figure out what our tools are and can be.

oh – but you can’t say it’s a salem witch trial if it’s all Black and Brown and queer and trans people doing it…

oh – you can’t call it a lynching, because of the power dynamics! it’s a move against someone with more power.

but then – my third unthinkable thought – why does it feel like that? why do our movements more and more often feel like angry mobs moving against ourselves? and what is at stake because of it? why does it feel like someone pointing at someone else and saying: that person is harmful! and with no questions or process or time or breath, we are collectively punishing them?

sometimes we even do it with the language of transformative justice: claiming that we are going to give them room to grow. they need to disappear completely to be accountable. we are publicly shaming them so that they will learn to be better.

underneath this logic i hear: we are dunking her in the water to see if she drowns, because if she drowns then we know she wasn’t a witch. we are hanging him from the tree because then we can pretend we have exorcised ‘bad’ from our town. we are lynching to affirm our rightness.

which isn’t to say that some of the accused aren’t raging white supremacists in movement clothing. or abusers who have slipped through the fingers of accountability. or shady in some other way.

which isn’t to say that a public accounting of harm, and consequences, aren’t necessarily the correct move.

which isn’t to say we don’t believe survivors. because we must.

but how do we believe survivors and still be abolitionist? and still practice transformative justice?

to start with, i have been trying to discern when a call out feels powerful, like the necessary move, versus when it feels like the witch trial/lynch mob energy is leading.

it feels powerful when there have been private efforts for accountability. it feels powerful when survivors are being supported. it feels necessary when the accused has avoided accountability, particularly (but not exclusively) if they have continued to cause harm. it feels necessary when the accused person has significantly more power than the accuser(s) and is using that power to avoid accountability. it feels powerful when the demand is process and consequence based.

it feels like a lynch mob when there are no questions asked. when the survivor’s healing takes a back seat. when there is no attempt to have a private process. when there is no time between accusation and the call for consequences. and when the only consequence is for the accused to cease to exist. when the accused is from one or more oppressed identities. when it feels performative. when the person accused of causing harm does what the survivor/crowd demands, but we keep pulling up the rope.

no inquiry, no questions, no acceptance of accountability, no jury, no time for the learning and unlearning necessary for authentic change…just instant and often unsatisfactory consequences.

a moment on this: one of the main demands i see in call outs is for a public apology. to expect a coherent authentic apology from someone who has been forcibly removed from power or credibility feels like a set up. usually they issue some pr sounding thing and we use that paper as more fuel for the fire at their feet.

i have seen the convoluted denial-accountability-nonapology message from many an accused harm doer, especially when physical or sexual harm is involved. sometimes they are claiming innocence, sometimes they are admitting to some harm, rarely at the level of the accusation. sometimes they say they tried to have a process but it didn’t work, or they were denied. who knows what they mean by process, who knows if the accuser was ready for a process, who knows what actually happened between them, the relational context of the instance or pattern of harm, who knows?

the truth about sexual assault and rape and patriarchy and white supremacy and other abuses of power is that we are swimming in them, in a society that has long normalized them, and that they often play out intimately.

the truth is, sometimes it takes a long time for us to realize the harm that has happened to us.

and longer to realize we have caused harm to others.

the truth is, it isn’t unusual to only realize harm happened in hindsight, with more perspective and politicization.

but there’s more truth, too.

the additional truth is, right now we have the time.

the additional truth is, even though we want to help the survivor, we love obsessing over and punishing ‘villains’. we end up putting more of our collective attention on punishing those accused of causing harm than supporting and centering the healing of survivors.

the additional truth is, we want to distance ourselves from those who cause harm, and we are steeped in a punitive culture which, right now, is normalizing a methodology of ‘punish first, ask questions later’, which is a witch trial, lynching, master’s tool methodology. which, because we are in the age of social media, we now have a way to practice very publicly.

supremacy is the original pandemic, an infectious disease that quietly roots into each of us. we might have supremacy due to race, citizenship, gender, class, ableism, age, access, fame, or other areas where we feel justified to cause harm without consequence, sometimes without even realizing we’ve caused harm, because supremacy is a numbing and narrowing disease.

i want us to let go of the narrowness of innocence, widen our understanding of how harm moves through us. i want us to see individual acts of harm as symptoms of systemic harm, and to do what we can to dismantle the systems and get as many of us free as possible.

often a call out comes because the disease has reached an acute state in someone, is festering in hiding, is actively causing harm. i want us to see the difference between the human and the disease, to see what we are afraid of, in others and in ourselves, and discern a path that actually addresses the root of our justified fears.

this is not a case against call outs – there is absolutely a need for certain call outs – when power is greatly imbalanced and multiple efforts have been made to stop ongoing harm, when someone accused of harm won’t participate in community accountability processes, the call out is a way of pulling an emergency brake.

but it should be a last option. the consequences of being called out at this point are extremely dire and imprecise. the presence of infiltration in our movements is so documented and prevalent. call outs are an incredible modern tool for those who are not committed to movements to use against those having impact.

right now calling someone out online seems like first/only option for a lot of people.

i can’t help but wonder who benefits from movements that engage in public infighting, blame, shame and knee jerk call outs? i can’t help but see the state grinning, gathering all the data it needs, watching us weaken ourselves. meanwhile, the harm continues.

i don’t find it satisfying, and i don’t think it is transformative to publicly call people out for instant consequences with no attempt at a conversation, mediation, boundary setting or a community accountability process with a limited number of known participants.

it doesn’t make sense to say ‘believe all survivors’ if we don’t also remember that most of us are survivors, which includes most people who cause harm. what we mean is we are tired of being silenced, dismissed, powerless in our pain, hurt over and over. yes. but being loud is different from being whole, or even being heard, being cared for, being comforted, being healed. being loud is different from being just. being able to destroy is different from being able to generate a future where harm isn’t happening all around us.

we are terrified of how widespread and active harm is, and it makes us want to point the finger and quickly remove those we can identify as bad. we want to protect each other from those who cause harm.

many of us seem to worry that if we don’t immediately jump on whatever mob wagon has pulled up in our dms, that we will be next to be called out, or called a rape apologist or a white person whisperer or an internalized misogynist, or just disposed of for refusing to group think and then group act. online, we perform solidarity for strangers rather than engaging in hard conversations with comrades.

we are fearful of taking the time to be discerning, because then we may have to recognize that any of us could be seen as harmdoers. and when we are discerning, when we do step up to say wait, let’s get understanding here, we risk becoming the new target, viewed as another accomplice to harm instead of understood as a comrade in ending harm.

perhaps, most dangerously, we are, all together now, teetering on the edge of hopelessness. collective suicidal ideation, pandemic burnout, 45-in-office burnout, climate catastrophe burnout and other exhaustions have us spent and flailing, especially if we are caught in reactive loops (which include the culture of multiple daily call outs) instead of purposeful adaptations. some of us are losing hope, tossed by the tornado, ungrounded and uprooted by the pace of change, seeking something tangible we can do, control, hold, throw away.

the kind of callouts we are currently engaging in do not necessarily think about movements’ needs as a whole. movements need to grow and deepen, we need to ‘transform ourselves to transform the world’*, to ‘be transformed in the service of the work’**. movements need to become the practice ground for what we are healing towards, co-creating. movements are responsible for embodying what we are inviting our people into. we need the people within our movements, all socialized into and by unjust systems, to be on liberation paths. not already free, but practicing freedom every day. not already beyond harm, but accountable for doing our individual and internal work to end harm, which includes actively working to gain awareness of the ways we can and have harmed each other, and ending those cycles in ourselves and our communities.

knee jerk call outs say: those who cause harm cannot change. they must be eradicated. the bad things in the world cannot change, we must disappear the bad until there is only good left.

but one layer under that, what i hear is:

we cannot change.

we do not believe we can create compelling pathways from being harm doers to being healed, to growing.

we do not believe we can hold the complexity of a gray situation.

we do not believe in our own complexity.

we can only handle binary thinking: good/bad, innocent/guilty, angel/abuser, black/white, etc.

it is a different kind of suicide, to attack one part of ourselves at a time. cancer does this, i have seen it – oh it’s in the throat, now it’s in the lungs, now it’s in the bones. when we engage in knee jerk call outs and instant consequences with no process, we become a cancer unto ourselves, unto movements and communities. we become the toxicity we long to heal. we become a tool of harm when we are trying to be, and i think meant to be, a balm.

oh unthinkable thoughts. now that i have thought you, it becomes clear to me that all of you are rooted in a singular longing: i want us to want to live.

i want us to want to live in this world, in this time, together.

i want us to love this planet and this species, at this time.

i want us to see ourselves as larger than just individuals randomly pinging around in a world that will never care for us.

i want us to see ourselves as a murmuration of creatures who are, as far as we know right now, unique in all the universe. each cell, each individual body, itself a unique part of this unique complexity.

i want us not to waste the time we have together.

i want us to look at each other with the eyes of interdependence, such that when someone causes harm, we find the gentle parent inside of us who can use a voice of accountability, while also bringing curiosity – ‘why did you cause harm? do you know? do you know other options? apologize.’ that we can set boundaries that don’t require the disappearance of other survivors. that we can act towards accountability with the touch of love. that when someone falls behind, we can use a parent’s voice of discipline while also picking them up and carrying them for a while if needed.

i want us to adapt from systems of oppression and punishment to systems of uplifting and transforming.

i want us to notice that this is a moment when we need to choose life, not surrender to the incompetence and hopelessness of our national leadership.

i want us to be discerning.

i want our movement to feel like a vibrant, accountable space where causing harm does not mean you are excluded immediately and eternally from healing, justice, community or belonging.

i want us to grow lots and lots of skill at holding the processes by which we mend the wounds in our communities and ourselves.

i want satisfying consequences that actually end cycles of harm, generate safety and deepen movement.

i want us to hold Black humanity to the highest degree of protection, even when we have caused harm. i want us to see each other’s trauma-induced behavior as ancestral and impermanent, even as we hold each other accountable.

i want us to be particularly rigorous about holding complexity and accountability well for Black people in our movement communities who are already struggling to keep our heads above water and build trust and move towards life under the intersecting weights of white supremacy, racialized capitalism, police brutality, philanthropic competition culture, and lack of healing support.

i never want to see us initiate processes for Black accountability where those who are not invested in Black life can see it, store it, weaponize it. replace Black in that sentence with any other oppressed peoples and i still feel the same way. it is not strategic, and, again, it is rarely satisfying.

i want us to ask who benefits from our hopelessness, and to deny our oppressors the satisfaction of getting to see our pain. i want them to wonder how we foment such consistent and deep solidarity and unlearning. i want our infiltrators to be astounded into their own transformations, having failed to tear us apart.

i want us to acknowledge that the supremacy and suicidal ideation and hopelessness and harm are everywhere, and make moves that truly allow us to heal into wholeness.

because against all odds in space and time? we. are. winning.

we are winning in spite of the tsunami of pressures against us. we are moving towards life in spite of everything that wants us to give up.

we in movement must learn to choose life even in conflict, composting the bad behaviors while holding the beating hearts.

choosing life includes asking: do i have the necessary information to form an opinion? do i have the time to seek understanding? what does the survivor need? did a conversation/process already happen? is a conversation/process possible? how do we be abolitionist while gaining accountability here? who benefits from me doubting that movement can hold this? who could hold this well? what will end the cycle of harm here?

we must learn to do this before there is no one left to call out, or call we, or call us.

….

thank you deeply to shira hassan and malkia devich cyril for loving feedback on this piece.

* grace lee Boggs ** mary hooks

[nobodyfamousposts]

Hive-Minded Bad End

Per popular request: The Hive Wins.

It was an observatory once. A circular room with a single ornate window of beautiful craftsmanship. With a few mechanisms, it could be positioned perfectly for viewing any part of the night sky. Anyone would say it was a work of art.

Such a shame what it ended up being used for, though.

A blond male stood within the empty room looking out the now open window to the bigger city. A city that even at that moment was undergoing some rather great changes. He had a role in the current state of things, and felt pride in that.

If things had been different—if none of this had happened, what would he be doing now? Still going about his days restricted and isolated? Still fighting a hopeless battle? Still wishing for things that would never be?

“Sir.”

Adrien was pulled from his musings by a familiar voice, though he barely gave her a glance.

“Nathalie.” He greeted verbally. It was unnecessary now to bother with her name now, but it was only polite, regardless of her current status. “Have you found him?”

“No, sir,” Nathalie replied monotonously. “He managed to escape the Trackers. The last reports are that he has been making his way out the city. Some have indicated he was in the company of a group.”

That man. Of course he could never quit. He felt rage and resentment starting to boil under his skin, but forced himself to keep calm. He didn’t need to start an alarm.

“I see. Keep searching. They haven’t left the city yet. And knowing him, it may be a ruse to circle back around.” Knowing him, he wouldn’t be content to simply let this go. For once, Adrien hoped that would be the case.

Oh, not out of any desire for the man’s pathetic excuse for “love”, no, but just so he could thank him for the one worthwhile gift Gabriel had ever bestowed unto him before using that very gift to remove the man from his life once and for all.

Conversion was too kind of a fate for the man who was Hawk Moth. After all the misery and torment he had caused, even the listless life of a Drone was more than he deserved. But the question was still what to do with him once they found him? Perhaps Adrien could present his head to his Lady as a gift?

No, she wouldn’t like that. What would she do with it, anyway? Other than let him keep it to bat around at every so often? He’d get bored soon enough. And honestly, despite the initial humor of it, he wouldn’t want any reminder of the man anyway.

Not to mention that it would simply make a mess everywhere and start to smell after a time. They were so much more sensitive to such things now. Apparently blood was more of an annoyance to get out of carpet than he’d thought and the smell of even a few drops remained despite attempts to remove or cover it.

Oh well, carpets could be replaced easily enough.

“What else?”

“We have also sought out the location you gave us of one ‘Wang Fu’ you requested to be taken into custody.” She said as if reading off a script. There was really little difference in her countenance now, only she really was as emotionless as she always pretended to be. “By the time it was found, the parlor was devoid of any life. It is possible he may be among the group of those attempting to flee the city.”

That was troubling news. Fu still had Plagg and the other Miraculous with him, and from what Adrien was told, a copy of the book as well. The old man was crafty and resourceful to have lasted as long as he had. If he wasn’t found, there was every likelihood that he would pass out more Miraculous to others in an attempt to ‘rescue’ the city. He may even have a way to undo their connection, much as Adrien shuddered to think of it. Master Fu was the Guardian for a reason, after all. The fact that he was the last of them was more of a boon than anything.

It only made Adrien all the more grateful that Marinette and Ladybug had been one and the same. He had been outright giddy when he discovered the truth. And it only made him love her more. Now not only did it mean he was not forced to harm his Lady, but it also meant all of Ladybug’s knowledge and abilities were now benefitting the collective. Including the Ladybug earrings as well as all the memories and interactions she had with the Guardian.

Adrien knew from Marinette’s knowledge of Fu and that he had made more than his share of mistakes over the years, including the destruction of his own monastery. It eased some of his worries to know the Guardian was not infallible, but still...he didn’t want to take any chances. Especially not now that Plagg was with him.

Better safe than sorry, after all.

There had to be some way to get to the old man. Adrien owed him so much. He would hate to have to continue as enemies. If only they had a way to convince him...or at least slow him down or startle him enough to give them an edge.

Adrien paused, considering for a moment before an idea struck him.

“See if you can’t find where Marianne Lenoir is among those to be processed.” He ordered with a smirk. Because if anyone could counter Fu, she would be the best option.

It was the least he could do for Fu, after all. And besides, who was he to keep two old loves from reuniting?

And bringing Marianne into the matter would help all the more  to keep Gabriel from getting his greedy tainted grips into the other man, Adrien thought with a sneer. Gabriel would use anyone. And Fu wouldn’t refuse any assistance if he felt the circumstances were dire. He didn’t want Fu to feel he had to resort to working with his enemy out of some misguided desire to remove him from his new place in life and ‘save them from themselves’.

Better to end this quickly, he realized. Before anyone else realized what he was doing and attempted to alert the others.

“Notify those at the outskirts of the city to keep a look out. No one is to leave the city at this time. Detain anyone who is not recognized or unresponsive to the link.”

The Drone’s eyes flashed as she accepted the command.

“Yes, sir.”

With that, she was gone. And Adrien was alone. Alone in this dreary place that housed his father’s selfish short-sighted schemes. What had he been thinking? Wasting so much time and causing so much damage—all for what? A family he had as good as forgotten about for the past year? Even before?

Now that he had the memories of others to draw on and compare to, it only made his isolation and loneliness all the more bitter. Seeing what it was like to have actual loving families. Birthdays and Christmases and holidays spent together. Meals and games around a table. Parents that actually came to competitions and events.

He was just so jealous.

None of the others flaunted their good fortune. They showed him because they wanted to share it. They wanted him to see and experience what healthy and happy homes were like. And he appreciated that, he really did. He couldn’t help but feel grateful that they cared enough about him to want to share that warmth and include him.

But…

Those memories only made it all the more apparent what he was lacking. And he couldn’t help the grief and resentment he felt. For his life. For his loss. All because of his dear father, who was so caught up in a past he had been barely part of in the first place to appreciate the present that was still there.

Nostalgia truly did make fools out of people.

He would not be so blind.

When that fool of a man was finally found, Adrien wouldn’t waste words. Words were meaningless now, just as they always had been coming from him. Meaningless in the new home he found himself part of, where feelings were more real and said everything he needed. And meaningless to the man who was incapable of any feeling.

It still hurt, knowing that his own father had been behind the mask of his enemy. But it helped having his true family supporting him. His pain had been theirs. His sorrow was soothed by their support. And their anger at the revelation and his past mistreatment had spurred his own—even when he hadn’t known such dark feelings to exist.

If he still had been anything like he used to be, he would be horrified by all of this. By the current state of things. By what he had turned his friends into. By what he was doing to the city. By what he intended to do to his own father. By what he had helped to do to Lila.

But whatever bit of the old Adrien Agreste that remained was silent. He had been one of the ones to witness the liar being dragged off to her decided fate. No matter how she cried, pleaded, and struggled against them, it was futile. At one point, she managed to break away, rushing straight for him of all people once she saw him, sobbing and babbling. She had grabbed onto his shirt, begging for help. Begging for him to save her.

“Adrien, please! Don’t let them do this to me!”

And instead, he merely smiled in that way he knew people loved and Lila once adored.

“This is for the best, Lila.”

He watched as his words registered and her face twisted in horror at the realization. Of just how alone she truly was. That no one would be taken in by her again. That the end had come. And that all her lies and manipulations had been what led to this. At that point, he helped the others to take Lila to her judgement, though his assistance was no longer necessary. He had already seen the way the light left her eyes and she lost any sense of hope. Still, it was only polite to have a friend escort her to her end. Not that she was much of a friend to him, but Adrien could at least pretend for her in her final moments.

He should have felt remorse. And yet, there was nothing. No guilt. No inner conscience telling him this was wrong. None of that moral righteousness crying about how ‘other people’ felt. It was just gone.

And he couldn’t be happier for it.

Before, he was ignorant to the injustices of his life and suppressed his own feelings in a desperate attempt to appease others.

Now, he suppressed those darker emotions, but for an entirely different reason.

His family. And of course, his Queen.

He could feel her in the back of his mind. Offering direction, reassurance, and affirmation as needed. Keeping lines of communication clear and all Workers orderly. She was so busy, especially as they were starting out. And yet, she still made sure to offer kindness and support to each of them. No matter how busy she was, she was never too busy for him.

Adrien sighed, trying to will the negative thoughts away. There was no need for that now that they were whole. But he still couldn’t help but feel the intense urge to rip that man apart.

There was no doubt in his mind that Gabriel was looking into every possibility to worm his way back and take away yet another piece of happiness Adrien had managed to make for himself. He half-wondered if the man wouldn’t find a way to piece himself back together if made a Drone. He certainly was stubborn enough. Still, it was all the more reason he needed to be dealt with before he could become any more of a threat. Just like Lila had been. Just like Chloe once was before Marinette decided to show mercy, even as she had to relive the cruelty the other girl put her through.

Chloe had been grateful for the opportunity to serve the Hive afterwards, and the collective did seem stronger for it. But he still remembered the pain and resentment from Marinette’s memories of the heiress. And it hurt that she had been forced to feel that, especially as she was offering this chance to her tormentor for what she thought was Adrien’s own sake.

That was why Adrien had taken it upon himself to deal with the man this time without allowing the others to be aware. It only seemed fitting. It was his father. His burden. And his gift to the collective for accepting him so readily.

Especially Marinette. After everything that had happened and everything he had not done for her, he still didn’t think he deserved her. Her love for him was more than he ever hoped it could be, even if it was too much for her own good. It was...beautiful. Overwhelming. A dedication that he had never experienced before and only made him want to return it all the more. She had done so much for him without him even knowing. And out of this love for him, she would no doubt try to rehabilitate his father and add him to the collective if she thought that was what Adrien wanted.

It really wasn’t. He didn’t need a father. Especially not such a sorry excuse for one as Gabriel Agreste. His collective was his family. They were his support. His lifelines. The only ones he needed. He no longer needed a parent’s guidance now that he had her to lead him. And he certainly didn’t need that man continuing to meddle in his life and desperately trying to remind him of years of emptiness he wanted to forget.

But he could hardly tell her that. It would only make her sad.

He wanted to spare her this. His Queen was still so kind-hearted. She didn’t need to deal with the mess of the transition or Adrien’s petty feelings or lingering issues with him.

But…she WAS kind-hearted. And though she didn’t need to and shouldn’t have to, she did care. Too much, perhaps, even now. He loved her for it, even as it frustrated him. He only wanted to keep her at peace, after all.

His attempts were in vain. Though he tried to suppress it, she sensed his ire and turned her focus on him, questioning. And he could never hide anything from her—could never want to so long as she was there and he was hers. Soon enough, he felt her searching and finding the source of his negative feelings. At that, her curiosity turned to concern and he almost collapsed at the pure sensation of comfort that enveloped him in response as she brushed those horrible thoughts away.

He felt it, like a hand petting through his hair, making him want to lean his head back into it and purr. It was bliss. She didn’t even need to soothe away his lingering resentment, simply having her affection was enough.

Of course, why settle for it through the link when he could have the real thing?

Within minutes, he left that dreary place to the much warmer and homey nest they had begun building of the mansion. He spared no notice to the Drones and Workers inside, and they all knew enough to stay out of his way as he was being called.

The Core group sensed his intent and responded with laughter and sensations. A noogie from Nino and a whisper of encouragement. A push from Alya and demand to not keep “her girl” waiting. Giggles and nudges urging him onward and to hurry up already!

Soon enough, he was at the Office. Where that man once resided and where she now took her rightful place in leading this new world they were making. She was every bit the Queen in grace and presentation for all the she maintained the appearance of a normal teenage girl. But she was humble. Even with everything at her disposal, she still preferred to use her own designs as before. Looking at her in her normal clothes and pig-tails, no one outside of the collective would think she was the leader. She didn’t need anything extravagant to show her position. And none of them needed any such thing to recognize her.

“Adrien!” Marinette exclaimed, smiling at him knowingly when he entered. She knew he was coming. He knew she did. But her face still lit up upon seeing him enter and it made him feel more at home than this place had ever been to him.

She wagged a finger at him. “You’ve been trying to be secretive again.”

He smiled, reaching forward to take her hand in his own and bestow it with a kiss. “I only wanted to spare you the irritation, My Queen.” His issues were minor compared to the chaos she had been managing so far. The least he wanted to do was try to deal with some of the potential stressors to her new rule before they could interfere and get out of hand.

“You are never an irritation.” She assured him. Her words were beautiful to hear but the pure love that emitted from her with them was all the assurance he could have hoped for. Sensing his desire, she giggled and opened her arms, happy to indulge him.

Well, with an offer like that, who was he to refuse? And soon enough, he was where he belonged at his Queen’s side. She laughed, petting him physically as well as mentally. With but a touch, she soothed away the irritations and concerns burdening his mind. Basking in that much affection, he didn’t even bother to hide the purrs.

“You are still such a cat.” She chided, playfully.

“I can’t help my nature, M’lady.” He said, sighing happily as he pushed his head into her lap and nuzzled her gently.

He couldn’t. And he didn’t want to. Now, he never needed to. He could be as he wished and with full support of his family.

This was everything he could have wished for.

And as the Queen and her Knight basked in each other’s presence and planned for their new future, neither took note of the red kwami curled up in the corner of a shelf in the room and dreading what was to come.

[teethhunter]

Undefined, Unspoken

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21656434 Oscar Pine/Ruby Rose

In the end, they drifted towards each other. Two people who hadn’t been able to truly look towards the future since this all began.

Back then, any hopeful chatter about the future was just that, chatter; the future was a more daunting as it crept into being the tangible present.

Grimm still roamed the land, air, and seas, though their numbers had thinned a bit over time. There was still a need for hunters and huntresses in the world. After all, it had always been her dream to be a Huntress, hadn’t it? She remembered how she so happily explain how cool and romantic being a Huntress was, and how she wanted to help people. It felt like a century ago. Her want to be a Huntress was still there, as strong as ever, it just took a while to uncover again.

Oscar didn’t have a dream of the future, or at least not of his own future. The last thing he remembered ever wanting was to leave his Aunt’s farm, to see what else was out there. Then just like that his goals were not his own. He kept his sense of self, but hadn’t been living a life that was his own since adolescence. That vague idea of helping people was a nice thought. He was a skilled fighter now, not as refined as the rest of the Huntsmen he’d worked with, but he could fight off Grimm just fine.

One by one their friends and companions found a place in the world. It was easy to feel left behind, no matter how many calls or invitations to visit were sent. Ruby never said that though, never allowed herself to even fully think it. She was thrilled to see everyone happy, and always took up invitations, whether it be to merely visit, help rebuild, or attend important meetings in this newly more peaceful world.

Given so many places and things to be, none seem to fit quite right. When Ruby grew restless enough to take off without an aim, Oscar was by her side, just as aimless. It was always better to aimlessly wander into the woods with a friend.

There was always a town being tormented by Grimm, always trade routes no longer passable, always children wandering into dangerous places. They rarely made much money, neither of them needed much nor did those towns have much to give. More often than not they would just take a place to sleep for the night, and food, if offered it. It worked well, no goal was needed but to walk in a direction until more people in need of help ran into their path.

It became routine. Not in the dull way that brushing teeth and waking for work became routine, but rather in the warm, comfortable way that crawling into bed and reading a book would become routine.

They didn’t have to say a word for their fighting styles begin to mesh, and meld to complement each other, that was just the nature of fighting alongside a good companion. Through laughter and teasing in the day, while they fought for others, and in the bad days where a smile was near impossible, they slowly found themselves again.

There was no clear end goal, rather the future became whatever was in front of them. Neither had put a word to what they were to each other since the day they left. They didn’t have to say a word to drift towards each other.

It always made Oscar’s heart skip a beat when Ruby grabbed his hand, or sleepily leaned against him. He never stopped to consider that reaction, it’d happened since the first time he ever saw her so he figured it was just a side effect of being near someone so incredible.

Ruby always felt warm when she held Oscar’s hand, and sometimes she’d feign exhaustion just so she could lean against Oscar for longer without him moving.

Sometimes the villages they stayed at had only one bed to offer. Neither thought anything of sharing a bed. Neither was so oblivious as to not know why other people would be uncomfortable with that arrangement. Just that they didn’t care if it was just the two of them.

There was no helping how they slept- that they both had a tendency to latch onto whatever was near them when dreaming. There wasn’t a night spent like that where they didn’t wake with one or the other ending up the little spoon, or just as a mess of limbs tangled awkwardly.

It was nice to wake to cuddling against someone warm- even if that someone was definitely cutting off bloodflow to Oscar’s leg with the way she’d wrapped herself up.

When a nightmare seep into Ruby’s dreams, Oscar would just stroke her hair until he could wake her.

When nightmares hit Oscar, he would struggle against an unseen enemy. Ruby would shake his shoulder and wait for him to open his eyes. As soon as Oscar saw and recognized her, Ruby would hold him tight, burying her face against his neck.

They stopped accepting offers of a second bed.

One particularly bad night they both were plagued by bad dreams. Ruby awoke from hers because of Oscar’s thrashing about. She wasn’t all there as she shook him awake like usual. When Oscar focused on her face, he was startled to tears running down her cheeks. He held his arms open and she took the invitation immediately. They both cried as she tucked her head under his chin.

Shuttering breaths eased into even and calmer ones gradually.

Ruby nuzzling against him turning more into affectionate and playful rather than just looking for comfort. A barely-there kiss just under his ear, then a pause, and a little questioning nudge.

Oscar shivered, tilting his head to the side and chuckled. A silent answer to her silent question.

From there it gradually became commonplace to give a kiss on the cheek, or forehead, or just pepper each other with little kisses like that occasionally. Or- as Oscar was incredibly fond of doing, bringing Ruby’s hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

The first time they actually kissed was rather uneventful, just as natural as any of the other kisses had been. Ruby was already in bed, burrowing into the sheets with just a tuft of her hair poking out from the top of the blankets. As soon as Oscar was near enough, one arm darted out from where she was cocooned, dragging him in with the strength of a Huntress who easily wielded a giant scythe. He almost stumbled and fell flat onto the floor, but instead landed on the bed, right onto Ruby.

She squeaked at the weight of him crushing her before dissolving into giggles. Oscar squirmed to get under the covers, making no efforts to stop squishing her in the process as his giggling matched hers.

He looked down at Ruby, giving her a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. It was the first time he’d ever noticed her face flush from that. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him down to give him these now familiar butterfly kisses, anywhere on his face. Like she wanted to make him laugh even more. If that’s what she had wanted, that’s what she got. He laughed and playfully gave her a little push like he was fending off being tickled.

For half a breath did both their laughs hitch as Ruby brushed her lips against his.

There were no fireworks, no stunning revelations. They both kept laughing like children as Ruby continued to press kisses to his face.

They didn’t always wander the lands. Sometimes they went home- or rather to the homes of their friends and family.

Ruby would go on a mission with Yang, or help where she could with the organization Weiss and Blake were working to build.

Oscar would visit his Aunt, help on the farm, or visit other friends- he had come to find Jaune as a really good friend despite their rocky beginning.

Oscar and Ruby would spend months apart living their own lives and maintaining their own connections to the world. Eventually they always drifted back together, wandering the world side by side.

Kisses became so commonplace for them that Ruby could read what Oscar was saying just by his lips on hers.

‘I missed you.’

‘You are ridiculous.’

‘Good bye for now.’

‘You are incredible.’

Kissing was easily added to their repertoire of ways to communicate, and ways to make each other laugh.

‘I missed you.’

And Ruby lingered longer on that kiss, when Oscar pulled away like normal,she stood on her tiptoes, threaded her fingers in his hair, and kissed him again.

‘I missed you too.’

From then on, it wasn’t uncommon between them to continue on to a third, fourth, or countless kisses. Eventually came a time when it blended together they didn’t separate until they were panting for air.

Such a slow and easy transition, that it was nearly impossible to tell from day to day. Over the course of months would it slide into deeper kissing, nipping and playing. They chased what made each other happier in the moments between Grimm fights and traveling.

Four years since they first started traveling together and they both were decidedly more mature in appearance, and more confident attitude. When Oscar would visit his friends, he always had a couple of bite marks just below his jaw where his collar didn’t quite cover. He would forget about it if not for his friends always having some cheeky remark to make about it. His face would flush red but every time he shrugged it off.

Everyone who knew Ruby well had something to say about the grin she wore as she spoke about her and Oscar’s adventures. Ruby would roll her eyes at them, covering her mouth as she laughed away their comments.

Sometimes fighting Grimm didn’t follow the routine, Sometimes someone got hurt.

This wasn’t the first time, wasn’t the worst time either. A swarm of Grimm had chipped away at their aura levels slowly, and didn’t seem to subside. Ruby hadn’t used her eyes since Salem. She didn’t think to use them either. Yet they glowed dimly as she threw herself between Oscar and the swing of a massive claw. It sent her flying off, slamming her back against a tree.

She woke with Oscar kneeling beside her, tapping her gently. Sitting up quickly was a mistake, her whole side felt like it was being stabbed. She whimpered quietly, laying back down then trying much more slowly to get up. It wasn’t the worst. She wasn’t dying. Some broken ribs, a gash running from her shoulder to elbow, and probably ugly bruises. All things her aura would have guarded her from if it hadn’t been depleted.

It may not have been the worst time, but in that moment as he watch Ruby take that hit, it was like the ground under him shifted.

Anytime she got hurt in battle, he worried, like anyone would worry about losing another. In that moment everything was so sharply in focus, and a choking fear coiled around him.

It wasn’t about that hit even. He knew she could survive that. Instead it was as if for the first time he could see what a world without Ruby in it might feel like, and that feeling made him sick. He took care of the remaining Grimm with what little energy he had left, nearly thanking the gods that no more came.

With Oscar’s help, Ruby could stand and walk. At the time, she was too busy fighting the pain to notice the way Oscar shook, or the look in his eyes, the aftermath of adrenaline and a moment of realization.

When Ruby finally got the chance notice, she was resting and bandaged up. The nearest town didn’t have much in the way of medical care, but her aura would help once she could build it back up.

Oscar sat on the edge of the bed, staring absently into space.

Ruby reached out with her unbandaged arm, tugging on a lock of Oscar’s hair that had fallen over his eyes. That got Oscar’s attention, but it was easy to tell something was still on his mind. She pulled back the corner of the sheets. He hesitated for just a moment, not wanting to jostle her injuries.

He made the wonderful mistake of looking into her eyes though. There had never been a time that he had been anything less than helpless to the looks she gave him.

Once Oscar laid down with Ruby, he melted, trembling. Ruby pulled him close, nudging her nose against his, before giving him a kiss.

‘I’m here.’

And another.

‘It’s okay.’

Oscar’s response was gentle against her lips yet tinged with a desperation for her to understand.

‘I never want to lose you.’

‘I need you.’

“I love you.” Oscar whispered/

Ruby grinned, laughing as she gave him a peck on the cheek.

“I love you too.” Ruby said like she was reciting a simple fact.

[winterisakiller]

Get Better - Chapter Five

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 5/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do. This story will update on Thursdays.

Tag list: @tinchentitri @theheartofpenelope @noplacelikehome77 @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @nonsensicalobsessions @blacksuitofdoom @just-the-hiddles @theoneanna @wolfsmom1

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER FIVE

 There was something about the start of full dress rehearsals Cath had always found fascinating. It was the chaos which ensued, keeping everyone on their toes and running like mad, that she found enjoyed like nothing else. She’d arrived at the theater early, as had become her habit, to get her station to rights. And, honestly, to clear her head for the task at hand. This wasn’t her first production by any stretch but it was her first as lead make-up artist and the thought both pleased and terrified her. It wasn’t a huge production a la Wicked or any other number of large scale musical productions she’d done grunt work on, but it was still a major step forward career-wise. The butterfly-like nerves in her stomach fluttered uneasily at the thought.

 Cath had been working exclusively in theatre, with the occasional dabble in television production (hey the money was decent and a steady gig was something she certainly wouldn’t turn her nose up at), for the last five years. When she’d told her mother she’d wanted to pursue an actual career in theatrical make-up and design rather than just mess around with it in her spare time (as she’d done throughout secondary school and her first year of uni), Cath wasn’t terribly shocked by her lack of enthusiasm. Her mother was a practical woman, having raised three children mostly on her own after her divorce, and while she supported and encouraged her children, she had always instilled in them the need to make sound and responsible choices. And true to form, she had made her concerns quite clear.

 “Darling, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that you are talented. I’ve seen the work you’ve put in for school productions and the local theatre…But how steady will the work actually be? I just want to make sure you’ve honestly thought this through and can make it work.”

 Her concerns were valid and in those first few years Cath struggled to make ends meet. She’d taken any job she could find, often working hellishly long hours for frustratingly little pay. But slowly things started to take off. She’d landed a steady gig at one of the smaller theatres in the West End and had worked herself as hard as she could; learning not only to improve her craft but dabbling in costuming and whatever else she could get her hands on. That job had led to another and another until she found herself booked for most of the year. Television gigs paid well and she enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the sets but theatre had always held her heart. Probably always would.

 She took a long, slow sip of her coffee, enjoying the smooth warmth as it slid down her throat. It was one of her guilty pleasures….Well, maybe not guilty but certainly a pleasure. Take away coffee…Lattes in particular where something she tried very hard to not indulge in; save for when she was starting a new show. During that time the coffee shop around the corner from her flat frankly saw more of her paycheck than she did. It was just simply easier to let someone else make her the caffeine she desperately needed. She let out a soft sigh and tried hard not to feel too guilty about the coffee press sitting unused on her counter.  

 The sound of the door opening pulled Cath back to herself. She turned to find Maggie and Lorna making their way into the small workspace draped with bags and take away coffees which they quickly divested themselves of on the table by the door. Cath had worked with both women on previous projects and had been thrilled when their names appeared on her work log. Both were exceptionally talented and made the often hectic hours much more bearable.

 “Cath!” Lorna cried, launching herself at the shorter woman and wrapping her in tight embrace. Cath stumbled backwards and nearly fell into one of the lighted workstations. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

 Laughter tumbled from her throat as Cath returned the embrace. “I’m glad to be here. Let’s try to keep it that way, eh?”

 Maggie snorted a laugh. “Yeah, let’s not kill our boss on the first day. Wouldn’t send the best message to the production team, now would it?”

 Lorna shrugged, “Fair enough.”

 The rest of the morning passed with little fanfare. Bags were piled in the corner near the curtained dressing areas, one for each actor, filled with costume pieces and various accessories waiting final approval from the production team. As workstations were slowly set to rights and their coffees consumed, the three women bustled around the small room waiting for the rest of the production team to arrive; the actors weren’t due in until closer to eleven.  A quick glance at the wall clock told Cath it was rapidly approaching nine.

 Lorna puttered around the various bags and pulled the pieces of clothing from them one at a time, hanging them up along the back wall. Simple pieces that fit with the ideas that Jaime had thrown around during pre-production; jeans and blouses for Emma and various jeans, suits, shirts, and blazers for Robert and Jerry. Cath and Lorna worked together ironing and steaming the pieces so they wrinkle free and ready to grab and go once the actors arrived.

 Maggie flitted around the room, getting the remaining loose ends settled; extra kits and pieces of clothing that would be used if alterations were needed. Humming to herself, Maggie moved around the small room. Humming turned to singing and soon Cath and Lorna joined in, belting out the words to ridiculous late 90’s/early 2000’s pop songs. Laughing, Cath wandered to her own bag, pulling out her mobile to provide actually music for their impromptu karaoke session. The three women danced around the room, laughing, dancing, and singing at the top of their lungs.

 Applause from the doorway was the first clue that the three of them were no longer alone. Cath squeaked in alarm as she spun around, finding the play’s director, Jaime, laughing hysterically at the door, Zawe standing beside him doubled over in laughter as well. She quickly grabbed her mobile from the table and paused the music. “So um…Welcome!” Cath started, laughing as well, “We’re here all week.”  

 Zawe clapped and darted forward to pull Cath into a tight hug. “I’m so thrilled you’re here!”

 Cath laughed and returned the embrace, “Me too! So come on in, let me introduce you to my team.” She beamed at the fact that she had a team; that would certainly take some getting used to. Cath made quick introductions and the four women fell quickly into conversation regarding theatre in general.

 There was another knock on the doorframe and looking up, Cath found a moderately tall, bearded brunette man standing in the doorway, whom she recognized as Charlie Cox, smiling warmly. He was quickly ushered over and introductions were made once more. Jaime joined the fray and he and Charlie were quickly pulled into conversation with Lorna regarding costumes and character ideas.

 Seeing everyone sufficiently occupied, Zawe had taken Cath by the hand and led her to one of the opened stations. The two women quickly fell into conversation, joking and catching up on what had been happening in each other’s lives. Cath hadn’t had the chance to speak with Zawe since the gala a few months back and was thrilled to hear that the book she’d been working on was finally preparing for release. Cath had worked with Zawe on a handful of projects over the past several years and they’d hit it off almost immediately. They were close in age, had similar tastes in books and movies, and shared a similar sense of humor. They’d passed many an early morning shoot laughing themselves silly.

 “…So there I was standing there with the back of my dress wide open, trying to grab at the bleeding zipper when Darren, our director, walks in with some poor bloke from the local paper.” Cath threw back her head, laughing at the image Zawe had painted. “Needless to say that was certainly one interview I’ll never forget.”

 “God, Zawe, I can only imagine. At least you were mostly dressed. And it certainly gave the show write up a bit of color.” Cath joked, dodging the playful swat Zawe threw her way. “Besides, you remember that morning in Devon? When I got locked out of my hotel room and had to go on set in my dress from the night before…The very one that had gotten soaked in wine when that man lost his balance and fell into our table?” She waved her hands wildly, mimicking her panicked reaction to the flying wine. “I still don’t know how I didn’t get crucified for that. You remember how bloody strict Jaz was.”

 Zawe laughed and nodded. “Yes! Oh that was quite the talk of the set.” Her attention waivered at something over Cath’s shoulder, face breaking into a smile as she waved at the doorway behind them.

 Cath turned, finding herself standing face to chest with a tall, auburn haired man. His blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of black square framed glasses, but they were no less arresting for it. There was something about the way in which they took her in, the colors swirling between blue and green, which fascinated her. A scruffy beard covered his cheeks and chin, recently trimmed she noted given its length. His hair was just a touch too long, curly and just this side of disarray. He looked completely different from the clean faced, strong jawed man she’d seen on film posters but she’d recognized him all the same. The show’s second leading man, Tom Hiddleston.

                                                            —

 The door closed behind him with a bang, causing Tom to wince as he glanced back to make sure he’d not caused any permanent damage to either door or frame. All looked well enough and that would have to do. He glanced once more at his watch, cursing out loud as he took in the time. Fucking hell, he was late. But if...Just maybe if he could make it to the underground station and catch the next arriving train, he would make it to the theatre close enough to call time.

 He hadn’t meant to be late; he’d had every intention of making it out of the house and to the theatre on time. That obviously wasn’t going to happen now. He let out an exasperated sigh. Possibly going out the night before had been a mistake. But it had been Daniel’s birthday and he hadn’t seen him in ages. They’d been friends since RADA and did their best to keep in touch over the years; which had been difficult considering their hectic schedules and life in general. When Daniel called the night before and asked if Tom could swing by the pub for a few drinks in honor of his birthday, he had eagerly agreed; looking forward to spending a few hours with old friends. But as these things tended to go, a few drinks turned into talking and suddenly it was nearing midnight and last call.

 Tom had made it home and to bed slightly after one and woke at nearly ten to discover that the alarm he’d sworn he’d set either hadn’t been set or hadn’t gone off. He cursed profusely, earning him a confused look from Bobby. He’d thrown on the first clean pair of jeans and jumper he found (the perks of minimalizing his wardrobe) and shoved his feet hastily into his boots before charging down the stairs, Bobby following quickly at his heels. Rounding the corner, he skidded into the kitchen and then through to the back room. He pushed open the back garden door, Bobby barked once and trotted out to do his business. Once Bobby was fed and shut in his kennel, Tom had grabbed his keys and wallet from the side table by the front door and sprinted out of it, the door slamming behind him.

 His jog to the underground station was thankfully uneventful and he’d managed to catch the next arriving train, though it was a very near thing. The crowd in Leister Square was easy enough to navigate and he’d only bumped into one or two people in his flight, apologizing as he jogged through the square and onto a side street. Tom felt himself fill with relief as the Harold Pinter theatre came into view. He made his way across the street and up into the stage door entrance, greeting the staff mulling around it warmly. He raced up the stairs as quickly as his feet could carry him, hoping he wasn’t as late as he feared.

 Tom could hear laughter echoing from the opened dressing room door as he climbed the last few steps and onto the landing. He was mostly on time, the quick glance at his watch showed it was only a few minutes past eleven. Not the best impression he’d ever made, but certainly not the worst and there was nothing he could do about it presently. With a smile, he made his way through the doorway and into the brightly lit dressing room.

 His attention fell first on Zawe, perched on a stool and chatting animatedly with a short woman in dark jeans and an oversized light green jumper. There was something familiar about her, even with her back was turned to him, but he couldn’t quite seem to put a finger on why. It wasn’t until she’d thrown her head back and laughed, a bright and rich sound, when realization struck him. The woman from the Pinter Gala in October. Cath. He laughed despite himself. What were the odds?

 She looked absolutely lovely; laughing warmly at whatever she and Zawe had been discussing. Her voice animated and full of warmth as she waved her hands around to emphasize the point she was making. Her long, dark hair was pulled back and piled in a lop-sided bun, though a few stray strands had fallen out of their bindings and had been pushed behind her ear. Zawe smiled at him when she’d turned her head and found him standing by the door and quickly waved him over.

 His breath caught in his throat as she turned around, confusion painted across her face. Her dark blue eyes flashing first in surprise then in recognition. Her face broke into a warm and welcoming smile. God, she is stunning.

 “Cath this is Tom, my long suffering cuckold of a husband….For the next few months at least.” Zawe gestured at Tom, a playful and warm smile spreading across her face. “Tom, this is Cath. She’s going to be responsible for making us look pretty. Though for you, I suspect she has her work cut out for her.” There was a brief pause before all three burst into laughter.

 God, the thought stole across Tom’s mind, she has a wonderful laugh. He quickly shook the thought away, extending his hand to hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 “Likewise.” Cath took his hand, smiling, and shook it firmly. Her hand was small, dwarfed in his own, smooth and warm. He had no desire to let her or it go.

 “Alright,” Jaime yelled, standing up and clapping his hands. The three of them turned to face the director. “Since we’re all here, let’s get started.”

                                                        —

 Tom poured himself into the make-up chair, quite ready to be done for the day. He’d forgotten how draining theatre could be, no matter how much he enjoyed it. Their first official rehearsal had gone well; they’d ran through the play twice, stopping occasionally to work on blocking or change a delivery of a line. It was comforting, being in costume (even if the costume was close enough to what he’d wear outside of the theatre) and full make-up (God, though it made face itch something fierce), it made things feel more…real. But blast it all, he was tired.

 Cath smiled at him, make-up remover in hand. “Long day?” she joked, handing him the soaked wash cloth. Tom smiled and took it gratefully, wiping his face with a sigh.

 “I’d forgotten how much this stuff itches.”

 “But it makes you look oh so pretty,” Cath teased, taking the wash cloth back and getting the bits he’d missed the first time around. “You guys are quite good,” she murmured, placing the cloth into the dirty linen bin by her feet and pulling out a bottle of light moisturizer. She pumped a small amount onto her hands, rubbing it between them before reaching and applying it to his slightly reddened face.

 “Thank you,” he answered, trying not to think about how nice her touch felt on his skin.

 They’d chatted quite a bit in the run up to actually getting himself, Charlie, and Zawe on the stage; and he’d found he very much enjoyed her company. She made him laugh with an ease that he hadn’t felt in a long time. She was warm and genuine; what you saw was you got. They’d talked briefly about his work; she’d seen him in Coriolanus, a friend of a friend had gotten tickets and invited her along, and she’d confessed to being quite impressed with his work in it, even if he was a fair bit shouty at times. She’d seen one or two of the Marvel films and had a fair grasp on his role in them, but they hadn’t really been her cup of tea.

 He’d been almost grateful for her lack of response to his fame, or infamy depending on how you looked at it. It was a wonderful change of pace. She asked him questions about his experiences on set and what had lead him to acting in the first place. He, in turn, asked her about the work she’d done, in theatre and in television, he’d been pleased to find out, and they’d shared stories about long days on set or backstage antics they’d encountered.

 “Alright,” she declared, leaning back with a soft smile. “All done. You, good sir, are free to go.”

 The loss of her warmth against him was disheartening in a way he did not wish to explore anytime soon.

 He returned her smile. “Thank you, my lady. I look forward to working with you in future.” Tom stood and headed back to the screened area in the far corner of the room to change back into his street clothes. Had he turned back, he would have caught the faint blush that spread across Cath’s face at his words.

                                                             —

 Tom cursed as he caught sight of the time. He was late. Of fucking course he was late. God, what a mess. His hair was plastered to his head and he hadn’t had time to do anything save brush it from his face as he ran from the house and down the street towards the Underground station.

 Bobby, the little shit, had been an unholy terror. He’d rushed out the garden door that morning, with complete disregard for the sheets of rain that were belting down (at the rate it was falling, Tom was thrilled to death it wasn’t snow), and dived head first into the muddy flower beds instead of calmly doing his business and rushing back inside for breakfast. Tom, knowing the horror it was to wash the foul beast, charged after him, winding up soaked in the process. Both muddy and thoroughly pissed at each other, man and beast made their way inside the house. Bathing Bobby had been an exercise in mutual frustration. The spaniel whined and growled through the whole process, swiping paws at his master in a fruitless attempt at escape. The bathroom was a disaster, water and mud splashed over the floors and walls and Tom groaned, knowing what a nightmare it would be to clean. Toweled dry and still growling intermittently, Bobby was unceremoniously shut in his kennel and his food bowl shoved in after.

 Grumbling, Tom took the stairs two at a time and made as quick a work of cleaning the guest bath as he could. He’d just loaded the remaining towels into the washer when he caught sight of the time off the clock in his kitchen. His eyes bugged, how had it gotten so late?

 Another string of curses followed Tom up the stairs once again as he dashed into his bedroom and grabbed clean clothing from the wardrobe (his usual dark jeans and a jumper). He ran into the bathroom, cursing the fact that he didn’t have time for a proper shower. And certainly no thanks to the beast in his backroom.

 He grabbed a wash cloth and wiped the mud and dirt from his face and arms as best he could before pulling his jeans and jumper on. He sat on his bed to get himself settled in his socks and boots, knowing that with his luck, if he tried to do this while standing he’d fall and break his neck. That would be the icing on the cake of this foul day.

 Dressed and still rather cross, Tom grabbed his keys and wallet from the side table and then his umbrella from the hall tree, quickly shrugging into his wool coat, before dashing out the door. The rain was still coming down in unrelenting sheets and the jog from his front door to the station had his boots and the cuffs of his jeans soaked through. He grimaced but knew there was little he could do for it now. At the ticket gate he paused and pulled his mobile from his pocket, quickly dialing the theatre, hoping to catch someone and inform them of his tardiness.

 The phone rang once. Then twice before the line clicked and a warm female voice answered. “Hello?”

 He recognized Cath’s voice immediately and made a determined effort to keep his frustration in check. Absolutely none of this was her fault. He took a deep breath and explained as quickly as he could. “It’s Tom, I’m running late. It’s been…A fair bit hectic this morning. But I am on my way.”

 “Alright, Tom.” There was a clear hint of laughter in her voice, but she held it back remarkably well. “Take care. See you when you get here.”

 Tom echoed her statement and ended the call, shoving his mobile back into his pocket. He made his way hastily through the barrier and down the escalator towards the filling platform. He brushed his wet hair from his face as he waited for the next train. He mentally cursed his lack of coffee but there hadn’t been any time and hoped against hope that there would be some at the theatre. Or that he could possibly duck out at some point and hit the Costa a few streets down. As long as he got caffeine somewhere (and in the relatively near future) he didn’t care.

 By the time the train had pulled into the station and Tom had made his way from the platform and onto the street, the rain had died to a slow drizzle. He rushed from the station towards the theatre passing the aforementioned Costa with a longing look; he was far too late to risk stopping now, no matter how badly he wanted to. He nodded at John, one of the security at the stage door, and climbed the stairs two at a time. His watch had him at twenty minutes late and he cringed. He’d been doing so well with his time management in the last few weeks and this blip stung.

 He burst through the dressing room door, pulling off his coat, hanging it up, and dropping the umbrella by the door. “So sorry,” he called. Charlie and Zawe were dressed and sitting at their respective stations, chatting with each other and with Lorna and Maggie. They looked up at his entrance and called greetings out.

 Cath emerged from the back, smiling. “You made it!”

 She quickly ushered him over towards his station. His eyes widened as he took in the waiting take away cup of coffee and brownie awaiting him. Gods, he could have kissed her for her thoughtfulness. He blinked the thought away and settled quickly into his chair before turning back to her. “You are a lifesaver. Honestly, thank you.”

 “Can’t have you falling off stage because you’ve not had the requisite amount of caffeine in your system, now can we?” They both laughed and Tom reached gratefully for the gently steaming coffee, taking a tentative sip. It burned, but in the best way and he closed his eyes, savoring the warmth and the smooth bitterness. “Would you two like a moment alone?”

 Cath’s teasing words snapped Tom back to himself and he blushed, quickly putting the cup back onto the counter. “Nah,” he quipped, once he’d recovered himself. “I trust your discretion.”

 “Well that certainly explains a lot, Hiddleston,” she teased, not bothering to hide her laughter. “Who would have thought you were into exhibition?”

 Tom shrugged, enjoying the playful if not slightly evocative teasing. “Why do you think I got into acting?”

 Cath only laughed harder, shaking her head as she turned to grab a towel. “What happened to you, Tom? Your hair’s a mess.”

 “It’s a long story,” he grumbled, grabbing the coffee once more and taking another long sip. “Involving a stubborn dog and far too much rain.”

 “Yikes.” She rubbed the towel over his head, drying his hair as best she could. A smirk spread across her face as she spotted a muddy paw print on the side of his neck. “Looks like the dog won, though.” She pointed at the spot and Tom let out a groan. “He marked you.”

 “Stupid bloody dog.”

 Cath chuckled to herself, wiping the mark from his neck and dropping the towel into the dirty linen bin. She reached down and grabbed the hairdryer, making sure it was plugged in before running it over Tom’s unruly hair, making sure it was well and truly dry. “Alright,” she announced, shutting off the hairdryer and placing it back in its holster. “That’s about as good as we can get. Now scoot.”

 Tom laughed, thanking her again for the coffee and for fixing the mess his morning had made of his hair. “You really are a lifesaver, Cath.”

 “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like I haven’t heard that one before. Now off with you, before we both get yelled at for your tardiness.”

 With a smile and a wave, Tom made his way from the dressing room towards the stairs leading to the stage. Cath watched as he went, a warm smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of an errant curl sticking up at the back of his head. Silly man, she thought to herself. You are going to be a world of trouble, aren’t you?

Next Chapter

[winterisakillerwrites]

Get Better - Chapter Five

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 5/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do.

Previous

CHAPTER FIVE

There was something about the start of full dress rehearsals Cath had always found fascinating. It was the chaos which ensued, keeping everyone on their toes and running like mad, that she found enjoyed like nothing else. She’d arrived at the theater early, as had become her habit, to get her station to rights. And, honestly, to clear her head for the task at hand. This wasn’t her first production by any stretch but it was her first as lead make-up artist and the thought both pleased and terrified her. It wasn’t a huge production a la Wicked or any other number of large scale musical productions she’d done grunt work on, but it was still a major step forward career-wise. The butterfly-like nerves in her stomach fluttered uneasily at the thought.

Cath had been working exclusively in theatre, with the occasional dabble in television production (hey the money was decent and a steady gig was something she certainly wouldn’t turn her nose up at), for the last five years. When she’d told her mother she’d wanted to pursue an actual career in theatrical make-up and design rather than just mess around with it in her spare time (as she’d done throughout secondary school and her first year of uni), Cath wasn’t terribly shocked by her lack of enthusiasm. Her mother was a practical woman, having raised three children mostly on her own after her divorce, and while she supported and encouraged her children, she had always instilled in them the need to make sound and responsible choices. And true to form, she had made her concerns quite clear.

“Darling, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that you are talented. I’ve seen the work you’ve put in for school productions and the local theatre…But how steady will the work actually be? I just want to make sure you’ve honestly thought this through and can make it work.”

Her concerns were valid and in those first few years Cath struggled to make ends meet. She’d taken any job she could find, often working hellishly long hours for frustratingly little pay. But slowly things started to take off. She’d landed a steady gig at one of the smaller theatres in the West End and had worked herself as hard as she could; learning not only to improve her craft but dabbling in costuming and whatever else she could get her hands on. That job had led to another and another until she found herself booked for most of the year. Television gigs paid well and she enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the sets but theatre had always held her heart. Probably always would.

She took a long, slow sip of her coffee, enjoying the smooth warmth as it slid down her throat. It was one of her guilty pleasures….Well, maybe not guilty but certainly a pleasure. Take away coffee…Lattes in particular where something she tried very hard to not indulge in; save for when she was starting a new show. During that time the coffee shop around the corner from her flat frankly saw more of her paycheck than she did. It was just simply easier to let someone else make her the caffeine she desperately needed. She let out a soft sigh and tried hard not to feel too guilty about the coffee press sitting unused on her counter.  

The sound of the door opening pulled Cath back to herself. She turned to find Maggie and Lorna making their way into the small workspace draped with bags and take away coffees which they quickly divested themselves of on the table by the door. Cath had worked with both women on previous projects and had been thrilled when their names appeared on her work log. Both were exceptionally talented and made the often hectic hours much more bearable.

“Cath!” Lorna cried, launching herself at the shorter woman and wrapping her in tight embrace. Cath stumbled backwards and nearly fell into one of the lighted workstations. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

Laughter tumbled from her throat as Cath returned the embrace. “I’m glad to be here. Let’s try to keep it that way, eh?”

Maggie snorted a laugh. “Yeah, let’s not kill our boss on the first day. Wouldn’t send the best message to the production team, now would it?”

Lorna shrugged, “Fair enough.”

The rest of the morning passed with little fanfare. Bags were piled in the corner near the curtained dressing areas, one for each actor, filled with costume pieces and various accessories waiting final approval from the production team. As workstations were slowly set to rights and their coffees consumed, the three women bustled around the small room waiting for the rest of the production team to arrive; the actors weren’t due in until closer to eleven.  A quick glance at the wall clock told Cath it was rapidly approaching nine.

Lorna puttered around the various bags and pulled the pieces of clothing from them one at a time, hanging them up along the back wall. Simple pieces that fit with the ideas that Jaime had thrown around during pre-production; jeans and blouses for Emma and various jeans, suits, shirts, and blazers for Robert and Jerry. Cath and Lorna worked together ironing and steaming the pieces so they wrinkle free and ready to grab and go once the actors arrived.

Maggie flitted around the room, getting the remaining loose ends settled; extra kits and pieces of clothing that would be used if alterations were needed. Humming to herself, Maggie moved around the small room. Humming turned to singing and soon Cath and Lorna joined in, belting out the words to ridiculous late 90’s/early 2000’s pop songs. Laughing, Cath wandered to her own bag, pulling out her mobile to provide actually music for their impromptu karaoke session. The three women danced around the room, laughing, dancing, and singing at the top of their lungs.

Applause from the doorway was the first clue that the three of them were no longer alone. Cath squeaked in alarm as she spun around, finding the play’s director, Jaime, laughing hysterically at the door, Zawe standing beside him doubled over in laughter as well. She quickly grabbed her mobile from the table and paused the music. “So um…Welcome!” Cath started, laughing as well, “We’re here all week.”  

Zawe clapped and darted forward to pull Cath into a tight hug. “I’m so thrilled you’re here!”

Cath laughed and returned the embrace, “Me too! So come on in, let me introduce you to my team.” She beamed at the fact that she had a team; that would certainly take some getting used to. Cath made quick introductions and the four women fell quickly into conversation regarding theatre in general.

There was another knock on the doorframe and looking up, Cath found a moderately tall, bearded brunette man standing in the doorway, whom she recognized as Charlie Cox, smiling warmly. He was quickly ushered over and introductions were made once more. Jaime joined the fray and he and Charlie were quickly pulled into conversation with Lorna regarding costumes and character ideas.

Seeing everyone sufficiently occupied, Zawe had taken Cath by the hand and led her to one of the opened stations. The two women quickly fell into conversation, joking and catching up on what had been happening in each other’s lives. Cath hadn’t had the chance to speak with Zawe since the gala a few months back and was thrilled to hear that the book she’d been working on was finally preparing for release. Cath had worked with Zawe on a handful of projects over the past several years and they’d hit it off almost immediately. They were close in age, had similar tastes in books and movies, and shared a similar sense of humor. They’d passed many an early morning shoot laughing themselves silly.

“…So there I was standing there with the back of my dress wide open, trying to grab at the bleeding zipper when Darren, our director, walks in with some poor bloke from the local paper.” Cath threw back her head, laughing at the image Zawe had painted. “Needless to say that was certainly one interview I’ll never forget.”

“God, Zawe, I can only imagine. At least you were mostly dressed. And it certainly gave the show write up a bit of color.” Cath joked, dodging the playful swat Zawe threw her way. “Besides, you remember that morning in Devon? When I got locked out of my hotel room and had to go on set in my dress from the night before…The very one that had gotten soaked in wine when that man lost his balance and fell into our table?” She waved her hands wildly, mimicking her panicked reaction to the flying wine. “I still don’t know how I didn’t get crucified for that. You remember how bloody strict Jaz was.���

Zawe laughed and nodded. “Yes! Oh that was quite the talk of the set.” Her attention waivered at something over Cath’s shoulder, face breaking into a smile as she waved at the doorway behind them.

Cath turned, finding herself standing face to chest with a tall, auburn haired man. His blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of black square framed glasses, but they were no less arresting for it. There was something about the way in which they took her in, the colors swirling between blue and green, which fascinated her. A scruffy beard covered his cheeks and chin, recently trimmed she noted given its length. His hair was just a touch too long, curly and just this side of disarray. He looked completely different from the clean faced, strong jawed man she’d seen on film posters but she’d recognized him all the same. The show’s second leading man, Tom Hiddleston.

                                                          —

The door closed behind him with a bang, causing Tom to wince as he glanced back to make sure he’d not caused any permanent damage to either door or frame. All looked well enough and that would have to do. He glanced once more at his watch, cursing out loud as he took in the time. Fucking hell, he was late. But if…Just maybe if he could make it to the underground station and catch the next arriving train, he would make it to the theatre close enough to call time.

He hadn’t meant to be late; he’d had every intention of making it out of the house and to the theatre on time. That obviously wasn’t going to happen now. He let out an exasperated sigh. Possibly going out the night before had been a mistake. But it had been Daniel’s birthday and he hadn’t seen him in ages. They’d been friends since RADA and did their best to keep in touch over the years; which had been difficult considering their hectic schedules and life in general. When Daniel called the night before and asked if Tom could swing by the pub for a few drinks in honor of his birthday, he had eagerly agreed; looking forward to spending a few hours with old friends. But as these things tended to go, a few drinks turned into talking and suddenly it was nearing midnight and last call.

Tom had made it home and to bed slightly after one and woke at nearly ten to discover that the alarm he’d sworn he’d set either hadn’t been set or hadn’t gone off. He cursed profusely, earning him a confused look from Bobby. He’d thrown on the first clean pair of jeans and jumper he found (the perks of minimalizing his wardrobe) and shoved his feet hastily into his boots before charging down the stairs, Bobby following quickly at his heels. Rounding the corner, he skidded into the kitchen and then through to the back room. He pushed open the back garden door, Bobby barked once and trotted out to do his business. Once Bobby was fed and shut in his kennel, Tom had grabbed his keys and wallet from the side table by the front door and sprinted out of it, the door slamming behind him.

His jog to the underground station was thankfully uneventful and he’d managed to catch the next arriving train, though it was a very near thing. The crowd in Leister Square was easy enough to navigate and he’d only bumped into one or two people in his flight, apologizing as he jogged through the square and onto a side street. Tom felt himself fill with relief as the Harold Pinter theatre came into view. He made his way across the street and up into the stage door entrance, greeting the staff mulling around it warmly. He raced up the stairs as quickly as his feet could carry him, hoping he wasn’t as late as he feared.

Tom could hear laughter echoing from the opened dressing room door as he climbed the last few steps and onto the landing. He was mostly on time, the quick glance at his watch showed it was only a few minutes past eleven. Not the best impression he’d ever made, but certainly not the worst and there was nothing he could do about it presently. With a smile, he made his way through the doorway and into the brightly lit dressing room.

His attention fell first on Zawe, perched on a stool and chatting animatedly with a short woman in dark jeans and an oversized light green jumper. There was something familiar about her, even with her back was turned to him, but he couldn’t quite seem to put a finger on why. It wasn’t until she’d thrown her head back and laughed, a bright and rich sound, when realization struck him. The woman from the Pinter Gala in October. Cath. He laughed despite himself. What were the odds?

She looked absolutely lovely; laughing warmly at whatever she and Zawe had been discussing. Her voice animated and full of warmth as she waved her hands around to emphasize the point she was making. Her long, dark hair was pulled back and piled in a lop-sided bun, though a few stray strands had fallen out of their bindings and had been pushed behind her ear. Zawe smiled at him when she’d turned her head and found him standing by the door and quickly waved him over.

His breath caught in his throat as she turned around, confusion painted across her face. Her dark blue eyes flashing first in surprise then in recognition. Her face broke into a warm and welcoming smile. God, she is stunning.

“Cath this is Tom, my long suffering cuckold of a husband….For the next few months at least.” Zawe gestured at Tom, a playful and warm smile spreading across her face. “Tom, this is Cath. She’s going to be responsible for making us look pretty. Though for you, I suspect she has her work cut out for her.” There was a brief pause before all three burst into laughter.

God, the thought stole across Tom’s mind, she has a wonderful laugh. He quickly shook the thought away, extending his hand to hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Cath took his hand, smiling, and shook it firmly. Her hand was small, dwarfed in his own, smooth and warm. He had no desire to let her or it go.

“Alright,” Jaime yelled, standing up and clapping his hands. The three of them turned to face the director. “Since we’re all here, let’s get started.”

                                                      —

Tom poured himself into the make-up chair, quite ready to be done for the day. He’d forgotten how draining theatre could be, no matter how much he enjoyed it. Their first official rehearsal had gone well; they’d ran through the play twice, stopping occasionally to work on blocking or change a delivery of a line. It was comforting, being in costume (even if the costume was close enough to what he’d wear outside of the theatre) and full make-up (God, though it made face itch something fierce), it made things feel more…real. But blast it all, he was tired.

Cath smiled at him, make-up remover in hand. “Long day?” she joked, handing him the soaked wash cloth. Tom smiled and took it gratefully, wiping his face with a sigh.

“I’d forgotten how much this stuff itches.”

“But it makes you look oh so pretty,” Cath teased, taking the wash cloth back and getting the bits he’d missed the first time around. “You guys are quite good,” she murmured, placing the cloth into the dirty linen bin by her feet and pulling out a bottle of light moisturizer. She pumped a small amount onto her hands, rubbing it between them before reaching and applying it to his slightly reddened face.

“Thank you,” he answered, trying not to think about how nice her touch felt on his skin.

They’d chatted quite a bit in the run up to actually getting himself, Charlie, and Zawe on the stage; and he’d found he very much enjoyed her company. She made him laugh with an ease that he hadn’t felt in a long time. She was warm and genuine; what you saw was you got. They’d talked briefly about his work; she’d seen him in Coriolanus, a friend of a friend had gotten tickets and invited her along, and she’d confessed to being quite impressed with his work in it, even if he was a fair bit shouty at times. She’d seen one or two of the Marvel films and had a fair grasp on his role in them, but they hadn’t really been her cup of tea.

He’d been almost grateful for her lack of response to his fame, or infamy depending on how you looked at it. It was a wonderful change of pace. She asked him questions about his experiences on set and what had lead him to acting in the first place. He, in turn, asked her about the work she’d done, in theatre and in television, he’d been pleased to find out, and they’d shared stories about long days on set or backstage antics they’d encountered.

“Alright,” she declared, leaning back with a soft smile. “All done. You, good sir, are free to go.”

The loss of her warmth against him was disheartening in a way he did not wish to explore anytime soon.

He returned her smile. “Thank you, my lady. I look forward to working with you in future.” Tom stood and headed back to the screened area in the far corner of the room to change back into his street clothes. Had he turned back, he would have caught the faint blush that spread across Cath’s face at his words.

                                                           —

Tom cursed as he caught sight of the time. He was late. Of fucking course he was late. God, what a mess. His hair was plastered to his head and he hadn’t had time to do anything save brush it from his face as he ran from the house and down the street towards the Underground station.

Bobby, the little shit, had been an unholy terror. He’d rushed out the garden door that morning, with complete disregard for the sheets of rain that were belting down (at the rate it was falling, Tom was thrilled to death it wasn’t snow), and dived head first into the muddy flower beds instead of calmly doing his business and rushing back inside for breakfast. Tom, knowing the horror it was to wash the foul beast, charged after him, winding up soaked in the process. Both muddy and thoroughly pissed at each other, man and beast made their way inside the house. Bathing Bobby had been an exercise in mutual frustration. The spaniel whined and growled through the whole process, swiping paws at his master in a fruitless attempt at escape. The bathroom was a disaster, water and mud splashed over the floors and walls and Tom groaned, knowing what a nightmare it would be to clean. Toweled dry and still growling intermittently, Bobby was unceremoniously shut in his kennel and his food bowl shoved in after.

Grumbling, Tom took the stairs two at a time and made as quick a work of cleaning the guest bath as he could. He’d just loaded the remaining towels into the washer when he caught sight of the time off the clock in his kitchen. His eyes bugged, how had it gotten so late?

Another string of curses followed Tom up the stairs once again as he dashed into his bedroom and grabbed clean clothing from the wardrobe (his usual dark jeans and a jumper). He ran into the bathroom, cursing the fact that he didn’t have time for a proper shower. And certainly no thanks to the beast in his backroom.

He grabbed a wash cloth and wiped the mud and dirt from his face and arms as best he could before pulling his jeans and jumper on. He sat on his bed to get himself settled in his socks and boots, knowing that with his luck, if he tried to do this while standing he’d fall and break his neck. That would be the icing on the cake of this foul day.

Dressed and still rather cross, Tom grabbed his keys and wallet from the side table and then his umbrella from the hall tree, quickly shrugging into his wool coat, before dashing out the door. The rain was still coming down in unrelenting sheets and the jog from his front door to the station had his boots and the cuffs of his jeans soaked through. He grimaced but knew there was little he could do for it now. At the ticket gate he paused and pulled his mobile from his pocket, quickly dialing the theatre, hoping to catch someone and inform them of his tardiness.

The phone rang once. Then twice before the line clicked and a warm female voice answered. “Hello?”

He recognized Cath’s voice immediately and made a determined effort to keep his frustration in check. Absolutely none of this was her fault. He took a deep breath and explained as quickly as he could. “It’s Tom, I’m running late. It’s been…A fair bit hectic this morning. But I am on my way.”

“Alright, Tom.” There was a clear hint of laughter in her voice, but she held it back remarkably well. “Take care. See you when you get here.”

Tom echoed her statement and ended the call, shoving his mobile back into his pocket. He made his way hastily through the barrier and down the escalator towards the filling platform. He brushed his wet hair from his face as he waited for the next train. He mentally cursed his lack of coffee but there hadn’t been any time and hoped against hope that there would be some at the theatre. Or that he could possibly duck out at some point and hit the Costa a few streets down. As long as he got caffeine somewhere (and in the relatively near future) he didn’t care.

By the time the train had pulled into the station and Tom had made his way from the platform and onto the street, the rain had died to a slow drizzle. He rushed from the station towards the theatre passing the aforementioned Costa with a longing look; he was far too late to risk stopping now, no matter how badly he wanted to. He nodded at John, one of the security at the stage door, and climbed the stairs two at a time. His watch had him at twenty minutes late and he cringed. He’d been doing so well with his time management in the last few weeks and this blip stung.

He burst through the dressing room door, pulling off his coat, hanging it up, and dropping the umbrella by the door. “So sorry,” he called. Charlie and Zawe were dressed and sitting at their respective stations, chatting with each other and with Lorna and Maggie. They looked up at his entrance and called greetings out.

Cath emerged from the back, smiling. “You made it!”

She quickly ushered him over towards his station. His eyes widened as he took in the waiting take away cup of coffee and brownie awaiting him. Gods, he could have kissed her for her thoughtfulness. He blinked the thought away and settled quickly into his chair before turning back to her. “You are a lifesaver. Honestly, thank you.”

“Can’t have you falling off stage because you’ve not had the requisite amount of caffeine in your system, now can we?” They both laughed and Tom reached gratefully for the gently steaming coffee, taking a tentative sip. It burned, but in the best way and he closed his eyes, savoring the warmth and the smooth bitterness. “Would you two like a moment alone?”

Cath’s teasing words snapped Tom back to himself and he blushed, quickly putting the cup back onto the counter. “Nah,” he quipped, once he’d recovered himself. “I trust your discretion.”

“Well that certainly explains a lot, Hiddleston,” she teased, not bothering to hide her laughter. “Who would have thought you were into exhibition?”

Tom shrugged, enjoying the playful if not slightly evocative teasing. “Why do you think I got into acting?”

Cath only laughed harder, shaking her head as she turned to grab a towel. “What happened to you, Tom? Your hair’s a mess.”

“It’s a long story,” he grumbled, grabbing the coffee once more and taking another long sip. “Involving a stubborn dog and far too much rain.”

“Yikes.” She rubbed the towel over his head, drying his hair as best she could. A smirk spread across her face as she spotted a muddy paw print on the side of his neck. “Looks like the dog won, though.” She pointed at the spot and Tom let out a groan. “He marked you.”

“Stupid bloody dog.”

Cath chuckled to herself, wiping the mark from his neck and dropping the towel into the dirty linen bin. She reached down and grabbed the hairdryer, making sure it was plugged in before running it over Tom’s unruly hair, making sure it was well and truly dry. “Alright,” she announced, shutting off the hairdryer and placing it back in its holster. “That’s about as good as we can get. Now scoot.”

Tom laughed, thanking her again for the coffee and for fixing the mess his morning had made of his hair. “You really are a lifesaver, Cath.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like I haven’t heard that one before. Now off with you, before we both get yelled at for your tardiness.”

With a smile and a wave, Tom made his way from the dressing room towards the stairs leading to the stage. Cath watched as he went, a warm smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of an errant curl sticking up at the back of his head. Silly man, she thought to herself. You are going to be a world of trouble, aren’t you?

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