#so had I known I may not have slipped under the radar as easily? back when I was little it was so much more misunderstood

[baycitystygian]

POV: you were an undiagnosed autistic kid even though it was glaringly obvious to anyone with even a passing knowledge of autism

this was from my diary in 2012, making me 13 at the time… I was just a baby and it SHOWED. elsewhere in the same diary I discovered what fanfic was, and mentioned other random notable events in my actual family life that I never thought I’d find an approximate date for or didn’t know happened so close together

[eluxcastar]

One of Repetition — Chapter One

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: your sudden dismissal from your position of harbinger, and the fatui as a whole, marks the end of the largest chapter in your life. you had never known a day without the tsaritsa's guidance, and you are set to never know another with it.

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: fem reader, reader is a harbinger, reader has a pyro vision, capitano is still not human and I haven’t played fontaine or natlan ngl, possible ooc, ACTUALLY EDITED FOR ONCE OMG RIRI CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

୨୧﹑words :: 4.6k

so erm. nooooo it hasn't been like two months since I updated 👀 what are you talking aboutttt. so, yeah, that took me forever (mostly because I was planning things), but I have the next chapter written already, so it'll be just an editing job, most likely 😔 I had this one prewritten too, but ig I decided I hated it. I ended up rewriting most of it. we aren't even out of oneshot content yet omg 😭

my head is on backwards rn it's eleven pm, and I'm supposed to be beta reading someone's fic for them 💀 I just spent all day struggling to fix this

also I have a discord server 🙏 you should join it I spill spoilers there, and there are fun people

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

Months pass before there is talk of the crowning of a new Harbinger, the people abuzz with the news and eager to know all they can, preferably before the aristocrats feel like sharing the night of the event. You considered attending the ceremony but ultimately decided against it. You may have the courage to do so, but you are certainly not stupid enough to wander into the waiting heart of the Fatui's clutches. You have waited patiently for this moment and can easily wait longer to hear the news.

No longer treating the inn like a home, you settled somewhere in the plains of another nation only a few weeks after you had first arrived there, sensing the barkeep was getting sick of you and the attention you were drawing to his otherwise obscure establishment. 

People settled there for a night, saw you were there, and word of mouth lured others as they boasted of their encounters with you to travellers who would come to see you. While this influx of new customers certainly boosted business, it also had the unintended consequence of driving away those who preferred to keep a low profile and valued its place as being for those 'in the know'. In other words, while you were great for a boom in business, you were bad for long-term business. 

The barkeep pushing the mora you tried to pay him to pay for another night was enough to send the message he wanted you gone, out by morning. The idea you were not to come back for quite some time was clear to you in the look he gave you. 

Liyue, on the other hand, is filled with mountains and teeming with visitors who have come to witness the highly anticipated Rite of Descension. Surprisingly, the influx of tourism only adds to the overall enjoyment of your experience. You would think that tourism would hinder your time there, but on the contrary, it makes it better in a way. The locals are expecting an influx of outsiders to come to see the Geo Archon in person, and, as a result, they are not only willing to hire help for the time but also serve later at food stalls, and the place is livelier. 

People notice you less as you blend into a crowd of tourists who also don't belong, and you manage to slip under the radar.

You have no interest in the Rite of Descension nor the Geo Archon, and most of your time is spent outside the harbour.

Wangshu Inn, a mid-point between the harbour and the border to Mondstadt, is still within Liyue. It is quieter—which is neither good nor bad—and home to some very understanding owners. They ask so few questions it almost alarms you, but their non-intrusive nature is a welcome change. You crave respite from the chaos and theatrics you were revelling in as a reprieve from the stress you were under, wondering how you would live your life now. At one point, you relished being hailed as a hero by many, but it soon became overwhelming, and you found yourself trapped in the clutches of Brighella once again.

Whether by design or happenstance, your identity had begun to consume your life again, and if you wanted to have any hope of living outside of Brighella, then that had to stop. And so, you sought a place to lay down your burdens and unwind, leading you to where you are now.

You arrive as your old self, and despite clinging to it since your travels had begun, you remove every piece of your armour for what you intend to be a long time and leave it all neatly arranged in a corner like a pile of folded laundry for when you eventually return to it.

Something compels you to finally don the fresh outfit you acquired during your journey through Fontaine. You collect the many pieces from where you stuffed them into your bag and lay them out before undressing from your underclothes. Admittedly, floor-length layered dresses, bustles and extravagance are not your style. If they were, you probably wouldn't have spent years making clinking noises every time you moved your arms. Years of being cooped up in a heavy suit of armour have attuned you to a hulking weight dragging down your every step.

But…

There's something alluring about trying out a new look, especially when it involves pants that don't weigh more than a third of your body weight. Besides, you always kind of liked the showy outfits of Fontaine anyway, just…not yet. Now seems like a good time to dip your toes in.

You almost don't recognise yourself when you finally see yourself in the mirror. Perhaps you got too used to seeing a metal helmet staring back at you and a suit of armour for a body, but the fresh air against your skin and lighter clothes feels…good. 

For the first time in a while, you feel free.

You look at yourself and see a girl. You've always seen a guard or a statue staring back at you, and you can't see the eyes hidden beneath that mask. What you're met with is a girl with messy hair and colourless eyes desperately trying to tame it down as if she's become self-aware that her helmet mussed her hair—it's a girl whose laziness is laid bare.

You watch your own hand pat uselessly at a knot as if that will wish the tangle to stay down by the force of sheer determination. Were those knots always there? You swear they weren't. Though perhaps foolishly, you hope not. You've been walking around like this for almost two weeks now.

Maybe that's why they tried to talk you into getting your hair done…

It's pointless. Your arm drops back to your side. You can't help but admire your reflection as you don a dress that falls just about your knees, even if you're doing it while you stumble to pull on the pair of boots you got with it while still standing. You surrender to crouch down and tie the laces.

When you stand, you return to marvelling at the sight of yourself. The boots are nice. There are no creases at the bends, and you notice the unmistakable clean sheen of new leather that draws a smile to your face. The dress is different—maybe too different—as you're not sure you recognise yourself. It's a dark dress meant to be paired with an undershirt. The saleswoman managed to talk you into one with a collar laced with frills and tied at the wrists and neck with bows—it's a popular style there, supposedly—and isn't this whole 'rebranding' of your identity supposed to be about fitting in? A vest-like piece pulled around your chest belts with a loop of fabric at the front; you assume it was made to vaguely resemble the corsets worn beneath the puffier dresses you shied away from.

The new outfit is making you giddy—too giddy for your taste. You don't recall having such an innate pep in your step, only one that felt deserved, but this is different. A suit of armour, no matter how shiny it may be, has never made you twirl like an overeager dancer just to see the fabric of your skirt catch the air and flow around your legs, only to fall back into place when you stop.

You find satisfaction is usually earned through hardship and perseverance, derived from a fundamental need to complete something you started. This is different. For once, your satisfaction with yourself comes from the beginning of something. This time, happiness comes to you without reason, a given right in this world where you revel in the lightness of your steps and the quiet sway of gentle, breathable fabric.

The jagged teeth you see in your smile can be hidden away behind a tight smile that looks awkward on your face. You ignore the sharp points you can only compare to an animal and pretend your eyes bear a more saturated hue.

Nothing significant has been accomplished. It's not like when you first descended the Abyss and returned unscathed despite your doubts. It's simple. It's human. It doesn't even seem like you made much progress toward becoming yourself when you lay it all out on paper. You bought clothes and wore them, that's it. 

Something about it feels so much like yourself. The freedom to stray from what you thought you were until now, something you hadn't dared to try before.

Yeah...you should unpack that hairbrush next.

-

One thing you like about Wangshu Inn is how it serves even people who aren't staying there. The ground floor overlooking the water is designated as almost a kind of restaurant. People filter in and out to be served, stay for lunch, meet with friends, and take breaks from their missions. It is meant as a place for travelling merchants, but you find that is not all its patrons see in it.

You are not nearly as sociable as you were in the Snezhnayan bar you were at, but this seems more manageable anyway. People leave you alone and don't crowd your table and head with presence and noise. You actually manage to relax when you're no one, even if you're fidgety and idle, because you have no idea what relaxing is supposed to look like when you're used to spending all of your time doing something, being somewhere, talking to someone. Peace is as hard-earned as victory, and the unfamiliar feeling of relaxation is both comforting and unsettling.

You strike quaint conversations, all of which feel far more enriching than any grandiose, embellished tale you got off a lowly wanderer attempting to make a name for himself on your stage. It's been a long time since you set foot in Liyue, and you don't think you've ever been here for leisure. The very concept of leisure is as foreign to you as the modern lands you're now travelling.

You wait by the lift for a ride back up to your room. A merchant stands by your side, shifting his weight between his feet as he stares up at the descending contraption that seems to laze down to the lower level of the inn.

"Are you from the Adventurers' Guild?" he asks unexpectedly. Your attention snaps from your daydream back to him as you're rudely jolted from your reverie. You're suddenly hyperaware of yourself, the dumb look on your face that you're used to concealing, and the fact that you've been caught off guard.

"No," you answer. Lying to the merchant is useless when it's too easy to disprove, even when it would serve you well.

"Huh. I thought you were," the merchant remarks. "You seemed like you would be. If you've come looking for work, they'll have a place for you."

"What's it to you?" you cannot help but ask.

"I have a transport job that needs doing," he explains with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It would save me a trip and the paperwork of putting up a job."

You nod, and the conversation trails off as the empty lift lowers before the both of you, jolting to a stop as it collides with the floorboards beneath it.

The two of you step on through the open side facing you and settle somewhere around the centre, though he drifts to perch his hand against the side for a hint more stability. You notice how he avoids looking over the edge, focused on what's directly ahead of him.

"They accept anyone?" you continue, wondering how far you'd have to go with your lies to get in. Admittedly, you'd also like to distract the man a bit, even if you'd deny that part given the chance.

He looks at you with a strange gleam in his eyes like he's not sure whether to thank you or scoff at what he must think is your pity. You have no pity for anyone.

"A friend of mine said they'll take anyone," he confirms. "All you need is power, and you have a vision, so I'm sure you'll be fine."

Everything seems to think that. Visions are some god-given, unattainable relic that represents pure power. Maybe they are. They're directly attached to the gnosis every archon received at the end of the archon war. They were Celestia's harbingers of conclusion—the end of an era. After that, though the gods could fight for eternity, it would be meaningless as long as each gnosis was irrevocably tied to a land and a being who possessed the power to crush each of them in an instant. Visions are pathetic slivers of the world compared to those chess pieces.

You have long grown tired of correcting people on that front.

"Will I have to stay here?" you ask instead, meandering back to the idle conversation you imagine humans enjoy far more than batty old ramblings of the past. People from Liyue snicker and sneer in the face of outsiders about their archon walking by their side, but their understanding of their archon is not as it once was.

Descending once a year is nothing compared to living amongst them as Morax used to.

"They have branches everywhere," he assures you. "They communicate with each other. I'll be here if you ever find my commission."

You knew that already, but you needed something to ask. You're saved by the bell as the lift jostles at the top of the inn, the ropes coming to yet another sudden stop and pausing to allow you to step off onto the balcony that oversees the lake and the landscape around you. Your departure is wordless as the merchant doesn't stop to say his goodbyes, eager to meet the other man waiting for him by the guard rail, who greets him with a tight smile and a handshake.

The Adventurers' Guild... You recall it forming. You've never known much about it, however, as it faded into the back of your mind practically the moment it was created. It fell into your version of obscurity naturally and never felt relevant when you were more concerned with the malformed creatures of the Abyss trying to kill you. Monitoring it was never your job, and most adventurers who find their way into the far reaches that you used to don't make it out to tell the tale.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to have a look at it when you get a chance. It could give you something to do.

-

Idling is in your nature, as it has been for years.

You idle because you have grown used to it. Patience, waiting, watching. You never liked it, but it is a constant that lingers. Unfortunately, as expected, you are sick of idling. It grew dull way back when you spent night after night bragging to an inn of drunks about something you never did.

So, you cement your name for the very first time.

For hours—perhaps a day—you paced your room at the inn, agonising over an answer to a question you weren't even sure would be posed. Innkeepers don't question paying hands. Adventurers do, especially guilds of them. They want to know all they can.

And you don't have a name.

Perhaps you once did—you certainly can't recall—but whatever you have been called, you no longer have a right to such names, not Brighella and not anything else. You need a new name, and in the absence of your mother, you will have to make your own.

But you cannot decide what.

You spent the night wondering and then the morning, as you woke with a sense of unease in the pit of your stomach. It feels more real than it has ever felt before, the weight of such a thing finally bearing down on you more than drinking and lying and weaving tales of a great adventure you never went on could ever hope to. You suspect people know that many stories you told were embellished or complete lies, but the appeal was never in truth.

The appeal was in a good story to entertain the drunken, and names are not made solely for drunken ears.

Before you descend the tree of Wangshu Inn, you have made your choice.

By the time you come to stand before the two organisers of the Liyue Adventurers' Guild on duty today, you force yourself to make peace with it and scribble the only way you can think to spell it down on the paper they give to you. It's the same old handwriting you recognise to be your own, not made for documents, signed by the weathered hand of a warrior making up a signature on the spot in the cursive hand you have always had.

You signed most of your words to the Tsaritsa that way, told of the deaths of a thousand men, more truthful tales of your ventures through the Abyss.

You withhold the stories, sliding the paper back to the woman with a cursory glance her way, seeking the answers to questions you don't want to ask. She takes it from you, collecting it in her hands and reading it in a brief flicker of her eyes across the page. 

"It's official things," she had told you. "The Snezhnaya branch wants documents of all new and current members, especially now with everything that's going on there."

"Of course," you respond, careful to measure your words and keep from spilling too much. "You can never be too careful."

They're searching for you.

Whether the Fatui wants them to or not, you can't say—perhaps it's someone else's prerogative. You wonder if the thought of reward has crossed everyone's mind as the rumours of your existence travel across Teyvat like wildfire. The promise of potential riches—something actually quite common in the snowy lands—is sure to lure everyone eager for mora to chase the traitorous criminal who tries to escape justice. Reward is how anything gets done in Snezhnaya. 

You're glad you left the armour in favour of the simple knee-length dress you find so much joy in. You're no longer imitating the image of Brighella, as her killer once did.

IIt is no longer a nameless charlatan they're after. You know they'll find you soon.

-

'Soon' seems to come quicker than you expected it would as the walk back, though providing no particular company, does present the same dangers as always—along with some new additions. You thought that the stray fatuus that litter the streets near the Northland Bank would be your greatest foes, a collective of walking spies who notice every passerby with the same keen eyes Pantalone personally carved into each of their loyalty-riddled heads by hand. You've noticed stares before, as you imagine many do not, or which they grew used to.

You eye them back with a scrutiny that you struggle to hide, eyes wandering down the winding stairs to a pair who talk amongst themselves without much regard, engrossed in their conversation. You doubt they would recognise you even if you passed too closely.

You narrowly avoid a salesman haggling you for attention, waving them off and hurrying past before they can finish their pitch, let alone convince you into forking over a single mora as you speed across the bridge from the harbour in pursuit of your only current home. The wind in your hair, as it never really has been before, the cold able to reach your skin in gentle touches, the caresses of wisps.

"Excuse me, miss?" a voice calls to you. From where? Your head whips around in search of the source, first forward, then above to the rock you recall seeing by the edge of the banister. 

Finally, you turn around, faced with the sight of a woman you've never met speaking with a voice you've never heard. It doesn't matter as you take in the deep purple uniform of a cicin mage with a hood adorned by two antenna-like pointed ears and littered with electric violet jewels to match the swinging lantern that crackles to life with a hearty glow—a member of the Fatui. 

The top half of her face is obscured by a mask, as is customary for most of the Fatui, but it is unmistakable the way her teeth flash in an unkind smile as you meet her gaze beneath the cover concealing her eyes. She stands with a stiff posture that gives away the impatience in her every breath and twitch of anticipation.

Has retribution finally come to stare you in the face?

Seconds pass, stuck in an unending standstill, the air thick with looming tension. Silence is all that remains, save for the songs of birds and the whispers of breeze—it is as if neither of you are even there. 

At last, she presents you with a letter. It is sealed with a long-dried splatter of wax decorated in the raised details of the stamp of a Harbinger. She extends it towards you, expecting you to take it sooner rather than later, as she taunts it before you with a jeering wave of the envelope.

"From the Damselette," she explains curtly.

You snatch the object from her with a huff of annoyance, having half the mind to snap for it, though you realise quickly enough that you have no actual authority over her—not in her mind. You look it over, taking in the seal—indeed the mark of the Damselette—and flipping it to check the front to spy if your title is penned upon it. It's blank.

"What could the Damselette want with me?" you ask her.

"Perhaps a warning." The words slip by, quiet but noticeable, immediately catching your attention. You raise an eyebrow at her. 

Her contempt for your very presence unveils itself with the sharpness of her words, the darkness brought into the light with the ugly sight of an expression that reads like the rot of a once-fresh fruit. 

You're very aware of the fact that her finding you means she knows something—perhaps more than she should. You are not familiar with her. It is unlikely that she ever worked under your command, though you'd be a liar to say you memorised every face that matched a name in your division. However, it is possible that she might've held a certain level of regard for Brighella, which has since turned to hostility as rumours of her arrogant killer run rampant. 

"I don't know. I'm not privy to those things," the mage adds.

In thought, you trace her from head to toe, scrutinising her for any indication of where her animosity came from. However, there is nothing that gives away her motives. You break your gaze away from her and glance down at the letter in your hand. 

"Walk with me," you say without leaving room for argument as you begin to lead her down the path away from the harbour. "I suggest you get a better hold of your tongue. They don't like it when you're rude to their guests."

Her smile does not waver, even as she obeys your invitation. Maybe she knows you were not asking. "You are not a guest," she retorts pointedly, stating that fact with glaringly false politeness.

You scoff despite your indignance. "Everyone who receives correspondence from a Harbinger is a guest," you tell her with a similar sharpness.

You suppose you can't fault her disdain when all is said and done.

The cicin mage quickens to fall into step beside you, an almost peaceful stroll taking the place of your standoff on the bridge. The mockery of something quaint is… pleasant in its own way though suffocating in another. Walking her somewhere that can't be seen from the city should not be too difficult. Maybe then, you'll finally get some peace and quiet. 

From somewhere tucked away in her clothing, she pulls what appears to be a knife from your peripheral vision and points it at you, but you tilt your head just enough to find it is only a blunt letter opener balanced in the palm of her hand, waiting to be picked up.

"I was ordered to stay until you had read the letter to deliver her your response," she says.

You pluck the knife from her hand, spinning it into place with a flick of your fingers—some fool's party trick you picked up gods know how many years ago—and free the contents with a single swipe of the blade, hearing the satisfying tear of the paper you couldn't help but always like. 

Just as the cicin mage believes you are a murderer, the letter addresses you as such—as if it were addressed to the Damselette's dear friend's killer in this volatile hour. Your lies have reached Columbina's ears. Moreover, she is playing along with them with a coy string of tall tales and pretty lies you imagine sound nicer to the ears of all who hear them than a single word from your mouth ever has. That's why she's the one with a title like Damselette rather than you. You never did make a very convincing helpless maiden.

You expected to find scrawls of threats and unfair deals demanded of you in the name of Her Majesty, but it is instead only an innocuous update on what is happening regarding your position—the reassurance that they have not violated the terms of the agreement made. All of the danger you currently face is your own fault, as Columbina less-than-subtly implies to you through her no-doubt carefully worded reasoning and explanations. All you see is a half-hearted apology and an excuse to tell you that you've once again made trouble for her, though you should've expected a scolding. You've earned many and received few. Preparations set them back, supposedly.

While you imagine preparing not only a Harbinger's funeral but a ceremony to announce their successor does take time, it would not take this much time with how prepared they were to kill you off in the first place—it was a planned betrayal. You imagine they picked the flowers for your coffin long before you caught wind of it. Quelling the rebellions of wayward partisans who see your death as a sign from Celestia would not have helped either, nor the desertion caused by the nerves of your admirers. You're almost certain that worlds have shaken.

It just looks better if they don't appear so prepared.

For whatever reason—perhaps your consolation prize for enduring her shameless lies—she shares a secret with you. As you casually scan the letter with little care for its contents, your attention is immediately drawn to the heart of the matter. It's the very subject on everyone's minds, and all that anyone speaks of, even now, months from the day they announced your supposed 'death' to the public.

They'll name him Il Capitano—The Captain.

You would not have picked it for him yourself, but that does not mean that you hate the name—quite the opposite, in fact—as you have to admit that when you envision the name paired with his face, it suits him well. She ends the letter promising that she will 'take good care of him', though you know that your respective ideas of those words do not align or even coexist in the same universe. There is an unmistakable discrepancy between her intentions and your own, and you don't like it.

Come back to us, Brighella. You can watch everything you wanted in person.

[tiredassmage]

something something, back to the beginning with 7.5, something something spend nearly half your life doing something, something memories, something totally probably not at all actually related to the plot of the patch, but something something excuse for me to write cheesy flirt lines-- self-indulgent as hell little brainworm of an exchange that may or may not actually happen but i sure as hell had fun putting tyr through it xD loosely inspired by the premise of returning to hutta for 7.5 and name-dropping one of the new characters, so technically some kind of spoilers but. obvs we don't know much and this is just. deeply, deeply self-indulgent fun on my part for now, lol. [but that kind of stuff is under the cut, if that is important to your reading choices <3]

“We have been to Hutta before,” Vector recalls. They step up to the agent’s shoulder as Tyr leans into the doorway, cocking one foot over the other.

Tyr grunts, “Somehow.., I’m inclined to doubt much has changed in…” A grimace starts to pull the agent’s features tighter around his eyes, as if counting the years might make the aches settle deeper. “Oh, twenty years, almost.., isn’t it?”

Vector hums thoughtfully. “Much has changed, agent,” they remind gently, “But… not so much, all the same, we concur.” They watch the agent’s eyes scan the distant swamp for a moment, noting the restless toy of his hands along the fit sleeves of the overcoat he wears.

They recall a saying on the ways of old habits…

“We suppose not all things can improve with age.”

A sharp, loud huff leaves their companion. Vector begins to smile. It’s enough to still Tyr’s hands - they instead fold together across his waist, supporting the agent’s lean. Out of the corner of their eyes, Tyr’s own narrow as they turn on him, mockingly accusatory.

“Vector Hyllus… I’m going to assume good faith.”

“Of course, agent,” they reply. Their smile widens under the mounting suspicion. “We have known plenty to admire a fine vintage.”

Tyr doesn’t quite manage to choke back a bark of laughter beneath a hand flying up to his mouth, nor does it entirely conceal his smile and the brush of color that enters his cheeks. Vector mercifully turns their eyes back out to the smog-hugged buildings awaiting them. Shortly, Tyr clears his throat. “You know I prefer Kaasi brandy myself.”

“Of course. You’ve always had a most enlightening taste, agent.”

Tyr coughs lightly and shakes his head. “Ah… right. So.”

“So,” Vector allows. “We… are not familiar with this… ‘Yusinduu,’ agent. It will be our first time in the district.”

“Right.” And just like that, a familiar lighting bolt clarity clears Tyr’s eyes. He pushes off from the doorway and waves Vector down the ramp with him, sweeping his jacket over the holsters at his hips. “Stay close, for now. If Hutts are reliable for anything, it’s an eye for profitable motives-”

Even that brief smile was well worth the diversion. They follow after the Commander, tucking their hands into their pockets.

“Do you think there is any relation, agent?”

Tyr begins to frown - a familiar brush of durasteel and the first gasp of rain-heavy air from the horizon. “I wouldn’t be surprised in the least,” he says.

His eyes skim the edges of the streets over Vector’s shoulders. “You know, I think you owe me a drink-” A cover for the agent’s sentiment to find a place to observe the local hum.

He claps a hand to Vector’s shoulder with a grin, eyes clear of the aged rhythms thrumming in battle-tested veins, no doubt. His fingers squeeze carefully around their shoulder and his voice drops for only a moment, “If I know anything about Hutta, it’s that we’re all good for someone… for the right price.” Stay close. Stay vigilant.

Tyr’s eyes face forward again, easily slipping through unfamiliar streets - enough heaviness in forward steps to keep their path clear and draw only the barest of curious glances. New faces on Hutt-controlled streets aren't uncommon. Nine wants them just under the radar. For now.

“Let’s see who we should be today, hm?”

[maddieinwonder]

The Seventh

Slight Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None at all

Word Count: 1.6k

Plot: Reader hears a lot of rumours about the BAU before she applies to join the team. (Part 2 here!)

Author's Note: I love the idea of the BAU being notorious in the FBI, because honestly, they totally would be! And I would be lying if I said I've never crushed hard irl on a mysterious genius boy...

Masterlist

------------

Before you decided to join the BAU, you had heard all kinds of gossip about its members. It was a hot topic among your colleagues, but you could hardly blame them for the shameless act, when you left one ear open for it yourself.

Professionally, if they weren't called the BAU, people called them the "serial killer guys", since they couldn't seem to escape them in their cases. But among your lunch group, they were called "The Seven".

It was an embarrassing name in your opinion, too easily implying that the BAU was elite, untouchable. But the more you learned about them, the more you thought there could some truth to it.

Number One was SSA Hotchner, the unit chief known for his stone cold attitude. You heard a rumour that he once threatened the BAU section chief without so much as batting an eye. Anybody else would have been fired on the spot, but it seemed that Hotchner was so unrivalled in his job that he was asked to stay anyway.

Hotchner's opposite was SSA Rossi, who seemed to be the more "human" of the two, but that didn't make him any less intimidating. He was famous both in and out of the FBI, having built the BAU from the ground up, and written multiple best-selling books about criminal analysis. Why he decided to return to the BAU was a mystery to everyone, but you had a feeling he actually missed it.

Then there was SSA Prentiss. Everyone's consensus was that she seemed nice, but ultimately professional. People theorised that her political upbringing made her into a politician herself, but you once saw her in the BAU office laughing so hard that tears started rolling down her cheeks, and that's when you decided she couldn't be as stiff as the rest made her out to be.

SSA Morgan was the one everybody liked, on a shallow level at least. All your fingers and toes weren't enough to count how many people you knew had a crush on him. You've seen grown women visibly swoon when he walked by, which was partially hilarious for you, but also partially embarrassing for womenkind. You could see the appeal, somewhat, but he wasn't your speed.

Your favourite was JJ. Jennifer Jareau was the BAU's communications liaison and the only one you'd dare call a friend. You'd worked with her on multiple cases in the past, and in fact, she was the one who recommended you for the new position. She's a complete sweetheart, but you also knew that she once headshot an unsub right in the BAU office to protect Penelope. That fact only increased your admiration for her.

She was also the one to introduce you to the BAU's infamous technical analyst. You had heard of Penelope Garcia prior to that, but she so rarely emerged from her office that you almost thought she was a myth. The real person was unlike an FBI agent at all, always donning some combination of bright colours, feathers, and/or sparkles. Most people who'd seen her labelled her as a weirdo, but there was something about her, a sense of positivity, that you loved.

Last but not least, the one that slipped under everyone's radar, Dr. Spencer Reid. People didn't talk much about Dr. Reid because, well, there was nothing really to talk about. He was the youngest person to ever join the FBI, had an IQ of 187, and you thought he was far too pretty to be doing a job this terrible, but that's where the conversations usually ended.

Everything that could be said, envied, or admired about the genius had simply been covered already, and he offered no new fodder for the gossip trolls to chew on; he rarely left the office, he didn't mingle with the other departments, and frankly, everyone thought he was socially awkward.

Yet, you found yourself continuously coming back to him in your thoughts. Maybe, subconsciously, you wanted to join the BAU so that you could figure him out.

The first time you met Dr. Reid, he was giving the profile of an unsub to the larger team. His words sped by so quickly, yet with so much insight and detail that you found yourself scrunching your face in concentration in order to get it all, and that impressed you.

You had always been a quick study but you instantly knew that Dr. Reid would be a challenge, both professionally and personally, and you hadn't even got to know him yet.

As you submitted the request to join the BAU, you admit that the excitement of that challenge was at the forefront of your mind. And when you were called into SSA Hotchner's office a few months later, the thought rang in your head even louder.

"Agent Hotchner, you called for me?" You asked at his door, suddenly feeling timid in the face of your potential boss.

"Sit down, agent," he said without looking up. As you took a seat, he opened a file that was undoubtedly yours and looked up. His eyebrows were furrowed, but if what you'd heard about him was true, this didn't necessarily mean anything bad. And you were right.

"I have your test results with me," he began. "Firstly, I'd like to congratulate you for scoring the highest in your class." You swore he almost cracked a smile.

"I've also heard a lot about you. Your boss had many good things to say about your work ethic, your field experience, and your commitment to justice," he continued.

Now it was your turn to smile.

"But I want to know the real reason why you want to join the BAU." Your smile faltered slightly, something that you're sure Hotchner would pick up on.

He leaned forward in his desk, purposefully applying pressure on the situation, and you let out a quiet breath in preparation.

"The reason I wanted to join the BAU may not be new to you, but I'm looking for a challenge. I want to make a change." You started. "I understand that those two may be contradictory principles, but I believe I can grow and do a lot of good with the BAU."

"And what if the job gets too much for you?" He asks, a flicker of emotion that I didn't recognise crossing his face.

"I'm prepared for that," you said determinedly. "I may not know what this job will take from me, but I'd like the opportunity to prove that I can grow from it, sir."

Agent Hotchner eyed you for a moment before standing up. "Very well, then." He reached out his hand. "Welcome to the BAU."

You looked at his hand for a second, the shock barely registering, before scrambling to your feet. "Thank you, sir! I won't disappoint you!" You shake his hand grinning.

"And next time, just call me Hotch." He said, this time smiling amusedly at your enthusiasm.

"Got it, and thank you again, sir." You said, excusing yourself from his room with a noticeable skip in your step.

You tried to cool yourself off walking back to your department to share the good news, but the excitement proved too much to hold in when a familiar voice calls out to you.

"Hey babygirl, considering you just came out of Hotch's office with a smile, I'm guessing you're going to be our newest teammate."

You turned around, trying to swallow your giddiness, when you realised that person was none other than SSA Morgan.

"Agent Morgan," you stuck out your hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you, and yes, I am."

"Derek." He corrected, grinning as he shook your hand. "Looking forward to working closely with you."

"Just call him Morgan. Don't need to get too close to this player." SSA Prentiss nudged Derek out of the way, raising her hand to meet yours. "I'm Emily Prentiss."

You giggled at their closeness.

The rest of the introductions quickly followed, including hugs from JJ and Penelope, and a starstruck moment when Rossi left his office to personally welcome you to the team. But there was one person whom you hadn't formally met yet.

Dr. Reid had finally separated his head from his work amidst the commotion (plus a very strong encouragement from one Mr. Derek Morgan to "go get her, pretty boy") and walked up to you, a nervous gait in his step.

He stuck his hand out to your surprise, having heard that the doctor was a tad germaphobic, and shook yours. "Dr. Spencer Reid," he said. "But you can call me Spencer, everyone else does."

"Nice to meet you, Spencer." You tried out the foreign name on your tongue. "Honestly, I'm quite a fan of your academic papers. I'm looking forward to working with you."

You knew the genius was a bit awkward, but he instantly turned beet red at your words and retracted his hand. The thought that this was the first time somebody had complimented him this way made you a little sad. But you thought his reaction was incredibly cute, and apparently so did the rest.

"Pretty boy, pret-ty boy, is that how you should react around a lady?" Derek sing-songed, putting his arm around the poor genius' shoulders, tugging him down.

JJ shot you an apologetic look for her childish teammates, while the rest joined in to poke fun at Spencer. Although he was frowning, his voice betrayed no hints of annoyance. Clearly they were all very close.

You laughed along, feeling a growing warmth in your chest, and wondered if you'd be a part of this family in the future.

But first, you’d have to get used to being the Eighth.

------------

(Part 2 here!)

[casualreader1234]

Reunion

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

An: Part two of the random story idea I had. I think I'm just going to keep the same summary each time because I'm too bad at writing them. I tried to make this gender-neutral, and I don't think I wrote anything that would imply a particular sex, but let me know.

Summary: What if you weren't the hero of the story? What if you were the villain meant to burn the world down?

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warning: Morally gray protagonist, violence

Word Count: 2k

[Part 1], [Part 2]

This gif is so funny to me.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you had first arrived in the U.S, you had been intrigued by tales of the infamous Black Widow, a former Russian assassin turned good, that was enough to catch anyone's attention. To satisfy your curiosity, you had tracked her down, wanting to see her for yourself. Watching her from afar, you understood why she was considered one of the best in her field: her movements always flowed into the next like she was performing a dance.

She easily disposed of her targets, strapping her weapons back onto herself. Seeing the completion of her job, you left the ledge of the building you had been standing of before she could see you. Slipping into the shadow, you had to admit that your interests had been piqued by the assassin.

///

You had always known that your girlfriend had been hiding secrets, but this one was far more exciting than you had thought. Never had it crossed your mind that Natasha might also be involve in the assassin industry. For such a planet, what were the chances of two assassins meeting and starting a relationship without either being the wiser. You weren't sure if that made her exceptionally good at her job, or you exceptionally bad at yours.

Asking around to some of your other contacts, you learned more about the KGB and the Red Room program that had trained Natasha, wanting a glimpse into her childhood. Disgust and rage filled you when you learned about the operation. They had hurt her, so you had made sure they all suffered for their crimes. Then, you returned back to America.

It was the reason you had stayed all these years. She was the reason. Though you've known where she's been all this time, you never revealed yourself. Maybe it was out of fear. Maybe it was out of shame.

It hadn't surprised you that Natasha decided to work for SHIELD. You've also known that she had a good heart, but it did make things more complicated.

She was one of the good guys now. If she ever crossed paths with you, she would be forced to face you as an enemy. So, for both of your sakes, you avoided doing things that would get SHIELD attention, carefully selecting jobs that would run under the radar. You had been careful, erasing most of your tracks, yet here you were, chained down to a table in a SHIELD facility.

Natalia-no-Natasha stared down at you. You unconsciously cringed under her intense gaze.

" How are you darling?" You asked, breaking the thick silence and giving her a small smile. "I must say, you look as stunning as always. Did you do something to your hair? It seems to be shorter."

Natasha didn't reply, instead shaking her head angrily. " What the hell, (Y/n). What are you doing in the U.S?"

Her harsh tone almost made you flinch. “ Here to visit my beautiful girlfriend? I've really missed you.” You tried, feeling a bead of sweat roll down your neck. Natasha may not have any powers but damn was this woman scary when she was mad. Flattery wasn't going to work on Nat though, her face stone cold as she looked down at you.

"That doesn't answer the question, milyy (darling)." She replied with a strained smile.

Tony watched the exchange with a slack jaw, eyes looking like they were going to pop out of his sockets from shock. “ I’m sorry? You know this criminal Nat?”

Your head snapped to the man, jaw clenching. “ Nat?" You sputtered at the intimate nickname. "Who gave you permission to call her Nat?” You swiveled back to look at Natasha. “What is your relationship with him?” You asked accusingly.

Natasha rolled her eyes, turning to Tony. “ Don’t call me Nat, Stark. And this idiot here is (Y/N).”

"Yeah, her [girlfriend/boyfriend] ! " You added helpfully.

The look Natasha gave you was deadly enough to silence you again. She turned her attention back to Tony, " Do you want to fill me on what's happening Stark? I return from a mission and hear from Steve that we had caught a mutant, but I wasn't even aware that we were after one." You frowned at the fact that had she referred to you as a mutant, but chose to ignore it.

Tony shrugged, acting like a bratty overgrown child," No, I don't want to." Natasha's jaw clenched and you decided to lend a helping hand.

Tendrils of black suddenly snaked around Tony, pining him hard against the wall behind him. His eyes widened, shooting to the origin of the magic, seeing you now unbounded and smiling widely at him, the handcuff hanging loosely off the table. Standing up, you rubbed at the red marks on your wrist left by the binds.

"Better answer her, Mr. Stark, I wouldn't want to get on her bad side." You threatened, eyes turning pure black for a split second.

Tony desperately looked at Natasha for help, but she stayed steadfast, unmoved and patiently waiting for him to answer. Realizing that no help was coming, he relented. "Fury got tipped off about some assassin that had been piling up bodies all across the U.S and North America. At first we dismissed them as the work of sporadic killers, not linking the deaths together until we got another tip about them being a mutant. We had Wanda examine a few of the bodies and she confirmed that magic was the cause of death. Since then, we've had our eye set on a contracted killer who went by the alias Reaper. A few weeks ago, we got a hit on their last location, and from there, we planned our trap."

Realization dawned onto you, " You put a bounty over yourself!" You exclaimed with a chuckle, thoroughly impressed by their commitment. It was a good plan, one that you hadn't even considered. Of course, if it had been any other week, the plan would've failed.

Every time you used magic, there was a backlash. The magic was deep inside you, a part of your very being, but it didn't stay that way willingly. The black flames were a dark and ancient form of magic, one that could only be wielded by a select few. Long ago, many groups had tried to master the arts, but most failed. The magic was powerful, more than anyone really knew, and only grew more so as it consumed more energy. Magicians didn't as much wield the magic, as they did subjugate it.

Candidates trained for years in preparation for the infusion, getting their body ready to handle massive amount of energy. When they were deemed ready, they would be exposed to a pure form of the magic. The flames would consume them and their screams could be heard for miles. Most people who entered the last trial end up dead, completely consumed by the magic. A few though, came out stronger. Instead of being consumed by the flames, they had somehow consumed the flames, magic now flowing through their veins.

Even then, the magic inside of wielders fought against their vessels, constantly trying to escape. The ring you wore helped you control the magic inside, absorbing some of the power and trapping the rest of the flames within you, where it couldn't escape and grow any stronger. But every time you took off the ring, you unintentionally let the magic grow, and when it finally returns back to you, the fight inside gets a little tougher.

Normally, it didn't affect you much. You had been trained since childhood to control the magic, so you could go hours with continuous magic use without any major repercussion. But the past month, you had really tested your bounds, toeing the limits of your control. This inevitably degraded your mental state, leaving your mind a little hazy. This meant you were a lot more impulsive and less observant, something that played in favor to SHIELD's trap. You knew you shouldn't have taken the hit on Tony, especially due to your exhaustion, but you had let your excitement of possibly seeing Natasha blind you. Nevertheless, the current situation didn't really worry you anyways, although you made a note to deal with a problem later.

"And why wasn't I informed of this?" Natasha pressed on.

"Don't take it personally. You're area of skills weren't required for the job, so you weren't informed. Simple as that." Tony plainly stated, clearly sensing the Russian's agitation.

You had to stifle your laughter at the irony. If Natasha had been assigned to the case earlier, you probably would've been captured much sooner.

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek, obviously deep in thought as well. " Release him, (Y/N)." She finally said and you happily obliged, but not sliding you ring back on, letting the flames surround you in a hazy aura incase you needed to react to any threats. Tony let out of breathe of relief as your magic retreated, but you could see that he was still a bit shaken up, the effects not fully wearing off.

"Hey are you alright darling?" You asked concernedly, ignoring the wobbling man when you caught Natasha looking a little pale. Walking over to where she was, you reached out a hand to lightly caress her cheek, the flames retreating as it reached her. You hesitated for a split second, unsure of how she would react, but Natasha leaned into your touch. Her eyes met yours. It was the same bright green that you dreamt about, and they looked even more dazzling up close. She smiled up at you and it was like all the years you've spent apart hadn't happened.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She whispered reassuringly and you smiled too in relief. “ What does Fury want with the (Y/N)?” She asked Tony, but her eyes didn't leave you.

“ The same thing we do to all threats. We either eliminate or imprison them .” He answered, voice indifferent.

Natasha turned to him, much to your dismay, “Why can’t we accept them into SHIELD?” she offered instead.

Tony, who had thought your weird relationship with Natasha was the strangest thing that could happen, couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You want to let an assassin into our ranks? Are you crazy?! Did you already get your hands on the vodka shelf?” He stammered.

Natasha gave him a dark look, one that sent a chill of excitement down your spine, “I was an assassin too Tony.”

Tony didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, but he didn’t need to. The door to the room swung opened again, this time a larger blonde man marching in. You recognized him from your intel: Steve Rogers-Captain America. Behind him, you saw several heavily armed agents behind him, their guns trained on you.

Natasha whipped around at the sudden intrusion, surprise flashing across her face. " Steve." She said warningly, noticing the same things you did, but Steve didn't let her finish, already throwing out his shield in attack. The metal was launched at you, cutting through the air faster than the eyes could follow.

You easily caught it, magic stopping it mid-flight.

You sighed at his pathetic attempt, " Mr. Rogers, don't you know it's rude to interrupt? You can't just come in here, guns blazing, and shield flying." You reprimanded, lazily throwing the shield back to the man. Steve tried to catch the shield, but was knocked back by the sheer force of your throw. The men immediately behind him stumbled back in shock as the 6'1 super solider crashed into them. Those who were left standing quickly recovered and upon realizing that their first line of attack had been beaten, prepared to shoot. They found themselves unable to. Fear had crept up on them during the ruckus and now they were unable to move as your magic seeped through them. With a simple wave of your hand, the black flames around you attacked and within seconds, all the agents, including Cap, dropped to the floor.

"What?" Tony gasped in horror, and for the first time, he seemed to truly understand the extent of your power.

"Relax, they're not dead. I just knocked them out for-" You pretended to check your wrist for a watch, " -a while. I don't know, I usually don't wait around for the people I knock out to wake back up."

Natasha was staring in shock at the pile of bodies by the door and you saw something indistinguishable in her eyes. A distinct chime echoed off the walls of the room, drawing your attention to your phone in the corner. You walked over to it, Tony looking like he wanted to stop you but was too terrified to. Picking it up, you read the message silently. Shouting could be heard getting louder, footsteps pounding towards you as alarms blared.

"Looks like that's my cue to leave." You announced to Natasha and Tony. " Sorry to cut our reunion short Talia."

Natasha stepped forward, blinking out of her shock. "(Y/N) wait-!" She began.

"Don't worry, I think I'll be staying a little bit longer in New York. We'll see each other soon my love." You promised, picking up one of the fallen agent's guns and shooting out the lights until you were enveloped in pitch darkness. Then, before the backup agents could arrive, you melted away into the shadows.

///

You emerged from a dark alleyway in some shifty part of the Bronx. Pulling out your phone, you replied to Matt, your associate, declining the new job he had sent over, informing him that you would be taking a vacation for a while.

Seeing Natasha had reminded you of how much you actually missed her, and you didn't want to just leave New York yet, not when you barely had the chance to catch up with your lover.

But first, you had a snitch to catch. Someone had tipped off SHIELD about you. Someone who knew you about your power at that. You couldn't let someone so dangerous live.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Powers of Reader [Will be updated as more information is learned about Reader]

-Ability to set fear in opponents

-Ability to melt into shadows (teleportation like: goes into one shadow, pops up somewhere else)

-Magic flames that kill people(?) and knocks them out(?)

-Major simp for Natasha (special skill)

[dotnscal]

BAD THINGS HAPPEN FILL - TAKING THE BLAME

this is my first ever fill for @badthingshappenbingo ! the prompt was obi wan + taking the blame -- it sort of ended up being very oddly cody centric, but i still hope you enjoy!! also send more prompts (characters or ships!) they’re fun!!!

fandom: the clone wars, prequel trilogy

featuring: cody, obi-wan, and a bit of anakin

words: 2.9k

“Cody breaks the news about casualties to General Skywalker. Obi-Wan steps in.”

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29349840

OR READ IT HERE! :

disclaimers: i know NOTHING about war and it shows. no idea how battle strategy works so if you know anything about that... close your eyes for that part.

anakin might be ooc. he has issues and in this case they come from a good place but they’re just... misdirected

have fun reading! send me prompts!!

also if you want to read with italics and fun formatting please read on ao3. it is 1:23 am and i want to post this but i have class at 10 and no energy to add italics into this </3 sorry i love you </333

Cody takes a deep breath, straightens his posture, and reaches forward to turn on the holo.

Almost immediately, blue light flickers to life in front of him, casting the inside of the empty command tent in its glow. It might have been enjoyable to look at—far more enjoyable than the mud and dirt Cody’s been dealing with for the better part of two weeks now, at least—but what takes up his attention are the two figures now projected before him, one with arms crossed over his chest, the other standing at attention a step behind and to the left.

“General,” Cody greets, the eyes under his bucket glancing from one figure to the other. “Captain.”

Under more relaxed circumstances, he might’ve risked using the name of the man he’s known since birth, the brother he’s fought beside for some time, now—but these aren’t relaxed circumstances, and Cody’s better than most at sticking to formality.

“Commander,” General Skywalker greets, the corners of his lips turned down in noticeable wariness. If only he knew. “You have a report for us?”

Right to business. It’s necessary, in a campaign like this, but that doesn’t make it any easier to brace himself for what he’s about to disclose, or for how he knows Skywalker will react. He takes a moment to breathe in the safety of his bucket, the solitude of the command tent, before he nods an affirmative.

“Yes, sir.” Get it out, Cody, just get it out. “We managed to take the hilltop about two standard hours ago, and the Separatist forces have been drawn back to a new front. However, we… encountered strong resistance, and we suffered severe casualties as a result.”

It was already silent, but now, tension seeps into the air. Behind Skywalker, Rex shifts almost imperceptibly— imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t a brother, maybe, who didn’t know him so well, but Cody sees it, and he, too, braces himself.

Skywalker doesn’t miss a beat, frown deepning. “How severe?”

It’s moments like these that Cody is beyond glad for his bucket. “Severe, sir,” Cody repeats, unwilling or unable to say much beyond that. He hasn’t even written the formal report yet, the casualty forms and the requisition requests for the new shinies—he’s just coordinated the digging of the graves, the making of the memorials. “It wasn’t—”

“Commander,” Skywalker interrupts, a certain intensity to his eyes that Cody’s seen only a few times. It still makes him feel breathless, and not in a good way. “I want a number.”

A number. Cody has the numbers in his head, has already committed them to memory, but speaking them aloud…

“Fifty-three confirmed, sir,” he says, as evenly as he can manage to. “One hundred thirteen unaccounted for.” Idly, Cody remembers that he’ll need to start organizing the search effort for the bodies, once the burials are done—if they’ll even have time for a search effort before their next deployment, but Cody hopes they will, hopes they’ll be able to find and bury each brother properly—

“How many from the 501st?” Skywalker’s voice is curt, and Cody sighs a silent sigh.

This had been his worry, at the outset of this campaign. With their own numbers down, the GAR had approved the 212th to temporarily borrow some of the 501st’s men—men who were now dead, who had died away from the brothers that meant the most to them.

Kriff it all.

“Twenty-nine confirmed,” Cody managed, ignoring how dry his mouth, his throat, felt. “Seventy-two unaccounted for.”

Something changes in Skywalker’s expression. A flicker of something Cody’s only seen once or twice shines in his eyes, in the sudden stiffness to his body. The first time he’d seen it, he’d quietly patched into Rex’s HUD channel, asked if there was something that he needed to know about the General, if Rex needed transfer forms—but he’d been promised that everything was alright, that whatever was going on with Skywalker, it wasn’t being taken out on Rex.

Unfortunately, it looked like the time had come for it to be taken out on Cody.

“Commander.” Deep breaths, Kote. Skywalker stands stiff as a tower, arms crossed firmly over his chest, lips almost in a scowl as he stares at Cody as though he’s nothing at all. “Do you want to tell me why my men are dead?”

It comes from a good place. Cody knows this. Skywalker cares for his men, the same as Kenobi does. Rex has told him as much, and any man in the 501st would promise the same. Only he cares for them differently, and it’s a difference that Cody isn’t used to, no matter how hard he tries to catch up. Kenobi cares for his men, does all he can to protect them—and Skywalker does all he can to hurt whoever’s hurt them.

In Skywalker’s mind, behind the anger Cody can feel even through the holo, Cody is the one who’s hurt them. Forget the clankers—Cody might as well have been the one to take a blaster to them, for all it matters to Skywalker.

He takes another deep breath.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Start with the condolences. It makes things easier when he has to give this news to Kenobi, and Cody hopes it’ll do the same job now that he’s breaking it to Skywalker. “As I said, we were facing heavy opposition. There was artillery positioned at the top of the hill while we were attempting to take it.” Cody forces himself through the words he’s rehearsed, the words he’s carefully chosen and prepared, but Skywalker’s expression doesn’t change one bit. “We had planned a flanked approach, but found that it wasn’t suited to the terrain, and I decided—"

“Forgive my commander, Anakin.”

A voice, melodic and smooth, speaks from behind Cody, and he might’ve jumped, alarmed at how easily Kenobi’s entrance slipped under his radar, were he not so utterly focused on trying to minimize Skywalker’s anger.

Obi-Wan steps forward, standing now at Cody’s side, and Cody’s grateful for his bucket again as he gives the Jedi a bewildered glance.

“And forgive me for my tardiness. I’m afraid I was held up, helping with the wounded.”

Tardiness. Cody blinks. Kenobi’s not late to this meeting.

Kenobi wasn’t invited to this meeting. Nor was he supposed to know about it until after the fact.

It hadn’t been a deliberate exclusion on Cody’s part. But Obi-Wan was taking their losses hard enough already, and Cody was convinced that the last thing he needed was to be met with anger from the one person who meant more to him than anything else in the world. It was an easy conclusion to reach—Cody would take care of it, bear the brunt of Skywalker’s anger, and inform Kenobi after the fact. It was, after all, just another duty.

Now, though… despite how careful he’d been to keep Kenobi out of this conversation, Cody can’t help but be selfishly, horribly relieved that he’s here now.

“Obi-Wan,” Skywalker greets tersely, Rex giving a nod from behind him. His posture hasn’t lost any of its stiffness, but the curve of his lips is somewhat less severe. Kenobi nods at each of them in turn, and Cody stands dumbly at his side.

“As I was saying,” Kenobi picks up, smooth and calm and polished, ever the negotiator, “you’ll have to forgive my commander. I’m afraid that we’ve seen quite a lot of action in the past few days, and he may have forgotten some of the details of our campaign.”

Cody hasn’t forgotten shit. Somehow, he gets the distinct impression that Obi-Wan is fully aware of this—but he doesn’t challenge his General on his words, instead remaining cautiously silent, waiting to see where he’s planning to take this conversation, while Skywalker casts a wary glance Cody’s way.

It’s better than the glares he’d gotten before, at least.

“I believe Cody was detailing our efforts to recover the hilltop from Separatist occupation,” Kenobi begins crisply, pausing for a moment to wait for Skywalker’s nod before he continues. “As he mentioned, the terrain complicated our initial plans of a multifaceted approach. Due to this and many other complications, I made the decision to utilize a forward charge.”

For one long, long moment, Cody is utterly thoughtless, struggling to process what Obi-Wan’s just said, what he’s just done.

After another moment, he has the sense of mind to brace himself, to prepare for the full extent of Skywalker’s upset, to hear whatever harsh criticism and rebukes he has to offer.

Nothing comes. Instead, Obi-Wan clears his throat.

“At the moment, it was the only maneuver available to us.” Cody dares to look up, dares to take in the way Skywalker’s expression has softened just barely, the way even Rex, stiff and still, seems slightly surprised for Kenobi’s words to not have been met with an outburst. “I deeply regret each and every life that it cost, but I assure you and your captain that your men died as heroes, fighting alongside their brothers, and that the others and I will do all we can to ensure that they are treated as such.”

Another beat of silence. Cody watches Skywalker’s throat bob as he swallows, and then watches as he nods just once. He still doesn’t speak.

“I’ll be able to discuss the matter in more detail later,” Kenobi promises, and Skywalker deflates a little bit more at that, some more of that stiffness fading away. Silently, Cody marvels at how the hell his general is accomplishing all this. “Until then, though, my commander and I have some more business to see to. I trust that you understand, Anakin.”

“I understand,” Skywalker repeats, his gaze wary but not overly hostile as he looks over at Obi-Wan. He glances at Cody for a moment, expression hardening just so—but when he looks to Kenobi again, the hardness melts away once more, leaving just a solemnity that still feels out of place on Skywalker’s face. “I’ll talk to you later, Obi-Wan.”

Skywalker turns, gives a nod, and behind him, Rex moves to a panel, presses a button. The holo in front of Cody flickers out a moment later, Rex and his general just gone, just like that, and Cody finds himself staring at the space their blue projections previously occupied.

What the hell had just happened?

Beside him, Kenobi sighs, lifts a hand—then rests it on Cody’s shoulder, just for a moment, over his armor as though to console him, before letting it drop and stepping away, and finally, finally, Cody snaps out of it enough to find words.

“General—” Kenobi’s already moving to slip out of the tent, but he pauses at Cody’s voice, leaving Cody to tense up, realizing at once that he hadn’t actually planned what he was going to say.

“Wait.”

He hates how foolish his own voice sounds, so uncoordinated and unlike himself. Kenobi turns, but his brow is furrowed with that concerned look he wears more often than not, and he blinks at his commander as though nothing at all had just happened.

“Is everything alright, Cody?”

Again, Cody feels himself grasping for words, struggling to speak what he feels. In the end, he goes for simplicity.

“You didn’t have to do that, sir.”

Kenobi raises an infuriating brow, his expression the picture of innocence. “Do what, exactly?”

Cody’s confused, and his heart is still beating too fast, and all of it makes him far less careful about what he says, more willing to speak freely in the way Obi-Wan always insists he feel free to do. He swallows.

“Lie, sir,” he replies, somehow feeling a need for breath. “It wasn’t your decision to attempt that charge. It was mine.”

He’d been the one to first bring up the idea, huddled with the General and five other men behind an outcropping, knee-deep in mud with blaster fire ringing in his ears. He’d suggested it, trying desperately to find a way out of their current predicament. It had been his plan.

Obi-Wan’s expression softens, just for a beat, and he steps forward. “You may not see it that way, Commander,” he says softly, too softly, just soft enough for something in Cody’s chest to twist, “but I do.”

Cody’s at a loss for words again, but he can tell that if he doesn’t say something, Kenobi will turn to leave once more—so, desperate, he says the first thing that comes to mind.

“But I brought it up, sir.” He’s not usually so insistent in any matter, and certainly not in front of his general, but there’s something in the other man’s eyes that makes Cody’s throat feel thick with the need to speak, to say something to take away the distance in his gaze. “It was my suggestion. I made the plan. It’s—” A heartbeat, loud and clear in his chest. “It’s not your fault.”

Fault. It’s the trickiest part about war. Cody likes to think he’s come to terms with the fact that no matter what choices he makes, no matter how many hours he spends poring over strategy, his men, his brothers, are going to die. It’s what they were made to do, and he grew up knowing it—though that doesn’t make it any easier to face, any easier to silence the what ifs that come at night, all the ways things might’ve been different, the ways he might’ve saved just one more brother—

But Kenobi. Kenobi takes it harder than Cody’s ever seen, and now, it seems, is no different.

He almost flinches at Cody’s words, and the commander sucks in a breath at the sight, at the flash of vivid hurt he sees on Obi-Wan’s face before he quickly recovers, before he covers it up again. One deep breath, and it’s like Cody never said anything at all, Kenobi’s face returning to a practiced, careful calm.

“I appreciate your sentiment, Commander,” he begins, voice still quiet and distant in a way that grips Cody’s heart. “Truly, I do.” Cody doesn’t doubt it, not when he can see the sad sincerity in Kenobi’s eyes—but there’s more coming, and Cody braces himself.

“However,” Kenobi says, swallowing again, almost imperceptibly. “I’m afraid that I was the one to give the order to initiate that charge. I believe that makes me far more culpable than you.”

Cody blinks, unbelieving, because Kenobi can’t be serious about this—but kriff, that look is still in his eyes, shining blue-grey and looking right into Cody’s heart.

“General.” Cody puts the same intensity behind the word as he might’ve if he were admonishing him for escaping medbay again, or trying to evade the medics. “It was my plan.” At a loss, he shakes his head again, staring at the other and imploring him to feel his sincerity even through the bucket, to see the truth of the matter as it stares at both of them. “If anyone is to blame, sir, it’s me, not you, and—” He swallows hard. “General Skywalker should know that.”

For one brief, fleeting moment, Obi-Wan smiles—a sad smile, with none of his usual lightness. Somehow, it’s worse than the sad look he’d been wearing before. “It was my order, Commander,” he says faintly, meeting Cody’s gaze head-on. “And it is my responsibility to accept the consequences.”

Cody stares, baffled—accept what consequences? General Skywalker’s anger, or the burden of requisition forms, or the guilt, the kind that’ll suffocate you at night—before he can manage to respond.

“But sir,” he insists, that boldness from before back, boldness that he would never dare to utilize were it not for stakes like these, for something as important as his general is to him. “General Skywalker—”

Again, Obi-Wan smiles sadly, giving just one mild shake of his head to cut Cody off—and again, a careful hand raises to rest on his shoulders.

“Better that he’s mildly upset with me than putting an undue burden on you,” Obi-Wan says gently, with a ghost of that mirth he usually carries so effortlessly. It fades after a moment, just as his hand falls away from Cody’s shoulder, and Obi-Wan replaces it with solemnness. “I’ll deal with him,” he promises. “And I’ll see that your brothers are taken care of.”

His words strike something deep in Cody’s heart, something he hadn’t known was there. He knows, of course, what Obbi-Wan means—the burials, the recovery efforts, the wounded, all of it. He’s done as much before, has always cared for his men deeply enough to help with that sort of thing, but now—now, it’s so much more, and Cody doesn’t know what to say.

“General,” he says, something in his tone pleading, hoping that Obi-Wan will hear him, will break free of whatever burden he’s placed on himself, or at least let Cody carry it with him—

But Obi-Wan’s eyes only sadden further, and he bows his head just so, taking a step back.

“I’m sorry, Commander.” Another step away, and Cody’s words burn at his throat, the urge to tell him not to go, to wipe away all of his doubts, all of the blame he carries, to tell him that there’s nothing to be sorry for, it’s not his fault—

Obi-Wan manages a weak echo of a smile, meeting his gaze one last time. “I’ll do better, next time.”

A promise—a promise that he doesn’t need to make, something Cody already knows, deep down in his chest, but before he can tell him that, his general’s gone. The tent’s entrance flap swings slightly in the wind, and Cody stands, alone and with a soreness in his heart that hurts more than he can explain.

[writefightandflightclub]

Hush (First Order!Poe x Reader)

What is this? 5 of 14 prompt requests for my 500 follower celebration! See OP and credit for prompt list creators here.

What is the prompt? “Do you think you can keep quiet for me?” with First Order! Poe. Thanks to the FABULOUS @tintinwrites​ for a FABULOUS request. (I hope it’s to your liking!)

Author’s note: This is a different take on FO!Poe compared to my other writing, so let me know what you think of it! Also, it has some smut but it’s not smut-centric. It’s a bit angsty, and even has backstory. Stay for the plot? I REALLY HOPE THIS ISN’T SHIT.

Word count: This story possessed me and so I feel like it’s not even my fault it’s 3.4k words, ok?  

Warnings: (18+ only!!!) Smut, language, prison, mentions of execution. WARNING YOU ABOUT THE INEVITABLE TYPOS.

GIF: By @anxstesia​

As a spy on behalf of the Resistance, while infiltrating the ranks of the First Order you’ve tried very hard not to land yourself in any... compromising positions. Having the First Order’s most notorious Commander back you up against the door of your holding cell notwithstanding, you’ve managed to do relatively well so far. In fact, Commander Poe Dameron has been responsible for the majority of the compromising positions you’ve found yourself in, and on those occasions, you were most definitely not complaining.

“I gotta have you right now.” he purrs, his voice causing a quickening as you both hasten towards sweet union. Heavy-lidded and laden with need, he urgently unbuckles you and forces his hand down beneath your waistband. His brows are drawn together, his breathing ragged, as if every moment that he’s not inside you physically pains him. Your thighs spread eagerly for him, granting him access, his eyes trained intently on your face as his finger reaches your slick folds. His touch causes you to moan softly, readily into the air. Satisfaction lilts briefly over his features before his broad hand clamps down on your mouth, the sound dying on your lips. “Do you think you can keep quiet for me?” Your eyes alight with anticipation, you nod in agreement, adrenaline and arousal pumping harshly through your veins as he yanks your pants from your hips and another moan blooms and dies in his palm.

This takes you back. Takes you back to the first time you officially met. The first time you fucked. You had happened upon the commander in a data vault in the dead of night, sneaking around where he shouldn’t be. While you were sneaking around where you shouldn’t be. He had quickly pressed you to the wall, covering your mouth firmly with his hand and asking if you could keep quiet for him, those dulcet tones thick like honey, his hot breath uneven on the shell of your ear. The harsh pressure of his body was still the kindest touch you’d had in.... Well. It had been some time. And you don’t know why you said what you did next, but it was perhaps one of your more inspired slip-ups. “Sure, unless you can give me sufficient reason to scream, Commander?”

Your words, the wanton look in your eyes, were like the striking of a match. He had responded just as immediately, instantly ablaze. Perhaps, that first time he’d rutted into you, delivering the only warmth you’d felt in this cold, dark shell of a ship, the inexplicable heat you’d both generated was simply relief. Relief that someone was just as compromised as you. Relief that you could finally take an edge off the loneliness of keeping all your own secrets. At least, here was one you could share together.  And you couldn’t explain why you so easily felt you could trust him with so many of yours.

If relief explained the first time, you couldn’t say what kept you returning to one another; not exactly.

Of course, he’d figured out you were a Rebel spy, and you’d figured out he was the mole, acting as informant for the Resistance. Since then, you fell into an easy alliance, of sorts. Each of you a little compromised in your own way. It’s not like you wanted all the same things. He didn’t want to bring down the Order, not entirely; you wanted nothing less. But you damn sure wanted each other. And so, your interests may not have aligned but they certainly overlapped. You had enough common ground and certainly enough common loneliness for this thing to keep happening.

You couldn’t be seen together, of course. So, every time, you would be forced to rely on snatched moments, to settle for a rushed fumble, whether crushed up against the wall of a service corridor, bent hurriedly over some table, taken urgently in some supply closet. As if your double-life wasn’t bad enough, you were forced to secret yet another vital part of you away, until all of you felt just as crushed up and bent over as the way your lover took you. Yet another part of you to keep hidden in the dark.

But still, you managed to build a love, of sorts. Gave it a vessel to shape it. Gave it an engine to thrum for him. Gave it wings and imagined it soaring. But you’d built in the dark, built it from scrap. Built it with a man you knew through piecing him together from fragments of moments, moments half-lived. From stolen conversations and stolen kisses. It was a machine that might never get a chance to fly, you knew. A machine that could appear on no radar, not the Order’s, not the Resistance’s, or everything you’d built in the dark would be shot down in flames. 

So that’s what you became. That’s what you had together. A distorted, borrowed love. On borrowed time. Every time you met was governed by a rush to get away from each other.

If there’s one thing that has plagued you, it’s always been an abundance of running out of time. Yet you were grateful even for these moments.

Eventually, Poe began to say it was a good thing he never got to just lay down with you; to take things slow. A good thing that he never got to walk with you, dragging your toes in soft grass, or over white sands. That he never got to lay with you in between soft sheets, skin on skin, for a whole stretched-out morning. He said it was a good thing, because if he lay down with you he might never want to get up. That he might realise he had nothing left to fight for. That there could be no war for him, couldn’t possibly be, because everything he could conceive of fighting for would be in his arms.

You knew he loved you then. At least the version of you he’d built from scrap, from stolen moments. Haphazardly pieced together.

But then. Then you slipped up.

A small mistake, but enough.

Enough for the First Order to out you as a spy. To fling you into a holding cell. Now, here you are, your gallery execution -for crimes against the Order- scheduled for the morning.

Always an abundance of running out of time.

Poe had come to you. You knew that he shouldn’t as equally as you knew that he would. Under the guise of a final intelligence gathering attempt, the commander was granted access to your holding cell.

And, now, you’re seeking comfort from each other in the only way you know how, one more time.

“Don’t make a sound, ok?” He winks at you and you feel a rush of affection for the man. The man who you’ve known for years now. You’ve watched the grey gradually filter across his hair like smoke from a slow-burning wildfire. This man who struggles so much with the weight of what he’s done, on behalf of the Order. The acts he’s been complicit in.

Before you’d known him, before you’d looked too closely, you could have easily believed that the heaviness in those turbulent, brown eyes was darkness. But it’s worse than that. His are warm eyes blackened, scathed by regret. By remorse. He’s not made of darkness. He’s haunted by it.

Now, in this moment, his eyes are as heavy as you’ve ever seen them. All you want to do is to cling to him and make him feel light again. Even if it’s just for an instant.

You’re not sure whether he’s a good man, exactly. He’s good to you. So good. And you think that he could be. You kiss him -you always kiss him- as if he is a good man.

This much you know; whether he’s a good man or not he’s definitely not an innocent one. You sure as hell enjoy it when he’s sinful, though.

He delves between your legs and glides a single, thick finger inside you, causing your hips to writhe against his hand, coating him in your arousal. 

Maybe it’s ludicrous to think about fucking right now. Or maybe it’s the perfect time to think about it. All you know is that Poe entered your cell, and the instant the guard slid the door closed his lips were on yours, his strong arms guiding you to the nearest surface so that he could push himself into you.

Nothing but relief, like that first time your lips had met. Relief that you were seeing him again one more time. And then that formidable heat which followed. If a stolen moments were all you were destined to get with him, you were determined to steal one more.

Your pants have slipped down to your knees, and he stands on the seat of them to yank them all the way to your ankles, allowing him to lift your knee and hook your leg around his hip. He shimmies his own pants down and takes his thick, pretty shaft in his palm, his hand already slick with your juices. Craving more contact, your arms wrap around that rounded ass, those sturdy thighs of his, and he rumbles, low in his throat, as he positions his head at your entrance. He makes sure to keep you quiet as his hips tilt, his cock sliding slowly, ever so slowly all the way up into you. Taking his time. You feel every contour of him slip inside you, stretching you out.

He watches you in satisfaction again as he gives it to you, thick and hard. The rapid rise and fall of your chest, the flutter of your eyes, the dig of your hands into his hips and the singular way you tighten around him telling him everything your silence cannot convey. 

“Hate to stop those pretty moans. Only ever wanted you moaning under me.” he coos, voice honeyed. And when you think he’s given you all he’s got he thrusts a final inch into you, filling you up completely. Completing you. 

He holds his position there a moment more, and that’s as long as he can wait before he begins to work you, hips pitoning his length up into you again and again as he has you up against the door. Taking you roughly, urgently. He whispers a string of dirty, sweet words in your ear which you can’t even respond back to. You simply clamp your hands into his sturdy, muscled flesh and pull him deeper into you.

It’s not happy, it’s not light-hearted. Not at first. His thrusts are burdened, his brows still knitted together. He crushes up against you so hard it’s as if he fears you will both break apart if you’re not being held together. As if there are too many cracks in your makeshift love for you to withstand this. 

So, it’s a quick and dirty fuck; your motif as lovers. But there’s something deeper there too. This sex is full of the shorthand of familiar lovers, only possible for those who know each other’s bodies, each other’s hearts so well. There is some comfort in that. In the way he knows exactly how hard and how fast to give it to you. The way you know exactly where that sweet spot on his neck is. The way he doesn’t even have to think to understand when you’re close; he knows just how to draw it out of you. The way you look into each other’s eyes and so efficiently say so much. So wordlessly.

The words passing between you now are deafening.

And he can’t. He just can’t silence you anymore. Maybe he’s spent so much time trying to shut you up when for so long only wished he could hear you. Hear the way he makes you feel, uninhibited. No more hiding in dark corners. He removes his palm and dips his head into the junction of your shoulder. Lets you moan lightly against his ear as he works his strong thighs to pump himself up into you. 

“Poe. Poe you feel so good inside me. You give it to me exactly how I like it.” You whisper, breathlessly. “I need you... I need you.”

“I’ve got you, baby.” And his words wrap and wind around your heart as if they fill all of the cracks in this love you’ve built. Weaving into all of the places the stolen moments have never been able to reach.

You swell with it, about to soar. He knows you’re close and motions to cover your mouth with his palm again but you softly shake it away. “I won’t make a noise, Poe. Please just... hold me. Please.”

And so, he wraps his arms up around you as he tips his hips for his final thrusts into you, enveloping you with his warmth. You bite into his shoulder as the feeling spills over you, as he gives you that glorious rush of pleasure, like a feeling of lift-off. Like you’re looking down on everything from space, soaring above the world.

Then it is Poe who makes the noise. Of release, of pleasure, but also partly of anguish. Anguish because the one making him feel like this, so good like this is you. And you are running out of time.

You jam your hand over his mouth -you hope, just in time- as he pulses his seed into you, and you feel him come so hard and so warm inside your still fluttering core. He buries his head in your shoulder, shuddering against you for a moment, his sweat mingling with yours. 

That is, until you have to hurriedly push him away from you.

“Fuck, Poe. That was loud.”

He grunts and unceremoniously pulls out of you. The two of you quickly straighten yourselves up, your heart racing as you hear footsteps plod towards the cell.

“Everything ok, Commander?” A guard asks, peering through the open grate at the top of the door.

“The little bitch won’t give me anything. It’s as if she wants to die tomorrow.”, he states with a level of frustration that would appear to match his outburst. And yet his eyes flick to yours, deeply apologetic as he speaks the words. “I’ll be out shortly. Check-in with maintenance for me, see if my TIE is ready.”

“Yes, Commander.” the officer responds, and you hear their footsteps recede down the corridor.

You look at each other and you both look suddenly lost. As if you already have so little recollection of the moments prior. As if heat evaporates so quickly in this cold, dark ship. Poe had momentarily transported you out of this cell, but how quickly you had come crashing back down. It had felt good, in the moment, but the happiness was like a stone thrown into an abyss. It does nothing to close off the gaping sadness.

Then he is back at you, his hands on you, his lips on you, maybe trying to regain something of that shortlived feeling. You kiss him. You kiss him as if he is a good man.

Then, there are his apologetic eyes again. Always so sorry for something these days. Sorry for things he had no control over. That you knew he would do his best to undo, if only he could. 

You bring a firm, reassuring hand to his face, trying to be strong. “I know. You have to go.”

He looks at his watch.

“Five more minutes?” he bargains. “I can just lie with you.”

A lump forms in your throat, a tightness blooming in your chest as you shake your head softly. “No. I love you. So go. Go now. If you lie with me I won’t ever want you to get back up.”

You think you might shatter from the force in his eyes as he makes his promise. “I’ll find a way to stop this.”

You look at him gently. Kindly. Pleadingly. “Hush, Poe. We’ve talked about this. If you disrupt it, they’ll know it’s not only me on the inside. And it’ll blow the whole operation. Everything we worked for. We won’t get another chance like this.”

You think he might say he doesn’t care about that, about the operation, about himself. But you know he wouldn’t dare. After everything you’d sacrificed for this fight, he’d never undermine that.

“I’ll find a way.” He reiterates softly, his voice breaking. “I have to. I won’t get another chance to love like this.”

The tears are brimming in your eyes now and you can see how desperately he’s trying to remain strong too. You grip his face tenderly in your hands. “If you can’t stop this, Poe... it’s ok. It’s ok. You can’t blow your cover. Please. Do you think you can keep quiet, for me? Do you promise me, Poe?”

Your eyes search his as he hesitates, careful not to offer you any promises he knows he can’t keep. He smiles softly, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “What is it your Resistance always say? Something about hope? Well baby, we’re the spark. We can light the fire that burns this whole Order down. I gotta believe that now.”

“But you don’t want...”

“I just want you.” he interrupts, the pad of his thumb on your lips. “You’re good, you’re so good. I can’t believe in anything that hurts you. Not anymore.”

You are suddenly brimming with so much pride that you can no longer feel the need to cry. That’s a nice thought to go out with, you think. You like that thought. That if you go, somehow, he will find the Resistance. That he can be somewhere that will see the good in him, nurture it, celebrate it. Like you’ve tried to in all those snatched moments.

Poe’s brimming with so much heat. So much drive and passion. So much love and warmth. And he doesn’t belong in the cold, dark shell of this ship. Doesn’t belong in the cold, dead grasp of the Order. That orange flight suit would look better on him than this insipid charcoal grey ever could.

You try your best to smile now. To give him something. You want to be a happy memory for him, not another layer of pain in his overburdened eyes.

“Poe. You’re a good man. And I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll find a way. And if I don’t... you can be sure that when I’m done there will be nothing left of the Order.”

His hand brushes down your arm, his fingertips snagging on yours as he moves towards the door.

He leaves you. He has to. Running out of time is all the two of you have ever had.

So, Poe leaves, knowing that they might make him watch. Knowing that he has a hard choice to make: whether he should try to save you, or to save what you were fighting for. He used to only be out to save himself, but that was before you showed him there was another way. That when you cared for someone it could be returned in kind. That there were good things in the galaxy, after all.

He picks up his hat and pulls it on, dragging the brim down until it almost covers his eyes; becoming one of their soldiers again. You can’t believe you’ve never quite noticed just quite how ill the Order suits him.

As he leaves, like always, you find yourself wishing that you just had a little more time. But, in truth, you’re still glad for those stolen moments. Yes, you may have pieced him together, but now you have a full picture. A full map of his heart. You know him. And in his heart, he doesn’t belong to them at all. You’re more certain than ever that he’s your Rebel.

And, your Rebel has given you a spark of hope. You can either set yourself down on the floor and cry for everything you never got to have with him. Cry that you’ve just said goodbye to the man you love. Cry because you might be executed tomorrow. Or, you can try and think, with renewed hope, of a way to get yourself and him out of there.

Tomorrow would decide whether you had run out of time. Whether you would lie down and never get up again. Or whether your love was sturdy enough to fly you both out of there after all. Maybe your vessel is strong enough to stand a chance. Even though you’d built it in the dark, things built out of love were always stronger than those built out of darkness. At least, that’s what you’d been raised to hope for.

Plus, you have the best pilot on your side. Poe Dameron can fly anything.

Maybe, just maybe, even a love with broken wings can land safely.

THE END

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[notmyrick]

Also long side note/analysis:

In s4e10, Rick was part of the resistance against the Galactic Federation in his 30's which he said he grew out of.

In the comics (#34) while he was in the band The Flesh Curtains (which some sources say started in his college years, not sure when it ended though) , he also was starting off as a weapons dealer and got his first client/ friend Krombobulous Michael (Mike). After making the deal, in the following panel, Mike goes off in a killing spree and if you include the initial gun, and assume he got all his guns from Rick, he has a total of 4 guns, which at max means he met Mike 4 times to deal him weapons. At least from the first deal. Then we see another deal with Mike and Rick, this would be the 5th transaction, which this is where Rick confesses he fell in love. He has shorter hair, looks happy, and has the vibe of slowly becoming simple Rick as he even tells mike that he should fall in love. Same comic, when mike meets his wife amy they have a love montage where in the end they got married and surprise surprise, Rick is there with his iconic flask drinking as one of the groomsmen or as the best man wearing his common getup.

So this gives us a rough timeline that by the 5th transaction, Rick met his wife Diane when he became a well known weapons dealer and by the time Mike got married to Amy, he either had problems in his marriage or Diane already divorced or died. Most people married around their late 20's and early 30's and assuming Rick did the same maybe on the late side. He was also still part of the resistance against the government.

Also in Rickshank Redemption, does "weird" Rick give off any I'm against the Federation vibes? Like the outfit has the same feeling of space Beth? Anyone?

At the ending of Auto-Erotic Assimilation beth says:

And I know I sound like mom but I can't sacrifice this whole family's safety just because I'm afraid you'll leave again, 

So this is something Diane would say, maybe not word for word, but certainly the same tone, vibe, and message.

This begs me to question how did Rick threaten his family's safety? For the smartest man in the universe, you would think it be easy to slip under the radar of the government considering that Earth wasn't really under the Galactic Federation until Rick was in his 60s/70s(his current age) in Rickshank Redemption. Sure they sent a couple spies, but they didn't give Earth an olive branch to join anytime prior to this episode. To me this means that Earth was under watch, but they werent worth much of the Federation's time. So Rick could be considered "not a threat" in his 30s (debatably). Also in this episode, it shown during this time (also debatable) that he was trying to figure out interdimensional travel. So breaking down the jobs Rick had, he was a weapons dealer, he was still part of the resistance against the government, he may or may not be working on earth to bring money to the family, and he was an at home scientist. That's a lot. It's nice to note that Diane was supportive of Rick's science endeavors although she might not know much. It looked like the family didn't have much conflict, at least in the early years of the marriage.

So what was Rick doing that was threatening the safety of his family? From Diane's/Beth's words, he was always leaving and the threat always starts when he left. So here is my 2 scenarios.

The Citadel of Ricks. When interdimensional travel becomes a Rick thing, they created a "clubhouse" or government where only Rick's exsist. But since this is an earlier time, it can be assumed that the Citadel was very "primitive" at this time. Sure there are a bunch of Ricks and a group of geniuses can achieve a lot, but not nearly the end product we see in the show. Rome wasn't built in a day and most definitely the Citadel wasn't either. Maybe a day and a half at best lol. Anyway, I just dont think that the power the Citadel has now, is what they had back then. They can be threats individually, but not a threat as a whole, at least not yet. And since a lot of non cooperative Ricks view this as a clubhouse or party, it could be safely assumed that it was used as such initially.

The Galactic Federation. In his 30s he was still part of the rebel alliance. Which one can assume, he was still a rebel during his marriage. Now this I see much less of a threat. As shared previously, I believe that Rick can go under the Federation's nose and stay hidden. As a matter of opinion, if the Galactic Federation knew where Rick was, which presumably he was soely labeled as a criminal instead of the smartest mammal who discovered interdimensional travel, they would've already threaten/take over his home planet and more specifically threaten his family to get him to concede. Which I believe is not the case because Diane couldn't sacrifice this whole family's safety which implies the threat was more looming and mental, than it was physical and present.

In Diane's case the Citadel of Ricks, yes can threaten the safety of the family despite being Rick, knew and are aware of Diane and Beth. They even have the advantage of portal tech and know the dimension they come from. Diane and Beth are essentially sitting ducks in this scenario and this can be a looming and mental threat compromising the safety of the family. However there are two caveats.

Beth's adoration

Rick's presence

While the Citadel is a threat, it would be more of a threat to Diane than Beth. Both caveats are linked to Beth. They can psychologically torture Diane with multiple Ricks. As a spouse, you hope the person you love comes back, but with the interdimensional travel the person who comes back may not be the person you married. In addition, this doesnt threaten the safety of the whole family, it only threatens Diane. And it seems to me as along as (a) Rick is cordial and father like to Beth, she would be willing to suffer the mental abuse of multiple Ricks. This is assuming that the threat came to them and as stated before, I'm less inclined to believe this because while yes it is a looming threat and definitely a mental one, it is also a physical threat because there is an actual entity invading and I don't think there was any physical factor when Diane spoke these words. Not only that, but it has to threaten the life of one Rick sanchez along with the rest of the family.

The term "losing you" can be interpreted in a lot of ways, but the most common I think of is death. If the Citadel was threatening another version of himself, then it would make sense that they would target the Sanchez family when they are together. And the only way to threaten Rick is to kill his family, and the only way to threaten the whole family, is to kill everyone. Which again I think, the threat should be more psychological and mental, than having an actual physical threat. This also contradicts that the family's safety is threatened when Rick leaves. For Diane, this is an inescapable scenario where safety is never guaranteed. Either way it should have enforced Rick to stay by his family's side instead of leaving.

Which brings me to the second point: Rick's presence. If they did torture Diane with multiple Rick's that wasn't her Rick, to Beth's childhood, her father would have more presence, even if he tried to sneak around the child (I'd like to think that Beth was like a bloodhound when it came to her dad). Also in her words, "I'm afraid you'll leave again" implies she constantly saw her father leave her mother, herself, or both.

With the Galactic Federation, I can see a little more meat to this. If Rick was still a rebel and actively participated in the front lines, Diane is essentially married to a solider, who has a very realistic possibility of dying on the battlefields. In addition if Rick is the weapons dealer and if he is as infamous as he claims to be, then he paints, not only, a target on his back, but his family's as well. Assuming his world state is similar to ours with the exception of us not having a Rick, then Rick is the first and only human to interact with other intelligent, sentient life forms. To Diane, Rick is easily recognizable. So a psychological looming threat is possible and can even manifest into something worse due to imagination. Even if the truth says otherwise, as long as Diane wasn't aware of it, she would just think the worst.

Now moving on to Diane and Beth. Don't take this to heart bc Diane had no speaking lines only rare appearances and mentions here and there, so I'm taking a few liberties with Diane. You could say these are a few headcanons I had of Diane (subject to change). Beth said she "sounds like mom" which I translate Beth is bringing up common issues or problem arguments they had when she was young. Essentially her argument is very reminiscent of the missing/late Mrs. Sanchez whether it was tone, topic, or opinions. So instead of word for word of what Beth said I made Diane say: I can't risk our family's safety just because I'm afraid of losing you. Which, like beth, sounds like an ultimatum, and to further emphasize that point I made her say in addition to that: Choose Rick, come home or stay out. In the episode Rick essentially implies that the creation of Portal tech is what caused the divorce or death of Beth's mom. Although there was a fabricated backstory, the show also implied that what was out of the shoneys were real. And we have a real memory of Beth and her mom standing infront of Rick's green portal in between Rick's favorite sports blooper and where he was in 9/11. To me there must be a connection with the portal and Rick's wife. So here is where the headcanon or possible backstory of Rick's marriage. I believe that Rick was still part of the rebels against the government during his marriage, that the federation was the looming threat that may compromise the safety of the Sanchez family. I believe that Diane was supportive, but was always frightened when Rick would be gone days at a time without a single word. So Diane actually proposes that Rick call her whenever he was in trouble. Depending on the Rick, he either calls her constantly to the point where he abuses it and depends on her to get him out of a sticky situation or he doesnt call her at all to the point where she is informed by a close friend of Rick because they were worried for Rick. Either way, it stresses Diane out to where she is jaded and worried at the same time. In this scenario, she saved rick from gods know what and essentially snaps. She confronts Rick to either come home or stay away because Diane realizes he's no good trying to protect the galaxy and being a father/husband, but he could excel if he focuses on one or the other.

Anyway this is merely for me of I ever wanted to explore this concept of Rick X Diane, or do like a one shot of this exact scenario.

[mystic-kitten-writer]

Limerence [M] ︳27

Pairing: Zuko x OC

AU: Adult-Verse

Genre: Romance, mainly fluff with smut, and if you squint hard enough - you’ll find some angst.

Rating: SFW

Words: 6500+

Notes: Thank you, everyone, for the lovely comments, follows, and just overall support. Take care everyone, and stay safe!

Masterlist ︳26 ︳ 28 ½

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

Limerence: (English/n.) the state of being infatuated with another person. The moment their eyes locked they knew - the flames within him twisted while the water within her turned. It was a connection, a connection that would lead to love, adventure, and drama.

Appetence

(French/n.) a longing or desire; a natural tendency or affinity.

~ Ying Yue Jiang ~

            My hands were trembling, so much so, one would have thought a damn earthquake was happening. A small huff left my lips, frantically seizing whatever laid on the vanity and dresser; and throwing it in the suitcases. Whatever my eyes fell upon fell into the bags – and quite chaotically might I add.

            Zuko’s stern voice resonated in the unfinished house, speaking with the guards outside in the kitchen. Even with the door closed, I could make out a few words, their soft mutters as they discussed amongst each other. His voice was different, no hint of compassion or warmth – taciturn.

            And I found myself stopping, just remembering the look on Zuko’s face when he took in what I said. It was Mai – she was snitch, and I knew it killed him to hear that. She was a childhood friend, and for someone that close to turn against you…I could only imagine how hurt he must be. My eyes lined up with the floor, looking at the mess I left.

            Photos scattered of Azula, Zuko, Mai and Ty Lee. They were children, innocent. Smiling away with not the slightest idea of how things would have turned out in the future. That now, they were at war with each other. I sighed. The pain, of fighting with your flesh and blood…

            I let the remainder of things drop from my hands, picking up the scattered photos. I should probably put these away before Zuko sees these…another droned out sigh fleed my lips as my fingers drew along the images. I was a fool – how did I not clue in that the maid wasn’t a maid but Zuko’s sister? But how was I supposed to know that his sister was crazy…?

            Crawling on my hands and knees, I picked up the rest of the photos, tossing them to the bottom of the box. A few stuffed animals laid at the top of the box, I wanted to wash them, place them in the children room. A plan for a later day…

            The door creaked - opening slowly. It caught me off guard, rushing to get back on my feet, brushing my curtain of hair behind my shoulders. Zuko stepped inside, the door sliding shut as he studied my frazzled posture and suitcases, “What are you doing?” He enquired, voice low.

            “I-I was packing to head back home…” I whispered, anxious. The way his face seemed pale, eyes dim as he huffed, “Don’t bother.”

            “What?”

            But he didn’t speak.

            With shaky steps, Zuko walked over to the side of the bed, sitting down with shoulders slumped. The bed dipped, a drained sigh escaping him and I hesitantly stepped forward, eager to ask more.

            But as I inched my way towards him, he weakly patted the plush sheets of the bed, “Come.” He muttered under his breath, and my brows pinched together. I strolled over, ready to take a seat next to him, but as I made a move, Zuko shook his head, “Sit in the middle of the bed.”

            I frowned, what’s going on with him?

            But I didn’t utter a word, the way his head hung low, voice gruff – he wasn’t in the mood to argue, and I wasn’t going to test him. I lifted up my light summer dress, deciding that since the romantic vacation of ours is long gone, might as well put on decent clothes and brush my hair.

            I sat with my knees bent in the center of the bed, staring at Zuko’s broad back with uncertainty, “Uh, now what?” I awkwardly muttered, expecting some damn magic trick to happen, but instead, he dropped like a rag doll.

            Zuko’s raven hair spilled over my lap, his head dropping flawlessly between my legs as he squeezed my knees like a teddy bear – my cheeks turning a bright red at the gesture. The way he groaned, eyes closed as he snuggled closer to me, legs pulled tight into a ball.

            My eyes softened, hands instinctively falling over his head and combing through his locks, “Zuko…” I whispered as he sighed achingly. Zuko wanted comfort, to feel safe – and I smiled because it was heartwarming to know that Zuko trusted me this much. To be so exposed as he was now. “I should’ve known Azula was involved in this.”

            “How? You thought she was gone…”

            “No, I wished she was gone, gone for good. But now she’s back, and Mai-” I found myself cringing at the mere mention of her name, “I knew we weren’t on good terms, but-but I didn’t think…her brother almost got hurt in that incident, why join Azula? It just doesn’t make sense.” Zuko hissed, hands covering his face as he vented.

            I sighed listening to him rant before I let my hands fall over his and pull them down. His eyes were dark, lips chapped as he fumed underneath me, “None of this makes sense Zuko. Why would Mai join Azula? Why is Azula targeting me if she’s trying to get at you? There are so many unanswered questions…” I huffed, letting Zuko’s hands rest on his chest as he gazed upwards to me.

            My fingers stroking through his hair once again, watching as his silky strands of hair slipped through my fingers with ease.

            “Because the best way to get to me is through you.”

            I stopped. My eyes fluttering back to Zuko, our eyes locking.

            Defeat – that was the look that painted his face. I lamented and closed my eyes, letting myself fall into his figure, feeling his warmth as his hand brushed through my hair, “I promise after everything is done, I’ll take time off. A week, a month, as much as you want.  I owe you.”

            A soft smile flickered, pulling away slightly and looking down at Zuko, determination in his statement, “A month, me and you. We could start working on that baby.” I teased. And for the first time since he walked through that door, Zuko chuckled. Shaking his head as his hand trailed down my face, his thumb brushing my lips.

            His touch was divine, a calming effect that made my breathing ease and heart relax. “Zuko…”

            “Yes, love?’

            “Why did you tell me not to pack?”

            “Cause we aren’t leaving.”

            I frowned, brows pinched together as I looked down at him with a look of bewilderment. Not leaving? What? That makes no sense-

            “I don’t understand…” I muttered, trying to study Zuko’s expression, “It’s risky. We don’t know who is helping Azula and how many people. If we try to leave, and we get caught mid-way through transport, we’re at a disadvantage. So the gang is meeting us here, at Ember Island.”

            “The gang is coming?” I blurted, jumping up as my eyes widen in shock. Zuko nodded, “I need them, they know how dangerous Azula is. I sent word to them, they should arrive in a few days.”

            It was a horrible mixture of emotions – happiness to see everyone again, but how I wish it were on better terms, “Is…Azula that dangerous?”

            “It’s her lack of moral boundaries that’s the most terrifying.” To think that I met her far too many times without realizing her strength, her power. But if she was so mighty…why did she seem frightened by me the other night? She could have easily overpowered me if she was indeed powerful.

            “Yue…” My head snapped downwards, surprised to hear Zuko refer to me by my name. At this point, it was always pet names, names I’ve learned to love and respond to. His lips were pressed tight, thinking about something, struggling to form the words. “What’s wrong, Zuko? Spill it.”

            “I-It’s just…”

            What does he want to ask? Why does he seem hesitant? Fearful?

            “How did you know it was Mai? You said you got into an argument, but I don’t remember you telling me this…” Zuko muttered, and I lowered.

            Not so much at the fact that I may have to come clean soon about the whole fist in the face thing, despite Iroh’s efforts of keeping it under the radar. But because that wasn’t the question Zuko wanted to ask. I could tell.

            The way Zuko’s eyes shifted shouted curiosity – and I would know that look, it, unfortunately, has been the cause of my many downfalls. He’ll ask me his real question… eventually, I won’t pressure him.

            I let my hand run down Zuko’s face, tracing his lips. “Zuko, you need to rest, don’t worry about it.”

            “If she tried to start something with you…” Oh, she did start something, but he doesn’t need to know that I dealt with it.

            “Zuko, close your eyes, rest…you’ve had a rough day…” I cooed, letting my hand caress his face. And although he wore a scowl, I grinned, because his eyes did flutter close, “I can’t – there is so much to do, to plan-”

            “Zuko…” I whispered, letting my fingers fall over his closed eyes, humming the same tune he has hummed to me countless of times. And just like his breathing evened out, his chest rising and falling at a steady pace, his lips parting. And I smiled, he looked at peace – finally.

            And I sat there, with Zuko fast asleep on my lap, watching him so at ease. I’m such a creep, I’m literally watching Zuko sleep. But I couldn’t help it – it was rare for him to snuggle up to me. Usually, it was me cradled in his arms. I kind of like being the bigger spoon for once…“I love you so much…” I hummed softly, studying his features. I can stare at him forever-

            A soft knock on the door caught my attention, speaking softly as I covered Zuko’s ears, “Come in…”

            The door slowly opened, a head peeking through, it was the head construction worker. His wrinkled eyes fell upon Zuko’s relaxed figure, his expression soft, “You got a magic touch.” He chuckled, nudging his head to Zuko, and I smiled, “Do you mind passing me the blanket over there?”

            He nodded, carefully waltzing in the room and letting the blanket slip from his grip and onto the bed, “Is there something you need?” I asked, and he shook his head, “I actually came to ask you for permission.”

            “For what?”

            “The maids and workers were thinking of leaving early, the guards will stay put, but we think you two need some time alone. I can imagine this is a tough time, for you both…” He muttered, and I sighed. Both of our eyes falling upon Zuko, “Was their relationship that bad?” I asked.

            He winced, “You can’t pick family.”

            I nodded, I knew what he meant by that.

            “Thank you for giving us space. It means a lot…” I whispered, and the man nodded, “We’ll leave, the guards are in their posts, something about formation 12 and 17…” He grumbled, a hint of confusion in his voice, “Don’t worry, I’m just as lost as you are.” He sniffled in a laugh, walking back to the door, “Have a wonderful evening, Ying Yue – make sure you two eat dinner.”

            “We will - see you tomorrow.”

            He shut the door behind him, my hands leaving Zuko’s ears as I started placing the light blanket over his body. I could hear a bit of shuffling, the front door closing, meaning it was just Zuko and me, and a few guards at position 12 and 17 – whatever that means.

            Carefully, I got Zuko’s head off my lap, swiftly grabbing my teddy bear and placing it over Zuko’s chest. I giggled tenderly, watching the way Zuko instinctively hugged the bear to himself. My eyes gazed around the room, what to do now.

            I was torn.

            We were stuck here for a few days. What are we supposed to do? Carefully, I got out of the bed, making sure to shut the bedroom door delicately to not disturb Zuko. And with a successful click sound, I let out a long huff.

            The house was empty.

            What do I do now? Do I sit for the rest of these days, waiting for the gang to come? Do I act like nothing is wrong, continue on in vacation mode – we’re here anyway. I frowned, running my hands through my hair as I waltzed into the kitchen, noticing the maids left behind seasoned meat. They’re literal spirits.

            I could cook the meat in the oven, cook some vegetables…yeah, I can probably do that without setting the whole house on fire. And without a second thought, I grabbed the cutting board, washing a few vegetables before mincing. “What do I do…” I hummed.

            Zuko and I dealt with stress differently.

            Zuko indulged in more work when stressed, while I tried to meditate, take time to myself to think. And if we were back at the kingdom, and this happened, I would’ve had an idea as to what do. But it was different, we were at a vacation house. I can’t sit here, waiting, for something to happen. Gosh, I would go insane. But it feels wrong to relax, go to the beach and swim like nothings wrong.

            I stopped chopping, huffing as I stared at the raw vegetables, “If only you could talk and give me an answer…” I grumbled but quickly chuckled, “Actually…good thing you don’t talk, I’m literally butchering you at the moment. Oh my gosh, am I actually talking to vegetables?” The knife slipped out of my hands, and I slapped my face. I’m going insane. I’m talking to vegetables.

            A large pot sat over the stove, and I began filling it with water, ready to boil the vegetables. The water dripped from the tap, the liquid splashing about as I absent-mindedly watched. Water…

            That was another issue. I had to train – genuinely train.

            I couldn’t avoid it like the plague anymore. I had the skills, and my confidence has grown. The thought of bending didn’t frighten me as much anymore, and I had to thank Zuko for that. He was patient, and whenever I did bend, he cheered me on. I smiled softly, shutting the tap and turned on the burner.

            Zuko would help me train, I knew he would – he told me countless times how he would help me. I knew what I was doing, but I needed to refine my skills. I was rusty, and while I could definitely untangle my way out of a sticky situation – it would be better if I were prepared. If Azula was as strong as people said she was, I needed to be ready.

            I slipped the roast into the oven, letting the vegetables slowly cook as I grabbed the nearest baking ingredients – a simple plan coming to mind. I could cook dinner, train with Zuko for a bit, and have a few sweets ready for us for the night. A delicate balance between work and relaxing. And I smiled to myself, I got this.

            The smell of the meat cooking, the soft sounds of the boiling water while I whisked away. So lost with what I was doing, I didn’t hear the bedroom door opening, and a grumpy Zuko waltzing into the kitchen. His gruff voice caused me to jump, not realizing that a bit of time already passed between baking, setting the table, and washing a few dishes, “Are you baking?” Zuko asked. A hint of exasperation in his voice.

            I pouted, placing the batter to the side to rise while we eat, “Sweets for later tonight. Dinner is almost set, I figured after dinner we could train for a bit?”

            But the look on Zuko’s face wasn’t what I expected.

            The way he scratched his head, still a bit drowsy as he had just woken up, “What are you making for dinner? We don’t need a feast.” He fussed, and I grimaced. Zuko had a certain attitude in his voice, and I could feel my skin itch. He’s stressed Yue – don’t let it get to you.

            “It’s just a roast the maids left for us and a few vegetables. It’ll be ready in a few more minutes-”

            “And that’s time wasted. Something simple would’ve been enough. We have things to do.”

            “I don’t think three minutes of waiting is going to be a life or death situation.”

            Zuko rolled his eyes, snickering at my words and I bit my tongue. “You aren’t taking this seriously at all.” He snarled under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear. My eyes widen, letting my hands rest on the counter, “I am. And if we’re going to train, we need to eat. A good meal.”

            “And we need sweets too?” Zuko seethed, chining the bowl I set to the side. My fingers pressed against the marble countertop, relax. Zuko is just under pressure. Breath. “I figured after training it would be a nice treat. To unwind.”

            “I can’t believe you’re actually in vacation mode after finding out that my sister may hurt you,” Zuko growled with crossed arms. I bit my lips, nails digging into the palms of my hands as I glared, what is wrong with him? Why is he such an ass? “I’m not. But I also know we can’t lock ourselves up inside this damn house and just wait for something to happen.”

            “Obviously you are if you’re baking.”

            “It’s a damn treat Zuko for after we train! I’m sorry for wanting to help you de-stress from a stressful day with a damn muffin!”

            “I’m stressed because you aren’t taking anything seriously!” Zuko shouted back, and my breath hitched. He was furious at me at the moment, and I didn’t understand why. “What are you trying to say Zuko?”

            Zuko stomped forward, breathing uneven as he narrowed his eyes, “I’m saying I’d appreciate if you’d fucking stop playing house for a minute and realize we have more important things to do than fucking baking!”

            “Playing house? It’s DINNER Zuko and a damn SNACK. We can train after we eat.”

            “We need to train now. I don’t want to babysit you during a damn battle.”

            My body trembled. Hands into fists. “Babysit?” I hissed, moving away from the counter. Breath Yue, just breath. He didn’t mean it, he’s under stress. Don’t let him-

            “You’re weak Yue. I can’t always come running to your damn rescue all the damn time.”

            I lost it.

            “Come to my rescue? I’m sorry confiding in you is me being weak!” I cried.

            Zuko’s eyes widen at my tone. The way his face paled, seemingly recognizing how out of hand this bitter argument has gotten. But I was passed the point of being understanding – he said things that he knew would trigger me. “Yue you know I didn’t mean it like that-”

            “No Zuko, you did. And you know what, you’re wrong. Because the truth is; I punched Mai in the face, and I loved it. I almost killed Kayto during our damn walk, but I kept it a secret. And last night, I had your sister cowering away from me. So if you want to be next on my list, keep on talking.”

            Zuko rose his hands, a grimace on his face as he dubiously stepped forward, “Baby, I didn’t mean it-”

            I pulled away from his reach, my chest heaving as I shuddered. His eyes were soft, almost pleading, and it was then I realized I was crying. Fuck me and being such a damn crybaby, no wonder he thinks I’m weak. Maybe he’s right – I’m just a damn burden to everyone. “Leave me alone, Zuko. Dinner’s almost made, eat by yourself-”

            “Babe no, I’m sorry, I’m stressed and-”

            I shook my head, turning on my heel - storming away as I flung the door open, “Where are you going? Yue!” I ignored Zuko’s shouts, and also ignored the fact that I wore nothing but damn house slippers. The sand stuck to my bare feet, a few random pebbles jabbing into my skin, “Come back, please-”

            The sound of his heavy footsteps on the wooden floors behind me, as I furiously kicked the sand underneath me, “Yue, where are you going?”

            “Away from you!” I shrieked, turning around to face him. Zuko stood at the front entrance, face dropped, and I irritably wiped my tears, “I just wanted to help you relax while getting things done, and all you do is get mad!”

            At this point, a few guards heard my shout, hesitantly watching, unsure whether to get me back into the house. “I’ll do anything for you, Zuko – I just want you to be happy!”

            “You do make me happy-”

            “Obviously not if I’m stressing you out!” And with that, I turned on my heel and stomped away.

            I didn’t know where in the world I was going, and I didn’t care. I needed to get away, get from this crazy life I ran myself into.

            I could hear Zuko shout after me, but he didn’t dare chase me, and for that – I was grateful.

            The setting sun cast mellow dramatic hues of red and yellow along the water, the foam sticking to my feet as I savagely kicked the ground over and over. I knew he was stressed, I knew he didn’t mean those things, but it hurt.

            And it didn’t hurt the same way when Mai said it or his sister, even Kayto – it hurt more. Because Zuko meant everything to me.

            Another sob bubbled up, and I dropped to my knees. Crying in my hands as my body quivered. My eyes hurt, nose runny as I wailed like dying animal. He’s right – I’m weak. I cry over everything. I cry whenever I get frustrated or happy or angry. And sitting here alone as I wept made a longing that I’ve pushed away for years come back.

            I wanted mom and dad.

            Their touch, their laughter, everything – I missed it all.

            Dad’s terrible jokes, mom’s stubborn attitude. If only I didn’t listen to dad that day –running away like how he told me to, and I stayed with them. If I fought.

            Would they be alive? Would I still be living in the Earth Nation – with them, happy? But I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to meet Zuko-

            I hissed under my breath.

            “Why did you say those things to me?” I hiccupped, only then raising my head to look around. The beautiful white house of ours long in the distance. How long did I walk for? I sighed, my feet hurt and it’s getting dark out…

            “Here-”

            A white handkerchief appeared right in my face, catching me off guard as I tumbled backwards. My eyes widen, sniffling as the hand followed my fall. I sat on the ground, speechless, meeting a pair of stunning blue eyes, “You need it more than I do.” A man murmured under his breath – voice rough and strained.

            He was older, skin tanned and brown hair pulled back into a tight bun, “Take it.” He hissed, and instinctively, I grabbed the napkin from him – his tone demanding.

            My fingers brushed against his coarse skin, bringing the clean cloth to my face as I wiped my tears, “T-thank you.” I muttered, still taken off guard. I didn’t hear him come in front of me. Was I crying that loud? Gosh, I probably look terrible.

            The man sighed, stopping my thoughts as he sat down next to me, looking conflicted with himself. The way he tapped his stubby fingers on his knees, watching the waves ease up the sand, and then back into the vast body of water. Stealing a few seashells along the way.

            And being myself, I shamelessly studied him. His dark coloured blue robes. He didn’t dress particularly fancy – rather plain. Simple slacks and shirt, no accessories on him or any ink or piercings. Maybe he lives in the town? Going for an evening stroll…I would do that same if I lived in such a lovely town. But it was his eyes that really had me mesmerized.

            They were a deep blue, and they lacked life.

            Void of emotions – and based on the wrinkles and scars that ran across his exposed skin, I could tell he lived a hard life. He couldn’t be old – maybe early thirties? But his indifferent expression made him seem older. He abruptly turned to face me, his thin lips pressed together as he stared at me.

            His gaze was intense, having me cowering away internally, “What happened?” He blurted. My eyes widen, frowning as I shrugged my shoulders, “N-nothing.”

            “I ain’t stupid little girl. Boyfriend issues?” I coloured, looking at the water, was it that obvious? He let out a long sigh, running his hands against his pronounced jawline as he watched me, “Y-you like nature?”

            But this time his tone was a bit different. He stuttered for a minute before finishing his sentence. I smiled, nodding my head, “Y-yeah…my mom used to take me sightseeing.” His expression hardened, nodding at my words.

            Silence…

            My breathing relaxed, playing with the fabric between my fingers. I knew Zuko would kill me if he found out I was sitting on the beach with some random man and his handkerchief. But…he didn’t seem like a threat. Just scary looking.

            And I laughed under my breath.

            “You’re right…” I wheezed, bringing my knees closer to my chest, the breeze kissing my skin and causing goosebumps to appear. The man snickered, shaking his head, “What did he do?”

            “What makes you think it was his fault?”

            “Something tells me your boyfriend is an idiot.” I snorted. Whoever this man was – had no idea who I was. If only he knew that he was insulting the Fire Lord. “He’s not an idiot…he’s just…”

            “An idiot?”

            We both snorted, laughing softly as he bared a soft smile. A smile that oddly suited him. “Well – it’s not like I have anything better to do with my life. So enlighten me – what happened.”

            I looked at him, “You want to hear about my relationship problems?”

            “Like I said; I have nothing better to do at the moment. So amuse me, little girl.”

            “I’m not little…” I grumbled under my breath, and the man rolled his eyes, “Yet you cried like a child.”

            “H-hey!” I gasped, and the man grinned, seemingly enjoying the rose he got out of me. “Just because I show how I feel doesn’t make me a child.”

            “Wouldn’t know, I don’t do emotions.”

            “You can’t not not do emotions. They just come.”

            “Does this face look like a face filled with emotions.”

            The way he looked at me, face stone cold with narrowed eyes, and I giggled. “You know, just because you don’t show your emotions so obviously, doesn’t mean you have none. You seem like someone who cares…but…they’re good at hiding it.” I spoke, not really taking account that I just met this stranger.

            He scoffed, rolling his crystal coloured eyes as he picked up a few tiny seashells. The way he flicked them off his palm, like some sort of game, “Do you pick apart your boyfriend the same way?” I smiled, looking at the water as I thought of Zuko.

            Zuko was probably one of the frustrating and fascinating people I’ve ever had the honour of knowing.

            He was sweet and harsh, handsome and cute, just the embodiment of opposites. You never did know what you were getting. And while most people would get annoyed dealing with someone, someone who couldn’t go a damn hour without running off to attend some political matter – I could.

            Because now that I saw through that façade of Zuko’s – I realize Aang was right. Zuko was rough along the edges, but Zuko was a good guy. The things he said, the way his eyes glazed over and screamed my name as I stormed off, “He said mean things to me…he’s stressed and I know he didn’t mean it but…”

            My voice trailed off. Looking at the different tones of white sand that we sat on. I knew Zuko didn’t mean those words, but I was still upset. Just with everything going on, a large pout formed on my lips as I huffed.

            “You love him?” The man beside me grumbled, shaking his head as if loving someone was something to be disappointed about.

            I nodded, biting my lip as I brushed my hair behind my ear, “I love him a lot…” The man snickered, shaking his head at my words. “Do you love someone?” I asked, curious to learn about this strange man. He scoffed, and I rolled my eyes, “Let me guess – you don’t do love.”

            The man glanced at me with an amused look as he scratched his chin, “Depends. Some would say I’m driven by love, while others would say I’m driven by everything but love.”

            He watched the way I pouted, ready to ask more questions, but he glared, “You’re a curious one.” I reddened, looking back at the water. “Yeah…my boyfriend tells me all the time.”

            In fact, Zuko tells me tons of things.

            He always says how smart I am, how beautiful I am and how he wants a family with me and- “Thank you.”

            The man turned his head to me once again, brows pinched together as he looked at me with a puzzled look, “For what? I gave you a napkin.”

            “For helping me feel better about the fight with my boyfriend.”

            The man rolled his eyes, starting to shift in the sand as he stood. I followed his lead, dusting off the sand that stuck to my summer dress. I have to wash my feet for sure, I hate the feeling of sand between my toes.

            I held the napkin, turning to the man, “Your handkerchief…” I mumbled, and the man scrunched his nose. “Keep it…” And I realized why. It was kinda dirty because of me. I pouted, pulling the fabric to my chest, “If you come tomorrow in the morning, I can give it to you washed-”

            “Don’t bother.” He mumbled, crossing his arms as he huffed, “Go, little girl. It’s late.”

            I nodded. But despite knowing that the sun was almost set and I had a bit of walking to do, my feet didn’t leave. I studied the man in front of me. He was tall, a large build, sharp features, but I was once again absorbed in his eyes. His blue eyes, they reminded me of someone, and I smiled softly.

            “You’re a really good person.” I hummed, and the man’s eyes widen. The way his thin lips parted, shaking his head, “Only for today.” I tilted my head at his words, puzzled. He seemed to be speaking in code this whole time. “Why only for today…?”

            “It’s my birthday.”

            My eyes widen, jumping upwards as I clapped, “Happy birthday! I hope you got to spend it with family and friends.” He nodded, shrugging his shoulders, “…I did – family.”

            I took a few steps back, smiling and waving, “I’m glad, and don’t forget – everyone has a bit of good and bad in them, but it’s up to us to decide what side we want people to see.” The man smiled, arms crossed as he nodded his head. A smile, it really did suit that grumpy face of his.

            “Hope to see you soon, mister!” I chirped, before turning on my heel to go back to Zuko.

            I didn’t know who that man was, but he had some good in him. He looked scary, and he spoke roughly, but he seemed kind. I held the handkerchief closer to my chest, skipping back to my beacon, home.

            The lights from inside the house glistened against the white stone, the sky dark and the moon shining. A few guards spotted me, their faces bearing soft smiles and relief. But they never approached me, just gave me hidden smiles. I really shouldn’t have left like that, I probably made everyone worry.

            My hand reached forward, turning the knob with ease, surprised it was left unlocked. I pushed the door slowly, my head peeking through and letting my body slip inside with ease. The house was eerily quiet, but it didn’t take long for my eyes to spot Zuko. It was like a natural skill of mine, being able to detect that man from miles away.

            He slouched in the couch, face in hands, grumbling to himself and I frowned. No matter how upset I was, it hurt seeing him like that. My fingers glided along the door edge, trying to shut the door soundlessly, but the clicking sound caught Zuko’s attention.

            His head shot upwards, eyes wide the moment he spotted me.

            I didn’t get a chance to breathe, let alone think.

            Zuko jumped from his seat, hastily running to me. The way his arms wrapped around my body, pressing me so close to his chest, stuffing his face into my neck. I gasped, wincing at his tight grip but he didn’t loosen – instead, he hugged me tighter.

            “Z-Zuko I can’t breath.” I groaned, but he just scoffed, ignoring my pleas as his hands ran up my hair and back, “I thought you left me.”

            My body stiffen, inching away slightly to look at his face. His eyes were glossy and red, and it clicked. Was he crying? I really frightened him- “Zuko,” I whispered, my hands reaching to cradle his face. Was he insane? He thought I would leave him? Sure we fought, but I wouldn’t leave him over a damn argument.

            I wouldn’t leave him because things in life were starting to get tough. I loved him – and that meant through the good and bad times. Because that was what love was.

            “I shouldn’t have said those things – I just took everything out on you for no reason and-”

            “No Zuko I’m sorry for leaving like that. I know you’re stressed and I’m sorry for-”

            But Zuko pulled away, a scowl on his face as he looked at me with bewilderment, “Why are you apologizing? You did nothing wrong! It was literally all me.” He huffed, staring at me with such disbelief. I frowned, biting my lip, “Because I know you didn’t mean anything you said, but I let it get to me and-”

            “There’s no and Yue. I hurt you, I should be the one on my knees begging for you to stay, for your forgiveness.” And I grimaced because the look on Zuko’s face killed me.

            He looked so worn out, hands running through his hair as he stared at me. “I just get so fucking scared. I know you can handle yourself, everyone tells me how strong you are but just the thought of something happening makes me sick to my stomach.”

            I opened my mouth to calm him, but he was faster. The way Zuko’s hands grabbed my hips, pressing me up against the front door. His forehead against mine, cheeks flushed, as we stared into each other’s golden eyes. “I don’t know why I said those things, I just get so overwhelmed whenever things involve you. I-it’s like I change. I ruled this Nation for years without an issue, and you come along, and the thought of tying my damn shoes overwhelms me.”

            The way Zuko spoke, words flowing out of his mouth in a jumble. His cheeks were glowing, forehead scrunched upwards as he struggled to breathe. “I love you – and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. For when Mai said whatever she said to you. When you fought with Kayto and my sister-”

            My hands cupped his face, feeling his fair skin underneath my fingers. “And Yue…you’re not weak. I never meant that. You’re the strongest person I’ve met. The most patient and beautiful woman I know.” My cheeks flushed hearing his words, trying to look away as I bit my lips, tears threatening to pool over. Because hearing those words slip out of those precious lips made my stomach flutter and heart pound.

            But Zuko's hands trailed upwards, cupping my face in his hands and forcing me to gaze at him once again. The way his thumb trailed along my lips, my lips parting as we stood so close to each other. “I promise, tomorrow, we train. And you can kick my ass all fucking day.” I cracked a smile, laughing softly. The way Zuko chuckled, his breath tickling my lips.

             I let my fingers trail along Zuko’s jaw, his eyes studying my lips, and my eyes staring at his. The way Zuko’s chest rose, his thumb rubbing my bottom lip tenderly. “I love you, please don’t leave again. I-I’ve had so many people walk out of my life, and if you walk out to I-” With an affectionate peck, I shut Zuko up.

            I knew of the pain.

            The loss.

            The want.

            My eyes fluttered close, feeling him press me up against the front door as I hummed softly. His plush lips against mine, the way we danced to a sweet tune – a single song that only we shared. Zuko groaned, his hands intertwining with mine, spreading them against the wall behind us. I gasped, the kiss turning from a sweet dance to a possessive want – a need.

            “I love you, Zuko.” I gasped, hands held against the wall, loving the feeling of being completely engulfed by Zuko. His lips turned upwards, my eyes fluttering open as he playfully rubbed the tip of his nose against mine, “Go wash up, I’ll heat up dinner to eat.”

            “You didn’t eat yet?”

            The way Zuko looked at me, surprised that I would even ask such a question. “Of course not, not without you. I’ll set the bath and heat the water for you, and while you bathe, I’ll set up dinner.” I smiled, his hands untangling from mine, watching him step back. And before I knew it, my mouth opened. Asking him a question that had been itching my mind the moment I got here, “Zuko…were you crying?”

            The way Zuko tensed, looking over his shoulder with the brightest red tinge. He looked like he got caught red-handed, holding a flustered look as he struggled to speak, “Hurry up and get that cute little ass of yours inside that bathtub before I change my mind of heating up the water for you.” He grumbled, shyly walking away while rubbing his head.

            A grin painted my face, giggling as I eagerly skipped behind him.

            I got my answer.

Copyright © 2019 Mystic-Kitten, inc. all rights reserved. No reposting, modifying, or translations of any kind allowed. Thank you for your cooperation.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters portrayed in this story besides Ying Yue Jiang, Lia, Kima, and any future creations.

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[grigori77]

2019 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 1)

30.  GLASS – back in 2000, I went from liking the work of The Sixth Sense’s writer-director M. Night Shyamalan to becoming a genuine FAN thanks to his sneakily revisionist deconstruction of superhero tropes, Unbreakable.  It’s STILL my favourite film of his to date, and one of my Top Ten superhero movies EVER, not just a fascinating examination of the mechanics of the genre but also a very satisfying screen origin story – needless to say I’m one of MANY fans who’ve spent nearly two decades holding out hope for a sequel.  Flash forward to 2016 and Shyamalan’s long-overdue return-to-form sleeper hit, Split, which not only finally put his career back on course but also dropped a particularly killer end twist by actually being that very sequel.  Needless to say 2019 was the year we FINALLY got our PROPER reward for all our patience – Glass is the TRUE continuation of the Unbreakable universe and the closer of a long-intended trilogy.  Turns out, though, that it’s also his most CONTROVERSIAL film for YEARS, dividing audiences and critics alike with its unapologetically polarizing plot and execution – I guess that, after a decade of MCU and a powerhouse trilogy of Batman movies from Chris Nolan, we were expecting an epic, explosive action-fest to close things out, but that means we forgot exactly what it is about Shyamalan we got to love so much, namely his unerring ability to subvert and deconstruct whatever genre he’s playing around in.  And he really doesn’t DO spectacle, does he?  That said, this film is still a surprisingly BIG, sprawling piece of work, even if it the action is, for the most part, MUCH more internalised than most superhero movies.  Not wanting to drop any major spoilers on the few who still haven’t seen it, I won’t give away any major plot points, suffice to say that ALL the major players from both Unbreakable and Split have returned – former security guard David Dunn (Bruce Willis) has spent the past nineteen years exploring his super-strength and near-invulnerability while keeping Philadelphia marginally safer as hooded vigilante the Overseer, and the latest target of his crime-fighting crusade is Kevin Wendell Crumb (James McAvoy), the vessel of 24 split personalities collectively known as the Horde, who’s continuing his cannibalistic serial-murder spree through the streets.  Both are being hunted by the police, as well as Dr. Ellie Staple (series newcomer Sarah Paulson), a clinical psychiatrist specialising in treating individuals who suffer the delusional belief that they’re superheroes, her project also encompassing David’s former mentor-turned-nemesis Elijah Price (Samuel L. Jackson), the eponymous Mr. Glass, whose life-long suffering from a crippling bone disease that makes his body dangerously fragile has done nothing to blunt the  genius-level intellect that’s made him a ruthlessly accomplished criminal mastermind. How these remarkable individuals are brought together makes for fascinating viewing, and while it may be a good deal slower and talkier than some might have preferred, this is still VERY MUCH the Shyamalan we first came to admire – fiendishly inventive, slow-burn suspenseful and absolutely DRIPPING with cool earworm dialogue, his characteristically mischievous sense of humour still present and correct, and he’s retained that unswerving ability to wrong-foot us at every turn, right up to one of his most surprising twist endings to date.  The cast are, as ever, on fire, the returning hands all superb while those new to the universe easily measure up to the quality of talent on display – Willis and Jackson are, as you’d expect, PERFECT throughout, brilliantly building on the incredibly solid groundwork laid in Unbreakable, while it’s a huge pleasure to see Anya Taylor-Joy, Spencer Treat Clark (a fine actor we don’t see NEARLY enough of, in my opinion) and Charlayne Woodard get MUCH bigger, more prominent roles this time out, while Paulson delivers an understated but frequently mesmerising turn as the ultimate unshakable sceptic.  As with Split, however, the film is comprehensively stolen by McAvoy, whose truly chameleonic performance actually manages to eclipse its predecessor in its levels of sheer genius.  Altogether this is another sure-footed step in the right direction for a director who’s finally regained his singular auteur prowess – say what you will about that ending, but it certainly is a game-changer, as boldly revisionist as anything that’s preceded it and therefore, in my opinion, exactly how it SHOULD have gone.  If nothing else, this is a film that should be applauded for its BALLS …

29.  THE PEANUT BUTTER FALCON – quite possibly the year’s most adorable indie, this dramatic feature debut from documentarian writer-directors Tyler Nilson and Michael Schwartz largely snuck in under the radar on release, but has gone on to garner some well-deserved critical appreciation and sleeper hit success.  The lion’s share of the film’s success must surely go to the inspired casting, particularly in the central trio who drive the action – Nilson and Schwartz devised the film with Zack Gotsagen, an exceptionally talented young actor with Down’s Syndrome, specifically in mind for the role of Zak, a wrestling obsessive languishing in a North Carolina retirement home who dreams of escaping his stifling confines and going to the training camp of his hero, the Saltwater Redneck (Thomas Haden Church), where he can learn to become a pro wrestler; after slipping free, Zak enlists the initially wary help of down-at-heel criminal fisherman Tyler (Shia LaBaouf) in reaching his intended destination, while the pair are pursued by Zak’s primary caregiver, Eleanor (Dakota Johnson).  Needless to say the unlikely pair bond on the road, and when Eleanor is reluctantly forced to tag along with them, a surrogate family is formed … yeah, the plot is so predictable you can see every twist signposted from miles back, but that familiarity is never a problem because these characters are so lovingly written and beautifully played that you’ve fallen for them within five minutes of meeting them, so you’re effortlessly swept along for the ride. The three leads are pure gold – this is the most laid back and cuddly Shia’s been for years, but his lackadaisical charm is pleasingly tempered with affecting pathos driven by a tragic loss in Tyler’s recent past, while Johnson is sensible, sweet and likeably grounded, even when Eleanor’s at her most exasperated, but Gotsagen is the real surprise, delivering an endearingly unpredictable, livewire performance that blazes with true, honest purity and total defiance in the face of any potential difficulties society may try to throw at Zak – while there’s excellent support from Church in a charmingly awkward late-film turn that goes a long way to reminding us just what an acting treasure he is, as well as John Hawkes and rapper Yelawolf as a pair of lowlife crab-fishermen hunting for Tyler, intending to wreak (not entirely undeserved) revenge on him for an ill-judged professional slight.  Enjoying a gentle sense of humour and absolutely CRAMMED with heartfelt emotional heft, this really was one of the most downright LOVEABLE films of 2019.

28.  PET SEMATARY – first off, let me say that I never saw the 1989 feature adaptation of Stephen King’s story, so I have no comparative frame of reference there – I WILL say, however, that the original novel is, in my opinion, one of the strongest offerings from America’s undisputed master of literary horror, so any attempt made to bring it to the big screen had better be a good one.  Thankfully, this version more than delivers in that capacity, proving to be one of the more impressive of his cinematic outings in recent years (not quite up to the standard of The Mist or It Chapter 1, perhaps, but certainly on a par with the criminally overlooked 1408), as well as one of the year’s top horror offerings.  This may be the feature debut of directing double-act Kevin Kölsch and Dennis Widmyer, but they both display a wealth of natural talent here, wrangling bone-chilling scares and a pervading atmosphere of oppressive dread to deliver a top-notch screen fright-fest that works its way under your skin and stays put for days after.  Jason Clarke is a classic King everyman hero as Boston doctor Louis Creed, displaced to the small Maine town of Ludlow as he trades the ER for a quiet clinic practice so he can spent more time with his family – Amy Seimetz (Upstream Color, Stranger Things), excellent throughout as his haunted, emotionally fragile wife Rachel, toddler son Gage (twins Hugo and Lucas Lavole), and daughter Ellie (newcomer Jeté Laurence, BY FAR the film’s biggest revelation, delivering to the highest degree even when her role becomes particularly intense).  Their new home seems idyllic, the only blots being the main road at the end of their drive which experiences heavy traffic from speeding trucks, and the children’s pet cemetery in the woods at the back of their garden, which has become something of a local landmark.  But there’s something far darker in the deeper places beyond, an ancient place of terrible power Louis is introduced to by their well-meaning but ultimately fallible elderly neighbour Jud (one of the best performances I’ve ever seen from screen legend John Lithgow) when his daughter’s beloved cat Church is run over. The cat genuinely comes back, but he’s irrevocably changed, the once gentle and lovable furball now transformed into a menacingly mangy little psychopath, and his resurrection sets off a chain of horrific events destined to devour the entire family … this is supernatural horror at its most inherently unnerving, mercilessly twisting the screws throughout its slow-burn build to the inevitable third act bloodbath and reaching a bleak, soul-crushing climax that comes close to rivalling the still unparalleled sucker-punch of The Mist – the adaptation skews significantly from King’s original at the mid-point, but even purists will be hard-pressed to deny that this is still VERY MUCH in keeping with the spirit of the book right up to its harrowing closing shot.  The King of Horror has been well served once again – fans can rest assured that his dark imagination continues to inspire some truly great cinematic scares …

27.  THE REPORT – the CIA’s notorious use of torture to acquire information from detainees in Guantanamo Bay and various other sites around the world in the wake of September 11, 2001, has been a particularly spiky political subject for years now, one which has gained particular traction with cinema-goers over the years thanks to films like Rendition and, of course, controversial Oscar-troubler Zero Dark Thirty.  It’s also a particular bugbear of screenwriter Scott Z. Burns (The Bourne Ultimatum, Contagion, Side Effects) – his parents are both psychologists, and he found it particularly offensive that a profession he knows was created to help people could have been turned into such a damaging weapon against the human psyche, inexorably leading him to taking up this passion project, championed by its producer, and Burns’ long-time friend and collaborator, Steven Soderbergh.  It tells the true story of Senate staffer Daniel Jones’ five-year battle to bring his damning 6,300-page study of the CIA’s enhanced interrogation program, commissioned by the Senate Intelligence Committee, into the light of day in the face of increasingly intense and frequently underhanded resistance from the Agency and various high-ranking officials within the US Government whose careers could be harmed should their own collusion be revealed. In lesser hands this could have been a clunky, unappetisingly dense excuse for a slow-burn political thriller that drowned in its own exposition, but Burns handles the admittedly heavyweight material with deft skill and makes each increasingly alarming revelation breathlessly compelling while he ratchets up the tension by showing just what a seemingly impossible task Jones and his small but driven team faced.  The film would have been nought, however, without a strong cast, and this one has a killer – taking a break from maintaining his muscle-mass for Star Wars, Adam Driver provides a suitably robust narrative focus as Jones, an initially understated workman who slowly transforms into an incensed moral crusader as he grows increasingly filled with righteous indignation by the vile subject matter he’s repeatedly faced with, and he’s provided with sterling support from the likes of Annette Bening, delivering her best performance in years as Senator Dianne Feinstein, Jones’ staunchest supporter, the ever-wonderful Ted Levine as oily CIA director John O. Brennan, Tim Blake Nelson as a physician contracted by the CIA to assist with interrogations who became genuinely disgusted by the horrors he witnessed, and Matthew Rhys as an unnamed New York Times reporter Jones considers leaking the report to when it looks like it might never be released.  This is powerful stuff, and while it may only mark Burns’ second directorial feature (after his obscure debut Pu-239), he handles the gig like a seasoned pro, milking the material for every drop of dramatic tension while keeping the narrative as honest, forthright and straightforward as possible, and the end result makes for sobering, distressing and thoroughly engrossing viewing.  Definitely one of the most important films not only of 2019, but of the decade itself, and one that NEEDS to be seen.

26.  DARK PHOENIX – wow, this really has been a year for mistreated sequels, hasn’t it?  There’s a seriously stinky cloud of controversy surrounding what is now, in light of recent developments between Disney and Twentieth Century Fox, the last true Singer-era X-Men movie, a film which saw two mooted release dates (first November 2018 then the following February, before finally limping onto screens with very little fanfare in June 2019, almost as if Fox wanted to bury it. Certainly rumours of its compromise were rife, particularly regarding supposed rushed reshoots because of clashing similarities with Marvel’s major tent-pole release Captain Marvel (and given the all-conquering nature of the MCU there was no way they were having that, was there?), so like many I was expecting a clunky mess, maybe even a true stinker to rival X-Men Origins: Wolverine.  In truth, while it’s not perfect, the end result is nothing like the turd we all feared – the final film is, in fact, largely a success, worthy of favourable comparison with its stronger predecessors.  It certainly makes much needed amends for the disappointing mismanagement of the source comics’ legendary Dark Phoenix saga in 2006’s decidedly compromised original X-Men trilogy capper The Last Stand, this time treating the story with the due reverence and respect it deserves as well as serving as a suitably powerful send-off for more than one beloved key character.  Following the “rebooted” path of the post-Days of Future Past timeline, it’s now 1992, and after the world-changing events of Apocalypse the X-Men have become a respected superhero team with legions of fans and their own personal line to the White House, while mutants at large have mostly become accepted by the regular humans around them.  Then a hastily planned mission into space takes a turn for the worst and Jean Grey (Game of Thrones’ Sophie Turner) winds up absorbing an immensely powerful, thoroughly inexplicable cosmic force that makes her powers go haywire while also knocking loose repressed childhood traumas Professor Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) would rather had stayed buried, sending her on a dangerous spiral out of control which leads to a destructive confrontation and the inadvertent death of a teammate.  Needless to say, the situation soon becomes desperate as Jean goes on the run and the world starts to turn against them all once again … all in all, then, it’s business as usual for the cast and crew of one of Fox’s flagship franchises, and it SHOULD have gone off without a hitch.  When Bryan Singer opted not to return this time around (instead setting his sights on Queen biopic Bohemian Rhapsody), key series writer Simon Kinberg stepped into the breach for his directorial debut, and it turns out he’s got a real talent for it, giving us just the kind of robust, pacy, thrilling action-packed epic his compatriot would have delivered, filled with the same thumping great set-pieces (the final act’s stirring, protracted train battle is the unequivocal highlight here), well-observed character beats and emotional resonance we’ve come to expect from the series as a whole (then again, he does know these movies back to frond having at least co-written his fair share).  The cast, similarly, are all on top form – McAvoy and Michael Fassbender (as fan favourite Erik Lehnsherr, aka Magneto) know their roles so well now they can do this stuff in their sleep, but we still get to see them explore interesting new facets of their characters (particularly McAvoy, who gets to reveal an intriguing dark side to the Professor we’ve only ever seen hinted at before now), while Turner finally gets to really breathe in a role which felt a little stiff and underexplored in her series debut in Apocalypse (she EASILY forges the requisite connective tissue to Famke Janssen’s more mature and assured take in the earlier films); conversely Tye Sheridan (Cyclops), Alexandra Shipp (Storm), Kodi Smit-McPhee (Nightcrawler) and Evan Peters (Quicksilver) get somewhat short shrift but nonetheless do A LOT with what little they have, and at least Jennifer Lawrence and Nicholas Hoult still get to do plenty of dramatic heavy lifting as the last of Xavier’s original class, Raven (Mystique) and Hank McCoy (Beast); the only real weak link in the cast is the villain, Vuk, a shape-shifting alien whose quest to seize the power Jean’s appropriated is murkily defined at best, but at least Jessica Chastain manages to invest her with enough icy menace to keep things from getting boring.  All in all, then, this is very much a case of business as usual, Kinberg and co keeping the action thundering along at a suitably cracking pace throughout (powered by a typically epic score from Hans Zimmer), and the film only really comes off the rails in its final moments, when that aforementioned train finally comes off its tracks and the reported reshoots must surely kick in – as a result this is, to me, most reminiscent of previous X-flick The Wolverine, which was a rousing success for the majority of its runtime, only coming apart in its finale thanks to that bloody ridiculous robot samurai.  The climax is, therefore, a disappointment, too clunky and sudden and overly neat in its denouement (we really could have done with a proper examination of the larger social impact of these events), but it’s little enough that it doesn’t spoil what came before … which just makes the film’s mismanagement and resulting failure, as well as its subsequent treatment from critics and fans alike, all the more frustrating.  This film deserved much better, but ultimately looks set to be disowned and glossed over by most of the fanbase as the property as a whole goes through the inevitable overhaul now that Disney/Marvel owns Fox and plans to bring the X-Men and their fellow mutants into the MCU fold.  I feel genuinely sorry for the one remaining X-film, The New Mutants, which is surely destined for spectacular failure after its similarly shoddy round of reschedules finally comes to an end this summer …

25.  IT CHAPTER 2 – back in 2017, Mama director Andy Muschietti delivered the first half of his ambitious two-film adaptation of one of Stephen King’s most popular and personal novels, which had long been considered un-filmable (the 90s miniseries had a stab, but while it deserves its cult favourite status it certainly fell short in several places) until Muschietti and screenwriters Cary Joji Fukunaga and Gary Dauberman seemingly did the impossible, and the end result was the top horror hit of the year.  Ultimately, then, it was gonna be a tough act to follow, and there was MAJOR conjecture whether they could repeat that success with this second half.  Would lightning strike twice?  Well, the simple answer is … mostly.  2017’s Chapter 1 was a stone-cold masterpiece, and one of the strongest elements in its favour was the extremely game young cast of newcomers and relative unknown child actors who brought the already much beloved Loser’s Club to perfectly-cast life, a seven-strong gang of gawky pre-teen underdogs you couldn’t help loving, which made it oh-so-easy to root for them as they faced off against that nightmarish shape-shifting child-eating monster, Pennywise the Dancing Clown.  It was primal, it was terrifying, and it was BURSTING with childhood nostalgia that thoroughly resonated with an audience hungry for more 80s-set coming-of-age genre fare after the runaway success of Stranger Things.  Bringing the story into the present day with the Losers now returning to their childhood home of Derry, Maine as forty-something adults, Chapter 2 was NEVER going to achieve the same pulse-quickening electric charge the first film pulled off, was it?  Thankfully, with the same director and (mostly) the same writing crew on hand (Fukunaga jumped ship but Dauberman was there to finish up with the help of Jason Fuchs and an uncredited Jeffrey Jurgensen) there’s still plenty of that old magic left over, so while it’s not quite the same second time round, this still feels very much like the same adventure, just older, wiser and a bit more cynical.  Here’s a more relevant reality check, mind – those who didn’t approve of the first film’s major changes from the book are going to be even more incensed by this, but the differences here are at least organic and in keeping with the groundwork laid in Chapter 1, and indeed this film in particular is a VERY different beast from the source material, but these differences are actually kind of a strength here, Muschietti and co. delivering something that works MUCH better cinematically than a more faithful take would have. Anyway, the Loser’s Club are back, all grown up and (for the most part) wildly successful living FAR AWAY from Derry with dream careers and seemingly perfect lives.  Only Mike Hanlon has remained behind to hold vigil over the town and its monstrous secret, and when a new spree of disappearances and grisly murders begins he calls his old friends back home to fulfil the pact they all swore to uphold years ago – stop Pennywise once and for all.  The new cast are just as excellent as their youthful counterparts – Jessica Chastain and James McAvoy are, of course, the big leads here as grown up Beverley Marsh and Bill Denbrough, bringing every watt of star power they can muster, but the others hold more interest, with Bill Hader perfectly cast (both director and child actor’s personal first choice) as smart-mouth Richie Tozier, Isaiah Mustafah (best known as the Old Spice guy from those hilarious commercials) playing VERY MUCH against type as Mike, Jay Ryan (successful on the small screen in Top of the Lake and Beauty & the Beast, but very much getting his cinematic big break here) as a slimmed-down and seriously buffed-out Ben Hanscom, James Ransone (Sinister) as neurotic hypochondriac Eddie Kaspbrak, and Andy Bean (Power, the recent Swamp Thing series) as ever-rational Stan Uris – but we still get to hang out with the original kids too in new flashbacks that (understandably) make for some of the film’s best scenes, while Bill Skarsgard is as terrifying as ever as he brings new ferocity, insidious creepiness and even a touch of curious back-story to Pennywise.  I am happy to report this new one IS just as scary as its predecessor, a skin-crawling, spine-tingling, pants-wetting cold sweat of a horror-fest that works its way in throughout its substantial running time and, as before, sticks with you LONG after the credits have rolled, but it’s also got the same amount of heart, emotional heft and pathos, nostalgic charm (albeit more grown-up and sullied) and playful, sometimes decidedly mischievous geeky humour, so that as soon as you’re settled in it really does feel like you’ve come home. It’s also fiendishly inventive, the final act in particular skewing in some VERY surprising new directions that there’s NO WAY you’ll see coming, and the climax also, interestingly, redresses one particularly frustrating imbalance that always bugged me about the book, making for an especially moving, heartbreaking denouement.  Interestingly, there’s a running joke in the film that pokes fun at a perceived view from some quarters that Stephen King’s endings often disappoint – there’s no such fault with THIS particular adaptation.  For me, this was altogether JUST the concluding half I was hoping for, so while it’s not as good as the first, it should leave you satisfied all the same.

24.  MOTHERLESS BROOKLYN – it’s taken Edward Norton twenty years to get his passion project adaptation of Jonathan Lethem’s novel to the big screen, but the final film was certainly worth the wait, a cool-as-ice noir thriller in which its writer-director also, of course, stars as one of the most unusual ‘tecs around.  Lionel Essrog suffers from Tourette syndrome, prone to uncontrollable ticks and vocal outbursts as well as obsessive-compulsive spirals that can really ruin his day, but he’s also got a genius-level intellect and a photographic memory, which means he’s the perfect fit for the detective agency of accomplished, highly successful New York gumshoe Frank Minna (Bruce Willis).  But when their latest case goes horribly wrong and Frank dies in a back-alley gunfight, the remaining members of the agency are left to pick up the pieces and try to find out what went wrong, Lionel battling his own personal, mental and physical demons as he tries to unravel an increasingly labyrinthine tangle of lies, deceit, corporate corruption and criminal enterprise that reaches to the highest levels of the city’s government.  Those familiar with the original novel will know that it’s set in roughly the present day, but Norton felt many aspects of the story lent themselves much better to the early 1950s, and it really was a good choice – Lionel is a man very much out his time, a very odd fit in an age of stuffy morals and repression, while the themes of racial upheaval, rampant urban renewal and massive, unchecked corporate greed feel very much of the period. Besides, there’s few things as seductive than a good noir thriller, and Norton has crafted a real GEM right here. The pace can be a little glacial at times, but this simply gives the unfolding plot and extremely rich collection of characters plenty of room to grow, while the jazzy score (from up-and-comer Daniel Pemberton, composer on Steve Jobs, King Arthur: Legend of the Sword and Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse) provides a surprising complimentary accompaniment to the rather free-form narrative style and Lionel’s own scattershot, bebop style.  Norton is exceptional in the lead, landing his best role in years with an exquisitely un-self-conscious ease that makes for thoroughly compelling viewing (surely more than one nod will be due come awards-season), but he doesn’t hog ALL the limelight, letting his uniformly stellar supporting cast shine bright as well – Willis doesn’t get a huge amount of screen time, but delivers a typically strong, nuanced performance that makes his absence throughout the rest of the film keenly felt, Gugu Mbatha-Raw continues to build an impressive run of work as Laura, the seemingly unimportant woman Lionel befriends, who could actually be the key to the whole case, Alec Baldwin is coolly menacing as power-hungry property magnate and heavyweight city official Moses Randolph, the film’s nominal big-bad, Willem Dafoe is absolutely electrifying as his down-at-heel, insignificant genius brother Lou, and Boardwalk Empire’s Michael K. Williams is quietly outstanding as mysterious jazz musician Trumpet Man, while Bobby Canavale, Ethan Suplee and Dallas Roberts are all excellent as the other hands in Minna’s detective agency.  It’s a chilled-out affair, happy to hang back and let its slow-burn plot simmer while Lionel tries to navigate his job and life in general while battling his many personal difficulties, but due to the incredible calibre of the talent on offer, the incredibly rich dialogue and obligatory hardboiled gumshoe voiceover, compelling story and frequently achingly beautiful visuals, this is about as compulsively rewarding as cinema gets. Norton’s crafted a film noir worthy of comparison with the likes of L.A. Confidential and Chinatown, proving that he’s a triple-threat cinematic talent to be reckoned with.

23.  PROSPECT – I love a good cinematic underdog, there’s always some dynamite indies and sleepers that just about slip through the cracks that I end up championing every year, and one of 2019’s favourites was a minor sensation at 2018’s South By Southwest film festival, a singularly original ultra-low-budget sci-fi adventure that made a genuine virtue of its miniscule budget.  Riffing on classic eco-minded space flicks like Silent Running, it introduces a father-and-daughter prospecting team who land a potentially DEEPLY lucrative contract mining for an incredibly rare element on a toxic jungle moon – widower Damon (Transparent’s Jay Duplass), who’s downtrodden and world-weary but still a dreamer, and teenager Cee (relative newcomer Sophie Thatcher), an introverted bookworm with hidden reserves of ingenuity and fortitude.  The job starts well, Damon setting his sights on a rumoured “queen’s layer” that could make them rich beyond their wildest dreams, but when they meet smooth-talking scavenger Ezra (Narcos’ Pedro Pascal), things take a turn for the worse – Damon is killed and Cee is forced to team up with Ezra to have any hope for survival on this hostile, unforgiving moon.  Thatcher is an understated joy throughout, her seemingly detached manner belying hidden depths of intense feeling, while Pascal, far from playing a straight villain, turns Ezra into something of a tragic, charismatic antihero we eventually start to sympathise with, and the complex relationship that develops between them is a powerful, mercurial thing, the constantly shifting dynamic providing a powerful driving force for the film.  Debuting writer-directors Zeek Earl and Chris Caldwell have crafted a wonderfully introspective, multi-layered tone poem of aching beauty, using subtle visual effects and a steamy, glow-heavy colour palette to make the lush forest environs into something nonetheless eerie and inhospitable, while the various weird and colourful denizens of this deadly little world prove that Ezra may be the LEAST of the dangers Cee faces in her quest for escape.  Inventive, intriguing and a veritable feast for the eyes and intellect, this is top-notch indie sci-fi and a sign of great things to come from its creators, thoroughly deserving of major cult recognition in the future.

22.  DRAGGED ACROSS CONCRETE – S. Craig Zahler is a writer-director who’s become a major fixture on my ones-to-watch list in recent years, instantly winning me over with his dynamite debut feature Bone Tomahawk before cementing that status with awesome follow-up Brawl On Cell Block 99.  His latest is another undeniable hit that starts deceptively simply before snowballing into a sprawling urban crime epic as it follows its main protagonists – disgraced Bulwark City cops Brett Ridgeman (Mel Gibson) and Tony Lurasetti (BOCB99’s Vince Vaughn), on unpaid suspension after their latest bust leads to a PR nightmare – on a descent into a hellish criminal underworld as they set out to “seek compensation” for their situation by ripping off the score from a bank robbery spearheaded by ruthlessly efficient professional thief Lorentz Vogelmann (Thomas Kretschmann).  In lesser hands, this two-hour-forty-minute feature might have felt like a painfully padded effort that would have passed far better chopped down to a breezy 90-minutes, but Zahler is such a compellingly rich and resourceful writer that every scene is essential viewing, overflowing with exquisitely drawn characters spouting endlessly quotable, gold-plated dialogue, and the constantly shifting narrative focus brings such consistent freshness that the increasingly complex plot remains rewarding right to the end.  The two leads are both typically excellent – Vaughn gets to let loose with a far more showy, garrulous turn here than his more reserved character in his first collaboration with Zahler, while this is EASILY the best performance I’ve seen Gibson deliver in YEARS, the grizzled veteran clearly having a fine old time getting his teeth into a particularly meaty role that very much plays to his strengths – and they’re brilliantly bolstered by an excellent supporting cast – Get Rich Or Die Tryin’s Tory Kittles easily matches them in his equally weighty scenes as Henry Johns, a newly-released ex-con also out to improve his family’s situation with a major score, while Kretschmann is at his most chilling as the brutal killer who executes his plans with cold-blooded precision, and there are wonderful scene-stealing offerings from Jennifer Carpenter, Udo Kier, Don Johnson (three more Zahler regulars, each featured with Vaughn on BOCB99), Michael Jai White, Laurie Holden and newcomer Miles Truitt.  This is a proper meaty film, dark, intense, gritty and unflinching in its portrayal of honest, unglamorous violence and its messy aftermath, but fans of grown-up filmmaking will find PLENTY to enjoy here, Zahler crafting a crime epic comparable to the heady best of Scorsese and Tarantino.  Another sure-fire winner from one of the best new filmmakers around.

21.  FAST COLOR – intriguingly, the most INTERESTING superhero movie of the year was NOT a major franchise property, or even a comic book adapted to the screen at all, but a wholly original indie which snuck in very much under the radar on its release but is surely destined for cult greatness in the future, not least due to some much-deserved critical acclaim.  Set in an unspecified future where it hasn’t rained for years, a homeless vagabond named Ruth (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) is making her aimless way across a desolate American Midwest, tormented by violent seizures which cause strange localised earthquakes, and hunted by Bill (Argo’s Christopher Denham), a rogue scientist who wants to capture her so he can study her abilities.  Ultimately she’s left with no other recourse than to run home, sheltering with her mother Bo (Middle of Nowhere and Orange is the New Black’s Lorraine Toussaint), and her young daughter Lila (The Passage’s Saniyya Sidney), both of whom also have weird and wondrous powers of their own.  As the estranged family reconnect, Ruth finally learns to control her powers as she’s forced to confront her own troubled past, but as Bill closes in it looks like their idyll might be short-lived … this might only be the second feature of writer-director Julie Hart (who cut her teeth penning well-regarded indie western The Keeping Room before making her own debut helming South By Southwest Film Festival hit Miss Stevens), but it’s a blinding statement of intent for the future, a deceptively understated thing of beauty that eschews classic superhero cinema conventions of big spectacle and rousing action in favour of a quiet, introspective character-driven story where the unveiling and exploration of Ruth and her kin’s abilities are secondary to the examination of how their familial dynamics work (or often DON’T), while Hart and cinematographer Michael Fimognari (probably best known for his frequent work for Mike Flanagan) bring a ruined but bleakly beautiful future to life through inventively understated production design and sweeping, dramatic vistas largely devoid of visual effects.  Subtlety is the watchword, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t fireworks here, it’s just that they’re generally performance-based – awards-darling Mbatha-Raw (Belle) gives a raw, heartfelt performance, painting Ruth in vivid shades of grey, while Toussaint is restrained but powerfully memorable and Sidney builds on her already memorable work to deliver what might be her best turn to date, and there are strong supporting turns from Denham (who makes his nominal villain surprisingly sympathetic) and Hollywood great David Strathairn as gentle small town sheriff Ellis. Leisurely paced and understated it may be, but this is still an incendiary piece of work, sure to become a breakout sleeper hit for a filmmaking talent from whom I expect GREAT THINGS in the future, and since the story’s been picked up for expansion into a TV series with Hart in charge that looks like a no-brainer.  And it most assuredly IS a bona fide superhero movie, despite appearances to the contrary …

[claptrap-stan]

Happy Anniversary!

Or, Athena definitely doesn’t forget it’s her anniversary, and sets out to make it the best day possible. 

A Jathena fic about their first anniversary, and Athena trying to figure out what that entails. If you prefer, the source will take you to the fic on AO3! Enjoy. 

Athena had never been great at keeping track of the date.

Even as a bounty hunter, she’d only been aware of the passing of time because it signified how long it was taking her to finish a job. Years of Atlas training had lead something as frivolous as dates being relegated to the back of her mind, out of her way.

This was the first time it had come back to bite her.

She faltered midway through signing the piece of paper in front of her, rereading the date another three times as if that would somehow make the numbers change, but nope. That was definitely the date.

And it was definitely the date of her anniversary.

And she’d definitely forgotten.

“Is there a problem, miss?” Asked the guy holding the parcel, his voice high-pitched and nervous, and he stepped back instinctively as he spoke, as though he expected her to attack him just for asking. Which was a dumb fear, because if she attacked him he’d probably drop the package and that would just be inconvenient, but she appreciate the respect.

“No,” she said bluntly, finishing her signature and handing the clipboard back.

Technically she hadn’t forgotten, she just hadn’t been paying attention.

She was pretty sure that wasn’t a valid excuse for forgetting your own anniversary.

She took the package from the man – it was lighter than she expected – and slipped it under one of her arms as he let out a breath of relief. “Uh- thanks,” she told him, remembering Janey’s comments about her needing to be politer.

“N-no problem, ma’am!” He gave her a sharp nod, but she was already walking away, trying to think.

The to-do list Janey gave her would probably take the next few hours, and then everywhere would be closed, but if she hurried she was pretty sure she could squeeze something in to save her own ass. The problem was: what did celebrating an anniversary even involve?

Romance had never even been on her radar before meeting Janey. She’d been too busy for that, too angry, and she’d never cared enough about other people’s lives to pay any attention to that. But Janey had been in at least one other serious relationship before her, and she’d know exactly how this was supposed to work. Which left Athena with two options: try and guess how this worked, or swallow her pride and ask for help.

She decided to try guessing.

#

Step one: a bouquet.

She’d dealt with enough of Moxxi’s wanna-be suitors to know that giving flowers to someone was meant to be romantic. Plus, Janey tended to like anything that made the house look ‘more like an actual human lived in it’, and Athena was pretty sure plants fell into that category.

Also, they weren’t hard to find. Even as she pulled up outside the hardware shop, mentally running over the things Janey had told her to buy, she could see plants lining the pathway.

Clearly, she’d overestimated how hard this anniversary thing was going to be.

She made sure to buy all the parts first, double-checking it against the list as she fastened them to her stingray – if there was one thing Janey would prioritise over their anniversary, it was her work, and Athena wasn’t about to screw that up. As soon as they were secure, though, she turned her attention to the plants.

Most of it was boring green weed, but she pushed those aside to pull out the flowers dotted within them. It was mostly tall yellow and blue flowers that seemed to glow faintly in the shade of the building, as well as a couple of strange-looking purple tendrils that were so thick that she had to use her knife to cut the stems. Once she’d picked most of them and gotten a decently-sized handful, she used a bit of the extra twine she’d brought to hold them in place.

“Ha,” she muttered softly to herself, straightening up and brushing the dirt off her knees with her free hand. The flowers seemed to droop a little as she held them under the sun, but she figured they’d perk up eventually. Whenever people tried to give Moxxi flowers, they always seemed perky and vibrant. She’d probably just have to shove them in some more dirt when she got home, before she showed them to Janey.

Still, they looked pretty great, if she did say so herself.

Someone walking past gave her an odd look, but the second she turned towards him he ducked his head down, picking up his pace.

It took her far too long to place his face. She was getting out of practice. But still, there was no denying it – she knew exactly who he was. He’d hit on Janey last week, getting a little too handsy with her when she’d flatly turned him down. Janey had dealt with it herself, of course, kicking him straight out the building, but Athena was still pissed she hadn’t gotten her shot at him.

Now was her chance.

Her free hand was already grasping at the space where she usually she kept her shield when she realised what she was doing, and faltered.

On a normal day, she wouldn’t have hesitated. So, she left her shield at home these days – she still carried around her gun and at least two knives. She could still pretty easily take him out in the next thirty seconds.

Except that there was a reason she didn’t carry her shield around any more, and today of all days, she wanted to give Janey exactly what she wanted.

No murder. No danger. No trying to kill dicks in the middle of the street.

She could do that. It hurt, but she could let that guy speed walk his way out of her line of sight. She could do it for Janey, at least today.

And besides, she wouldn’t want to damage her flowers.

#

Step two: food.

During the last Valentine’s day she remembered being aware of, she’d been tracking down a target who happened to be seeing one of his employees at the time. She had a distinct memory of killing him in his kitchen when he was trying to cook a romantic meal. His boyfriend, it turned out, had been the one who hired her, but that was besides the point.

Meals were considered romantic.

As she wandered through the shopping market, she considered trying to make something for Janey. It would definitely be more personal, but every time she offered to cook, Janey seemed to develop a sudden craving for takeout. Athena had no idea what Janey’s favourite meal would even be, let alone how to cook it.

So takeout it would be, then.

She glanced at the to-do list again. The next stop would put her right next to Moxxi’s – perfect. They did food. She could head in there first to pick something up.

By the time she got to Moxxi’s, the sun was starting to set, turning the sky a deep blood red. She still had a good ninety minutes before it would be dark and Janey would start to head back, which was plenty of time. She only had one thing left on her list, after all.

The bar was emptier than she expected when she walked in, although she supposed it was pretty early. That rarely seemed to matter on Pandora, though.

Moxxi glanced up from behind the countertop as the door swung shut, her usual smirk already plastered on her face. Her expression seemed to soften just slightly as she registered who it was, not looking away as she approached the bar. Athena half wondered if she was going to overfill the drink she was pouring, but she’d known Moxxi long enough to doubt it.

“Evening, Athena,” Moxxi greeted her once she reached the bar, her usual flirtatious drawl not hiding the slight curiosity in her voice. “If you’re here looking for extra hours, you’re out of luck. Everyone’s being particularly well behaved today – unfortunately. You know I love watching you work.” Still not looking away, she slid the beer she was pouring across the countertop, straight into the waiting hand of a man sat two seats down, who grunted in response. “’Sides, sugar, don’t you think you deserve to spend some time with that lovely mechanic of yours?”

“I am,” said Athena, shifting a little. She always hated being in places like this when she wasn’t working – too many years of honing her senses had left her a little too alert. Especially when the people around her where mostly drunk. Still, she knew she was safe. She could kill everyone in this room with ease. The thought calmed her a little. “It’s our anniversary. I was actually going to buy some food.”

“Oooh, happy anniversary then, darling.” Moxxi propped a hand on her hip, her expression still not faltering. “In that case, what can I get you?”

Oh. There may have been one flaw in her plan. Usually, it was Janey who went to pick up the food. The only takeout she knew about was the old skag meat stand she used to work at, and she was pretty sure that didn’t constitute a romantic meal. Also, there was no way Moxxi sold skewered skag meat anyway.

Thankfully, the older woman noticed her hesitation, her grin growing slightly wider with amusement. “How about I make it a surprise for both of you?” She offered, leaning forward to prop her hands up on the bar, doing a bad job of suppressing the humour in her voice. Athena couldn’t really be annoyed at it, though, because it was the ideal solution.

“That works,” she said, trying to act nonchalant about it. “I have one last stop on my to-do list – can I come back afterwards for the food?”

The look in Moxxi’s eye clearly told her the act hadn’t worked, but thankfully, she didn’t question it. “Of course you can, sweetie. But first- do I get a sneak peak at Janey’s anniversary present?” She leaned further forward, her tone dropping lower. “You know I love a good lover’s present.”

“I’m actually on my way to pick up her present,” Athena lied through her teeth, giving herself barely half a second of thought. “But, no, it’s, uh- private.” Nobody had ever mentioned anything about gifts what kind of gift was she even meant to get and where the hell was she meant to find it-

“But those are the best kind of presents,” said Moxxi, putting on a tone of faux-sadness, before breaking her charade and smiling. “Fine, go and get your missus her present. Your food will be waiting here when you get back.”

“Thank you,” said Athena, and this time it came more naturally to her than with the delivery guy. Still, she thought, as she made her way to the exit of the bar. This was a problem.

#

Step three: the gift.

Really, Athena should’ve expected this. No good plan had ever only had two steps. And honestly, everything she’d been doing so far seemed to be focused on giving something. An actual gift seemed like the obvious conclusion.

Not that that hindsight helped her now.

She tried to glance around the shop as she hefted up two cartons of washer fluid, so focused on looking for any potential presents that she ignored the worker trying to offer her help, but she couldn’t see anything that would work. It was all machine-based fluid; oil and water and different coloured liquids she couldn’t identify filling the rows of shelves.

Which was completely useless to her.

She must’ve looked pretty pissed, because the guy who rang her up looked like he was waiting for her to lose it at him, but she couldn’t be bothered trying to school her features into a ‘nicer’ expression. He’d live. She had bigger things to worry about.

She continued to scan the area even as she lugged the cartons outside, as if she was going to find the perfect present just sitting on one of the benches ready for her to take.

There was a little skag pup foraging in one of the bins, and Janey had been suggesting they get a pet, but Athena was pretty sure she hadn’t meant a skag. Unfortunately. She knew the weapons shop across the streets sold some nice daggers, but that had never really been Janey’s style. The ammo shop was useless, and she didn’t have any Eridium on her to hit up the black market – not that Janey would want her to do that anyway.

She fixed the washer fluid to the stingray and then leaned against it trying to think. There was the half-crumbling pub, which was useless to her, the bakery, the sweet shop, the café-

The sweet shop.

The sweetest thing Athena enjoyed was the Atlas lattes, and she hadn’t been able to have them in- a long time. Janey, on the other hand, rarely drank something more bitter than her hot malted milk, and had an almost ridiculous sweet tooth.

Athena started walking towards it immediately, relief flooding her the second she realised it was open. Were chocolates a kind of lame gift? Probably. Did she have the time to worry? A quick glance at her watch told her no, she didn’t. Besides, maybe the flowers and the meal would even it out.

At least, she hoped it would. The second she stepped into the shop, she was hit by the almost overwhelming vibrant packages that lined every shelf. It looked like something big and colourful had puked in it. Even the smell was almost sickeningly sweet, like chocolate and fruit and sugar all mixed into one.

She tried not to wrinkle her nose as she grabbed the nearest heart-shaped box of chocolates. She probably could’ve spent all night looking for the perfect one, but right now, time was of the essence, and she figured that was romantic enough.

She half threw the box at the cashier in her impatientness.

#

She made it home just twenty minutes before Janey was due back, and ran in as fast as she could, dumping everything not-anniversary-related in the corner of the garage. She could deal with that later.

Instead, she filled a bowl with dirt from outside and placed it on the kitchen sink, shoving the flowers into it. “There, now you can perk up a little,” she muttered as she covered the roots, a slightly threatening tone entering her voice.

Then she switched her attention to the food. Moxxi had packaged into heat proof boxes for her, so all she had to do was put it on the plates. The hostess hadn’t held back – one of the boxes contained a variety of vegetables, the other a huge piece of roasted pork. She tried to arrange them on the plate as nicely as she could manage, although she didn’t really know what constituted as ‘nice’ in this situation.

She’d only just decided it was good enough when she heard the front door swing open, followed by the sound of Janey announcing herself.

“In the kitchen!” Athena called back, quickly turning scoop the flowers up and shove the bowl of dirt under the sink, out of sight. They hadn’t perked up that much, but she thought they still looked fine. She grabbed the chocolates with her free hand and hid them both behind her back just as Janey walked in, holding a paper bag.

The mechanic faltered as she saw the table, surprise flickering across her face. “Wow, Athena-“

“Happy anniversary,” interrupted Athena, holding out the chocolates and the flowers. For a second, Janey paused, looking awed, but then she seem to come back to herself and quickly made her way across the room, dropping the bag on one of the counters.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the gifts and smiling. “And happy anniversary to you, too.” She put the chocolates down on the side and pressed a quick kiss to Athena’s cheek. “I wasn’t expecting anything like this – I know you aren’t good with dates, so I figured you’d probably miss it-“

“Never,” said Athena, smoothly, and Janey smiled again.

“Well, I’m sorry I doubted you. This- this is amazing. Just- let me put these in some water before we dig into the food, okay?” She turned towards the cupboard before freezing halfway through reaching for it. “Uh,” she twisted back slightly, looking curiously concerned. “The food. Where-“

“It came from Moxxi’s,” said Athena, brightly. Seeing Janey happy filled her with a sense of relief. Why had she been so nervous before? Clearly, she was a master at this stuff. “You’ve never mentioned what kind of food you’d like me to cook, so I figured it was safer. Why?”

“No reason. No reason at all.” She was fairly sure she saw relief on Janey’s face as the latter finally turned to grab a glass, although she couldn’t imagine why.

She watched as Janey filled the glass with water before setting it on the side and carefully placing the flowers in it. Water. Of course. Why had she gone with dirt?

Still, they looked great, so it was fine.

Janey turned back to her with a grin. “I got you a present too, of course – although it’ll have to wait until after this meal.”

“Why?” Asked Athena, raising her eye brow. “Is it more food?”

“Well.” Janey leaned back slightly and buried her hand in the bag she’d brought in. “It involves eating something.” She pulled her hand back out and held up- a bath bomb. “But first, we’d have to take a bath.”

Athena glanced at the bag, which still clearly had something in it.

She was 90% sure she could guess what it was.

“I like baths,” was all she said, before looping her fingers through Janey’s belt loops and pulling her close enough that she could kiss her easily, which of course she did. Janey nearly dropped the bath bomb as she fumbled, but she managed to place it on the side before burying her fingers in Athena’s hair and kissing her back, pushing hard enough to press the later into the side.

“I specifically said we have to wait until after we’ve eaten,” mumbled Janey, but she didn’t want to break the kiss, leaning even further into it. Athena hummed softly against her lips.

“Okay, sure. We will,” she promised, also not breaking the kiss.

They probably never would’ve split apart if it wasn’t for the hacking cough sound that came from behind Athena, catching both of their attentions. There was a pause as they turned in surprise to look.

“Athena,” began Janey, her voice almost deceptively calm. “Did your flowers just spit acid at the wall?”

Oh.

Maybe Athena wasn’t the master of anniversaries after all.

[blurry-fics]

Bandito: Part One

Pairing: Josh Dun x Reader

Warnings: Suspense? 

Word Count: 2405

Request: Hey can you do something trenchis like you did with tyler but with josh? Like a girl escapes from dema and josh finds her and take her to the banditos and they fall in love? 💫💛🖤💛 -Anon

Author’s Note: Another little two part series! Part two will be up on Friday, as per usual. Writing this request just reminded me how much I love writing Trench stuff, probably because it ties into the whole fantasy/different universe type thing, which I’ve always loved. Anyway, I hope all of you enjoy this one! :) (gif credit)

You had heard the rumors.

They were whispered phrases, tumbling from the lips of your fellow residents as they passed one another in the halls. Some sort of greeting. Or a message. You weren’t entirely sure which.

You caught all these phrases, taking them into your mind. Turning them over and over, searching for some sort of hidden meaning among the words that you had somehow missed. When finally you felt as if all your avenues had been exhausted, you added the new phrase to the bottom of your list, hoping that among the others some sort of obvious clue would be revealed.

It never was.

Your notebook was plain and black. Small, by most people’s standards, but perfect for what you needed it for. It was nondescript, just so long as the pages remained hidden from view, not that anyone ever got the chance to look. The journal remained in the inner pocket of your Dema-issued jacket. Or in your pillowcase, when you finally put away your materials for the night and decided to get some rest. The notebook was never left unconnected from you. It was too risky.

The visible strip of sky outside your window was orange tonight, with a few bits of yellow mixed in among the clouds. You took a moment to admire it, wondering if this would be the last night you got to enjoy this particular view. Not that you would miss it, the memories that surfaced as you sat at your small desk were mostly negative.

Your eyes scanned over the hastily scribbled list in your notebook. The phrases were burned into your mind, with the exception of the last couple that you had picked up today, but still you looked them over. There had to be something you had missed, some connection that had flown under your radar. You weren’t sleeping enough. Your brain was fried.

Still, there must be something. There was always something.

*     *     *

Ten steps. Pause. A little longer. Ten more steps.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you carefully counted Nills’ steps. He was the slowest of the bishops, notorious for taking his time to carefully look inside each cell and examine its resident. Most people feared him for this habit, but you took it as an opportunity. Any bishop that took their time looking inside the dim cells would be less likely to notice you.

You waited until he had rounded the corner and made it past the first couple cells, guaranteeing that he wouldn’t see or hear you. Once the echo of his steps began to quiet, you slowly shifted yourself out of bed. The comforter lightly rustled against your sheets, making you pause for a moment, waiting with bated breath to tell if the steps were coming back towards you. They only seemed to grow more distant, so you exhaled and continued to move.

Your jacket felt heavier than usual as you pulled it on over your plain shirt. It was too warm to be wearing in your tiny cell, even with the window cracked to let the cold night air in. Still, you had no idea what lay waiting outside of Dema’s walls.

Trench.

You recalled the word from your list. It was what they called the area outside, though it seemed to you to be nothing more than a name given to make the place seem more real. For all you knew, nothing laid outside the walls but wasteland and despair.

You laughed quietly to yourself as you packed your things - making sure to grab your notebook where it was tucked away in your pillowcase - thinking about how desolate this whole plan seemed when you really thought about it. All this work could have been done for you to spend a week away from the harsh rule of the bishops, only to be dragged back. Or worse.

But even that seemed better than spending your remaining days in this tiny cell they forced you to call home.

*     *     *

Clouds obscured most of the sky as you made your way across the courtyard. Every few seconds you found yourself turning around, checking for any fellow residents or bishops who may be following you. Your backpack beat monotonously against your back as you walked, quickly, along the uneven cobblestones.

You weren’t entirely sure where you were going, but you kept moving east. The more distance that you put between yourself and the bishops, the more likely it was that you would make it out of here. That was all that mattered right now: getting out of here. If you let your mind dwell too much on how you would survive once you reached the other side of the wall, you noticed that your pace started to slow.

You couldn’t go back. It wasn’t an option. So you pushed the thoughts from your mind and pressed forward.

Unfamiliar buildings rose around you as you entered Nico’s sector of the city. It was darker here; torches didn’t line the courtyard here as they did in Nills’ sector. All of the windows were shut tight, curtains drawn so that nobody could see in. Or out. Your footsteps seemed to echo more here, so you slowed your pace and moved closer to the wall, trying to stay out of sight.

A flash of light up ahead caught your eye. It shifted against the wall, creating new shadows against the plain facade of the nearest building. The light continued to grow and it wasn’t long until the echo of footsteps hit your ears.

Someone else was out here. Moving. Towards you.

Fearing the worst, you shrunk back into a particularly dark corner, waiting for the figure to show themselves. A resident would be easy enough to hide from, but a bishop… well, that was an entirely different story. The mere thought of the consequences was enough to send a chill down your spine, but it also reignited the fire beneath you that pushed you to keep going and finally escape this place.

The figure rounded the corner and you allowed yourself a moment to take in his appearance. He wasn’t dressed like anyone else in Dema. His clothes were covered in bits of yellow tape, adding the only patches of color to his otherwise plain outfit. A yellow bandana covered the bottom half of his face and the torch threw shadows across whatever was left uncovered, keeping any of his distinct features hidden from view. You had never seen this man before, and yet you recognized him on sight.

A bandito.

So the rumors were true.

His eyes scanned the courtyard as he moved quickly along the cobblestones. You watched him just as carefully, wondering if he was aware of your presence. If he was, he hadn’t shown any signs of it.

He stopped a few paces away from the statue that stood in the center of the buildings, turning slightly so that you could just make out the profile of his face. The torch flickered steadily behind him, unaffected by the light wind that rustled the surrounding trees.

“Do you want to come with me or not?”

His voice startled you. You pressed your palms flat against the wall behind you, slinking back further into the darkness. Your breath was uneven as you inhaled, trying to calm your shaking hands.

“Who are you?” you asked, putting on a false sense of confidence. Hopefully the facade would work.

He fully turned towards you now. The torchlight shifted again, but he now held it closer to the front of his face. You could more easily make out his exposed features now. His eyes were soft, so unlike the eyes of everyone else in Dema.

“I think you know.”

You swallowed. “And why should I trust you?”

“Realistically, you shouldn’t, but you’re running out of time and options. They’re coming.”

You reached up and adjusted the backpack on your shoulder where it had slipped a bit. Your air of confidence was quickly deteriorating.

“And where would you take me?”

“Somewhere safe. Outside the walls.”

Were you really considering this? Following some solitary stranger outside the walls on the promise of something that had no evidence of existing?

Yes, it seemed you were.

“Show me your face,” you stated. If you were going to go with this mysterious figure, you at least wanted to get a good look at him. “And tell me your name.”

“Only if you do the same,” he answered, just as coolly.

“You first.”

He started to reach for the bandana that covered his face when torchlight flickered along the wall at one end of the courtyard. The stranger took notice of this. His hand immediately dropped to his side as he turned towards the light, studying it.

“One of yours?” you asked.

He shook his head, slowly at first, but it quickly became more frantic.

“We need to go. Now. Are you coming or not, Y/N?”

You were so panicked that you didn’t even take notice of the fact that this stranger knew your name. He watched you with wide eyes, waiting for answer before he left.

“I’m coming. Lead the way.”

The stranger held a hand out to you. You strode forward and linked your hand with his, taking a moment to appreciate the warmth of his skin and the torch in his opposite hand. His eyes roamed over your face, taking in your features.

“Josh, by the way.”

“Alright, Josh. Let’s not waste any time.”

*     *     *

You followed the man - Josh - through tunnels below Dema that you hadn’t previously known existed. Your chest was still heaving from your sprint through the courtyard, but your pace had slowed now that you were somewhere safer. Josh stayed a few steps ahead of you, lighting the way with his torch. You turned to scan the blackness behind you every now and again, looking and listening for any sign of the bishops.

“Wait,” Josh said. He stopped moving and the echo of your footsteps grew quiet before stopping completely. “Before we go any further, we need to cover you.”

“Cover me?”

The phrase sounded familiar as you said it out loud. Perhaps it was one of the more recent ones you had picked up on. You would have to check later, once you finally reached wherever it was you were going.

“In yellow. The bishops-”

“Can’t see yellow,” you finished with him.

Josh reached into a small bag and pulled out a roll of yellow tape. He began to apply it carefully on your body: around your arms, a leg, a few bits and pieces on the pockets of your jacket. Anything to make you look less as if you had just come from Dema.

“You know a lot,” he said as he finished a band of tape around your left bicep.

“You learn a lot of things if you look in the right places.”

His eyes met yours, studying them for a moment. After a brief silence, his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. You assumed he must be smiling - that, or he was skeptical - though you couldn’t be sure because of the bandana that still covered most of his face.

“Earlier,” you started before clearing your throat. “In the courtyard. You said my name.”

His eyes dropped back down to the tape on your arm. He ran his fingers over it, making sure that it was pressed smooth against the fabric of your shirt. You shifted a bit at the contact.

“Y/N,” he repeated nonchalantly.

“How did you know it?”

He sighed as he tucked the tape back into his bag, giving his head a slight nod as a signal to keep moving. You fell into step with him, this time matching his pace rather than lagging behind.

“We keep track of people of interest. People who might want to escape and join our ranks. Tonight was far from the first night that we’ve come across each other’s paths.”

Reassurance and uneasiness wrestled in your mind, struggling for dominance over your emotions.

“What do you mean by that?”

He shifted his torch from one hand to the other, allowing his other arm to rest.

“What I was doing tonight - it wasn’t a rescue mission. I was doing rounds in Nico’s sector, looking for any distress signals. Yellow flowers in window sills, people up late doing research, that sort of thing. You were someone of interest. A couple inside informants let us know that you had been collecting information.”

“And here I was thinking I was being discreet.” You allowed yourself a small laugh. It was nice. Comfortable.

“You were to the average person. We just have people that are hyper aware of these actions. Those are the ones you can’t so easily slip under the radar of.”

“So you bumping into me tonight, that was coincidence?”

“Yeah. Tyler won’t be happy that I didn’t finish my rounds, but I think the addition of another bandito will be enough to soothe him. Solo rescue missions aren’t really in our repertoire, we tend to stick to bigger groups. Harder for stuff to go wrong, you know?”

“Tyler,” you repeated the name. “Is he the leader of the banditos?”

Josh shook his head, “We don’t really have a leader, although Tyler will take on the role if it’s necessary.”

There was light up ahead, hardly more than a speck in your vision now, but it was a reassurance nonetheless. Could it possibly be morning already? You had lost track of time as you moved through the dark tunnels, following the light of Josh’s torch.

“I have one more question,” you asked, hoping he wouldn’t mind.

“Feel free to ask as many as you want. I know life is a lot different out here.”

Your mouth curled into a slight smile, “The name of the place we’re going… what is it?”

Josh turned to you, meeting your eyes once again. The chocolate color of them was evident, now that you stood only a foot or two apart.

“I thought you would know.”

“I do,” you answered plainly, suddenly realizing the truth behind all the information you had collected. “But I want to hear it from you. Confirmation that it’s more than a rumor, I suppose.”

Josh nodded and turned his gaze away from you. After a moment, he answered you. The word rang out clearly along the stone walls. Clear and simple and familiar.

“Trench.”

[viikollection]

Finding Out One of Their Members Is A Girl

BTS

A/N: I did this post for NCT because obviously they can easily add members, but BTS is obviously a fixed group, so this just requires some imagination, that you are the 8th member or basically took someone’s place as the 7th member...

Scenario is BigHit and management are aware you’re female, but feel as though you possess a unique talent or visual that would help BTS flourish before their big break through- However, to avoid any scandals or relationships, you’re coerced to fly under the radar as a guy. You have a lot of help keeping your secret, but some how it slips...

Jin:

He’d always notice you as someone soft. He’d poke fun of you for it in a teaser manner, but always sling an arm around your shoulder, treating you like a younger brother.  I think he’s rather observant and soon his jokes about you being shorter or weak, or not having an Adam’s apple would sort of pile up and he’d slowly start piecing things together the longer he’s around you. He’d figure it out pretty early on and ask their manner with a pretty ballsy accusation. Once it was confirmed, he’d probably be roped in to keeping it a secret. However, we know Jin has a will of his own and would probably tell the other members in a small rebellion of his own. He’d feel they deserve to know and would also be upset about the situation, feeling as though the company took him for a fool of some sort. However, with success brewing, he know he can’t go public with the info and wants the best for everyone, so he keeps his trap shut...  He’d be a bit distant, needing time recover after being lied to so blatantly. He’d be petty too, not bothering to keep his voice down as he complains about it- However, I think with time and some sense talked into him by the others and by staff he could reconcile with you.  “I’m sorry I acted like that... It was really childish. You must have had a hard time because of me...” Returning to friends, I think he’d then adopt the view as a younger sister and would return to his nagging and silly ways- Always one to step in first to protect you and look after you.

Yoongi:

Honestly, you got into talking with him late one night. He’d been in a moody funk all day and when you asked if he was alright he asked you to read over the lyrics he’d been toying with. It developed into a philosophical discussion and eventually he deflected the conversation from himself, turning it towards you. With pressure and building stress from keeping such a big secret from the boys who were becoming your friends, you cracked and told him. He didn’t seem so shocked. You would have mistook his expression for icy, if not for his kind words. “It’s sad that- to pursue your dream of music or dance that you have to go undercover like this... You should be able to be yourself.” This secret would probably bring the two of you a lot closer. He’d always keep an eye out for you, nagging at the other members when they were too rough or invading your space. He’d keep your secret and if anyone had anything to say about it or found out about it he’d give them a firm talking to.

Hoseok:

You had to be careful when it came to Hoseok- He was handsy and unpredictable. The little things he’d do like hang off members or spank them when presented with the opportunity caused you to keep a distance from him- But caused him to be all the more eager to close that distance. To him you were a shy puppy- That is until a day of dance practice brings out the stern teacher within him, huffing about how you couldn’t get the moves right for a section- “Maybe it doesn't look right since you’re so short-” Hands on your shoulders, he stops you to put his hands on your ribs, angling your body in the mirror. Tho... what was it he felt? A bra? Or some kind of binding? He wouldn’t be able to shake the thought, jumping to all sorts of conclusions and for the next few days every interaction with you would become an analysis, searching for all the feminine qualities you possessed before he built a solid case to confront you with. “Are... you a girl?” He’d try to seem nonchalant about it, not wanting to scare you off and wanting to seem cool... He’d keep you close as a friend, but would always still see you as a girl, unable to not fret over you or take notice to certain things.

Namjoon:

He’d be upset to say the least. He’d overheard a conversation between you and one of the management staffs, feeling his blood boil. He’d feel betrayed and irked that you got special privileges this whole time. He’d probably think it was a secret that couldn’t be kept and that it’d bring him and the rest of BTS down eventually... Unwilling, he’d probably be forced to keep it a secret. With time I think he’d warm back up to you. He’s very philosophical and knows you didn’t do anything malicious or intentional to hurt him, so he can’t hold it against you forever... Plus, as BTS grew he’d probably realize to keep growing the team needs to stay tight knit and as leader he has to make sure of that, so he’d work extra hard to become close with you and make sure everyone else was good as well and would probably later tell them as well. He sees the team as a family, so I don’t think he’d look at you in any other way than a sister and would make sure the other members are on the same page as well. He’d give you extra attention because he’d worry if you felt lonely or uncomfortable at times. “Yeah, don’t let it bother you when he says that... He’s just being stupid.”

Jimin:

He’d be so heartbroken. He was just warming up to you, pulling you into his inner circle, determined to make you one of his close friends. So, he’d suddenly feel so outcast by this news he saw on your chat with the manager, after you accidentally left it open on the computer. He’d keep it to himself for a few days and be in an obvious sulky funk. Until he finally blows up and blurts it out, either at you, the manager, or everyone who’s there. He’d feel betrayed, but would keep your secret. He’d take a longer time than some of the others to warm back up to you, keeping his silent distance. “I feel like I don’t even know you.” That being said, he would eventually warm back up to you, as your team goes through more together and success, a close knit family is needed. In fact, I think Jimin would get a tad possessive, clinging to you a lot and doing a lot of things for you- Y’all would probably be the most popular ship because he isn’t subtle at all... He’d worry about you and would want to protect you from the members, antis, and world. He’d feel special being the one who knew your secret, so he’d go to great lengths to make sure it stays a secret, that you’re his little secret.

Taehyung:

Icy Taehyung is scary. When he gets in his moods he can be intimidating and his words can cut deep. “It’d be easier if you weren’t here.” You’re not even sure how he found out, but he some how did and told everyone else. He’d be petty and ignore with some other members who may have felt betrayed, in fact it’d sort of be outcasting you... There’d probably be a meeting held about this ‘bullying’ and have it talked about. In reality, his feelings were just hurt and he felt betrayed and wanted to make you feel bad as well, so he took to ignoring you and trying to gain members to his side- But he sees how hurt you must actually be after his actions and begins to feel guilty, unable to look at you. He knows he was immature and I think the remorse and guilt would suddenly pile up once his anger was wiped away and he’d feel awful. He knows you must be going through a hard time already and feel lonesome being the only girl with a big secret to keep- And he would have never thought of himself as the type to intentionally hurt someone else like this... So, he’d end up doing everything in his power to make it up to you- He’d feel bad about acting like nothing every happened, so he’d do things under the radar, leave you snacks, trade his Powerade for yours because he knows you like this flavor better, buy you a nice birthday present, etc... I think if you could forgive him, it’d bring the two of you really close and he’d always spoil you, never really forgiving himself for what he did and feeling it’s his duty to protect you.

Jungkook:

Oof... It’s an awkward road ahead. He found a box of tampons/pads and that’s it. He’d keep it a secret for the longest time and you wouldn't even know he knew. But he’d act weird for like a month, the dorky competitive boy who’d steal your chips now avoids you like the plague, simply muttering one word replies to you. I think he’d still be in shock and might finally crack to one of his hyungs like RM and spill the beans. He’d wonder if anyone knew, if management or BH did, or if you were some mastermind who someone joined a boyband all on your own. It’d take a lot of time and coaching for him to act normal again, but having gone through so much together and spending so much time constantly together, I think it’d happen naturally and after a few months. A part of him would always view you as a girl, someone frail and delicate that needed looking after in his eyes. So he’d distract Hobi when he started going in on you about how you needed to build your stamina for another round of practice or when Jin would pull you into a headlock; indirectly saving you again and again. I also think like Jimin he could get a little possessive. He may be the youngest, so I think he’d enjoy the idea of being responsible for someone younger or ‘frailer’ than him, as it’d give him a sense of power and maturity. He’d be wary about such obvious skinship, but would still let it be known he was the one standing next to you.

[lunaraen]

"We don't have to talk about it, but when you're ready... I'm here." with Radar trying to help out Aiden when he moves back to Beacontown?

Radar likes sunrises more thansunsets. Sunsets promise darkness and the looming need to sleep that'll end upgetting ignored about as long as he can ignore it, while sunrises promise fullnew days to continue what he knows and to experience different things and meetnew people.

But for every sunrise there's asunset, and he's not the only one feeling melancholy tonight.

There's only a little shame inadmitting to himself that he's focusing so much on the view so he won't have tofocus on Aiden's next sigh, the latest in a string of far too many.

Beacontown doesn't quietly slipoff into the darkness of night, hasn't in all the time Radar's worked here andeven before then, and it lights up in a different way once the sun sinks lowand the moon soars high. The maintained protections for people's creativitywhen building means there are a lot of different designs, but so much of thecity glows even at sunset.

Even the calmer districts andareas tend to have a number of sea lanterns and blocks of glowstone, gentle, in comparisonto the multicolored beacons and the beams reaching to the clouds at the center of the city, but still lit.

It makes the city that much saferwhen the sun can't protect them from mobs and it all looks stunning, chill bluesand warmer golden glows mixing together nicely and spiced up by the glowstinted by colored glass, the cooler neons of the night almost a trademark ofthe busier areas. It's impossible to see the intricate designs many of thelanterns have from here, but their smaller glows and tinted glass help theshops stand out.

It's another part of Beacontown'scharm. 

Even when close up detail isn't available, it stands tall, beautiful, andsafe, radiating life and warmth as far and as loudly as it can.

(He can even see the glassencased lines of lava surrounding Ivor’s home, tubes of orange snaking theirway to the ground, the skull house itself used more for storage now thanliving, given Ivor’s well used room and lab in the temple.)

Radar might not like sunsets asmuch as sunrises, but he still likes them. It's hard to dislike something sopretty.

Night, as pretty as it is, hasfar more hate-able features, like wandering seas of monsters and bloodthirstycreatures, and it still brings sleep, serene moonlight nights, and skies full ofglittering stars.

He doesn't even hate night.

(It used to be his favorite timeof day, once, when he slept more often, probably more reasonably. Even when hewas being worked to the bone under Stella, he looked forward to sleeping assoon as he could, as soon as the quill was down and the paperwork finished.

Dreaming was his favorite thing,when he could be anybody and anywhere, before it became another distraction,another problem demanding attention and time.)

The hill is plainer, almostunremarkable save for the view it gives them and the way the city's colorsreflect off the grass, muted and soft.

It's like a beacon of peace.

Or loneliness.

(Radar needs to leave the poetryto Lukas.)

Beacon of everything or nothing,or both, it's treated all the same by Aiden, fingers plucking at some of thepurple-tinted blades of grass and one hand curling into the loose soil. His jawkeeps clenching and unclenching, and the fingers digging into the dirt mimicthe motion.

It's been a bad day.

(Maybe a bad week, or even amonth. Aiden's been more melancholy than usual lately, just a bit morewithdrawn and snarky, and there's no real telling how long he's been feelingdown.)

And Aiden stares.

He stares down at the city, atthe lights and the milling people, the same way Petra eyes an encroachingmonster horde or the way Ivor monitors a notoriously tricky potion.

There's a hunger in his eyes, a want, tempered by experience andexpectations.

They've been here before, whenRadar was first tasked with giving Aiden a tour of Beacontown and Aiden wasonly hesitantly trusted (and trusted at all much more by Jesse than by Lukas)to not try and pull anything. It was almost an entire season ago.

The walk here was meant to berelaxing, meant to be a chance for Aiden to vent, and he's just as relaxed asRadar is.

Radar, for the record, is notrelaxed in the slightest, doing his best to keep from rapid-fire tapping hisfoot against the ground while his fingers card through his hair in an almostfrantic manner and his mind keeps returning to reminders of paperwork stillunfinished and projects that need more attention.

He needs to diffuse thesituation, whatever it is, for both their sakes, to be a good friend and alsoto keep each of them from spiraling in silence.

(Having a panic attack on anondescript hill outside of town isn't what either of them needs.)

Radar almost rests a hand onAiden's shoulder before thinking better of it, hand instead resting on his own kneeas he sits cross-legged beside Aiden and foot tapping quietly against thegrass. From this angle, he can see the bottoms of his shoes are temporarilygrass stained, tinged green.

"We don't have to talk aboutit, but when you're ready... I'm here."

There's no real ideal or expectedresponse to that. Radar's ready to respect his answer, whether he spillseverything now, lets Radar know he's not ready now and may never be, or giveshim the silent treatment.

Aiden stays quiet just longenough for Radar to begin to suspect he's going with the third option.

"...there's not a lot todiscuss." The answer is as unfortunately unhelpful as expected and feared.The follow up helps only incrementally. "You've read Lukas's book– everybody here has. You already know what happened."

Trauma isn't easily coped withafter years of stewing and barely a season of healing. Guilt is just as hard.

And Radar is officially trainedfor none of this, though he's had plenty of unofficial on the job trainingthanks to the mountains of trauma trailing behind and hidden by the Order.

"And it's been kind ofterrifying, I won't lie. Knowing you did those things and that Jesse stillwanted you to come here, and live with us." Radar swallows, hoping itisn't as terribly loud as he thinks. More importantly, he worries this is justmaking Aiden feel worse, and Aiden doesn't look much more comforted by theadmission. "But Lukas doesn't seem to know much about what happened to youafter that, after you first got to Sky City, and he definitely never publishedanything on it. He changed your names for a reason."

Different names kept their livesfrom being any more stressful or rough upon returning to their own world, andkept Radar from knowing exactly who Aiden was or what relevance he had to Lukasand Jesse until they'd decided to clue him in.

Beyond the Order and the BlazeRods themselves, and him, no one knows the connection between the old Ocelotsand the harrowing Sky City adventure.

The only reaction Radar's seenfirsthand is the occasional surprise and excitement that Aiden, Maya, and Gillare back, having been gone so long but still being known for their fantasticand award winning building skills, and none of them have reported any harsherinteractions.

"Yeah, well, all theexciting stuff ended pretty much when the Order left. What you read was allthat was worth reading." It's hard for Radar, sometimes, to see Aiden asthe monster from Lukas's retelling. He thinks whatever personal growth Aidenhad before writing his letter to Jesse would be much more interesting to read,more enlightening and less horrifying. "Gill got slammed, once, with abrick. He was bleeding pretty bad– he's lucky it only ended up leaving him aconcussion. We're lucky."

"...you aren't worried aboutanyone here doing something like that, are you?"

Aiden says nothing.

He almost speaks, for a moment,mouth opening before it shuts and he shrugs, looking away from Radar. His nosescrunches slightly as he gives a hollow half-grin, a tired huff, his fingersbrushing his hair back and only almost getting tangled in it.

The Yeah, I mean, come on goes unspoken, and Radar has to swallow again.

The paranoia's understandable,and it's terrifying.

And Radar has always protectedhimself with knowledge in the face of terror, when he has no shield to bash,because sometimes it feels cowardly but it's comforting in the end to knowthings will likely turn out okay and how, because Jesse almost never fails andgets up every rare time she does.

"There are few areas in townas well protected as the temple, and people here don't have the same connectionto what happened as people who actually lived in Sky City. You can always goback to living with us if you don't feel safe." Aiden's shoulders hunch,and Radar has the dismal realization that he's not helping yet, too blunt ortoo intense in his desire to help fix everything. He forces any dismay at thisrealization out of his voice, letting it relax as he also forces himself tobreathe. "If anyone here has a problem, all they have to do is see that theOrder's already forgiven you guys. It's done, it's over, and the Order wouldn'thave you living here if they didn't trust you."

The look Aiden levels him isalmost blank, unamused and flat before he raises an eyebrow.

"They kept Cassie."

(Okay, so that's one other personwho knows their actual involvement in Sky City.)

"Who's been making her ownprogress!" Aiden's expression doesn't change much, while Radar's wilts."I don't think she's murdered anybody recently."

Aiden snorts, his bangs fallinginto his eyes as he shakes his head.

"Right, there are just giantrats and disappearing spider colonies actually mutilating bodies in those cavespeople keep somehow wandering into. That might fool a couple of reporters, butI don't think it's really got the press duped either. Not all the way."

It definitely doesn't fool Radar,if only because he's sat in on a number of conversations about Cassie's meansof disposal.

As much as they could beconversations, with Cassie disregarding them.

And while Aiden hasn't sat in on anyof those yet, he's smart enough to have figured it out, especially when everynamed body, the few not mutilated past the point of recognition, ends up linkedto some plot to overthrow or harm the Order.

And he's smart enough to knowRadar knows better too.

"I don't think she'smurdered anybody who didn't have it coming?"

Maybe letting Cassie into theirlives, their home and headquarters, was a questionable decision, but it wasJesse's, and Cassie defends herself by pointing out that she only attacks peoplewho she has good reason to believe are a serious danger to the Order orBeacontown.

Her "interventions" arerare and occasional enough, not to mention helpful. The shadier parts of BadLuck Alley are understandably more fearful, more cautious, and Radar thinksthey're all the better for it.

(He's admittedly not much of afan of Bad Luck Alley, as much as he likes Jack and Nurm, because people living"off the grid" more often than not seem to think they're above orbelow the rules enough to not worry about them, and that includes basic stufflike "please don't try to overthrow the Order that saved the worldmultiple times". This way, no matter why they're pulling that kind ofstuff less, they're safer from Cassie.)

It comes down to Jesse being really nice to a lot of people in waysRadar doesn't understand and in ways he's kind of okay with neverunderstanding.

He doesn't understand it any morethan how he understands why Jesse's good with forgiving him for his occasionalslip ups and lost forms even when it costs them so much time and stress.Jesse's done so much for so many people, and if she wants to do more, who'sgoing to stop her?

(There should probably be adifference between her forgiving him for screwing up on the job and activelytaking serial killers and old tormentors into their temple, but it's Jesse. She knows what she's doing.Well enough to somehow pull it all off, anyway.)

And he's right, but that's notthe right thing to say. Not with how Aiden tenses up, eyeing him more critically before relaxing his hands.

Radar isn't sure when they curledinto fists in the first place.

"Would I have it coming?Would Maya? Would Gill?" Radar doesn't have a good answer, and Aiden knowsit. He doesn't pause long, gaze drawn to the scarlet sunlight bouncing andshimmering off the rooftops and windows of Beacontown. "If you didn't knowus, only knew we tried to kill the Order, that I tried to kill Jesse, and Cassie thought we were some kindof threat? Would it be okay then?"

Heck of a question to ask.

(Radar's first thought is thatAiden is perhaps unfairly charitable towards Maya and Gill, happy as Radar iswith all of their progress, and that Maya and Gill don't view themselves theway Aiden does and actually kind of hate it when he blames himself foreverything that happened.

They've made it clear they're asguilty as he is, not more and not less.

But he doesn't want Aiden, with abad history of being angry near edges, to nudge him off the cliff here and now,and he doesn't want him to storm away, so Radar doesn't bring it up.)

"...morals are hard whereCassie's concerned."

Aiden's look softens, half-smilehumorless before he sighs.

"Yeah, I get that. And Idon't know if I can really blame her for it. But... the idea that some peopleearn that kind of stuff, getting attacked, because they're suspicious enough ordid bad enough things before is what got us so much hell in New Sky City. Gillgot more than just a brick chucked at his head, you know."

He knows.

"...sorry."

"Nah. Don't– don't worryabout it. It's just– everybody thinks they're doing the right thing. Even ifthey're throwing junk at people's heads, or attacking them from shady cornersand dark alleys, or burning cities to the ground."

It's a good thing Aiden doesn'tsmoke or drink, because he looks ready for either, and Radar isn't planning ondriving him further down that path.

"We try to avoid doing thatsort of thing here. It's not really good for making people feel safe, and itjust kills tourism."

It doesn't quite get a laugh outof Aiden, but the snort sounds amused.

"Smart."

"...do you feel like you'redoing the right thing?" Radar doesn't mean to contribute to Aiden'scrisis, or whatever it is that he's exactly grappling with, which might just bea moral dilemma topped with trauma. He just gets the feeling that he is, andAiden's guarded look prompts him to clarify. "Now that you're here?"

Maybe that's not the point.

Maybe he's missing something.

Maybe Aiden doesn't even know,stuck in the past and still clawing his way into the future.

"Hell of a lot better thanwhere we were." Aiden shrugs, tilting his head to the side as he looksaway from Radar and up at the gathering wispy clouds above them. "...itfeels too good and I'm scared of messing it up. Jesse trusting us doesn't meananything– sure, it's nice and all, but she's Jesse. Cassie offers protection, but Jesse took in Romeo too–and she pretty much has to teachhim how to be human again. Us being here doesn't make it all better, doesn'tmake us seem like anything other than scumbags she's feeling sorry for. I don'tactually have to worry about walking on eggshells around her, but I'm halfafraid she's going to wake up and realize she has no reason to trust us, orthat we're a threat to her city and her people. There were no powers to takefrom us, no fancy gauntlet to guarantee everyone’s safety."

(Radar might still not fullyunderstand the story, but it sounds to him like they lost plenty of power whenAiden tried to kill Jesse and she came back, when she had him at sword pointand spared him.)

It's complicated.

Radar knows from experience thatthings that are complicated tend toultimately just be good fuel for thinking in circles.

He's no Jesse, but he'll have todo.

"You're not a threat–you're getting a second chance, doing your best with it, and Jesse knows it.And if you're worried about other people seeing you that way, then you'll justhave to show them that you're not taking it for granted, that you are trying tomake it better." Radar dusts off the knees of his pants as he stands,shrugging as he picks a bit of fuzz off his vest. "We've seen a lot ofweird things here. Even if everybody knew who you were, what you really did, Idon't think it'd shake or bother too many people. You're not hiding here– you're making amends."

"It's probably not a goodidea to just shout it out, anyway."

"Probably not." Theidea of Aiden doing that, running down the streets and just snapping from thepressure, isn't realistic. It still gets a smile out of Radar. "But Idon't think you were planning on that– or bringing it up at work for fun. Itdoesn't sound like great lunch break small talk."

What Aiden talks with hiscoworkers about is his business, but bringing up past failed attempts to murderOrder members or an entire city hardly seems his style. However justified hisparanoia is or isn't, for himself and for Maya and Gill, he's careful and smartenough to take care of himself and not test Radar's theory over how badlypeople might react. Aiden's history as an award winning builder sounds likesomething he'd be more likely to bring up at work or get ribbed for.

"Not really."

Jesse's secret, Radar suspects,is that she's too good at forgiving others because she knows they need help.

It's not out of any ignorance, orblind hope that they'll get better, but the sheer determination that they can be better people and that she can helpthem do less damage, be less cruel to others and themselves, while working outwhat they want their lives to be. It works well enough, from what he's seen,and few worlds will complain about having less serial killers and megalomaniacsto worry about.

Jesse has that sort of inspiringeffect on people.

There's no reason Radar can'thelp with the healing process, and Aiden doesn't scare him the way Cassie does.

"You know, you can spend thenight at the temple with us." It's been a while since Aiden's stayed longwith the Order, visiting regularly after moving into his own place nearby butvisits rarely going over an hour at a time. Walks around town like this havebeen only a bit more common and a smidgen longer. "Ivor makes pretty goodhot chocolate."

"Is there anybody that triedto personally kill Jesse who didn't end up forgiven?"

"I mean, a couple, but it's ashort list." One was an evil supercomputer, and two others werepower-happy maniacs who didn't know when to ask for forgiveness from someonewho's nearly an endless well of it. "And that's not an answer."

It might be because of hispersonal experience, or lack thereof, with them, but Radar thinks he likesAiden much better.

"Sure. Let's go get cavitiesor sugar crashes or whatever that stuff will give us."

In Radar's experience, Ivor's hotcocoa is great for getting good rest, helped by the right amount of sleepingpotion mixed into it, and he knows that the last time Aiden tried it, he endedup taking an impromptu several-hour nap on their couch.

A repeat performance might not benecessary, but it's probably tempting.

Besides, if Radar actually endsup getting to sleep at a reasonable time tonight, he's taking Aiden with him.

[lighthouseroleplay]

WILLIAM ‘WILL’ HARRIS BURKE

                          ( 22 ,  cis male, he/him )

♪♫ currently listening  ⧸⧸  drunk drivers / killer whales by carseat headrest

the graffiti-covered seat at the back of the class, sunglasses in every shade of the rainbow, band-aid covered knees. juggling baseballs with a careless ease, strawberries eaten by the handful, a laugh that ends in a snort. the teacher’s rolling eyes, joints tucked in a back pocket. phone calls that go late into the night, fresh flowers on a gravestone. always a scent of pine, a scrawled letter, stacks of books threatening to collapse at any moment.

    •  hadfield was the first neighbour you had in tenebrin who wasn’t a thousand year old angry man, and you appreciated that. you were determined to befriend them, and the fact that you were in the same grade made it even better. they were so new, so different from so many people who lived in tenebrin, people you’d grown up with, known since kindergarden. the familiarity was nice, sure, but this interesting new person got on very well with you, even if it was weird that your moms dated for a little bit. screw weirdness, you had a new friend, and you had a great time every day on the walk to/from school.

    •  lind-carter was someone you met for the first time in junior year, this tiny, insistent freshman, intent on going on the honors biology trip as if it would change her life. it made you laugh, originally, but on the trip, you became friends. you didn’t really know anyone in your bio class, and something about her intensity made you curious. it was a good choice, speaking retrospectively, because her whatever — you called it ‘bossiness’, she made rude gestures back at you — balanced out your indecision, your tendency towards laziness perfectly. she pushed you towards actually going to university, when your own mother couldn’t do that, and leaving her behind hurt you more than most things did.

taken by alexandra  ⧸⧸  joe keery .

i thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds.

William Burke was born on a rainy May morning, first baby-howls echoing through the hospital room, loud enough to rival the fat water droplets spattering against the window, and the dawn’s first light hidden between dark clouds. His father cried, as did his sister, though his mother was far too exhausted to join in, and all in all, it was a rather damp day.

He was a baby who had always been wanted, like his sister before him, with parents who had always wanted a pair to call their own. Jonathan Burke grew up in Tenebrin Port, but had little interest in staying there: which, as it turned out, was a rather good thing, as it was while working as a library assistant at UC Berkeley that he met Mary Slater, English literature PhD candidate with a love of King Arthur lore. They fell in love rapidly and deeply, buying an apartment together in San Francisco and planning a life together in that fog-filled, colourful city. Their first child was born there, named for the Guinevere of the stories her mother buried herself in while pregnant. She was delivered just after her mother finished her thesis, and they were, in the end, celebrated with equal enthusiasm and joy. They married soon after, and while many members of the Slater family were present, only a few of the Burkes did.

Mary was offered a position at Whitman College, assistant professor of English Literature, and she moved there, as did Jon and their child, where he embraced fatherhood with enthusiasm. He had no doubts in his mind at the concept of staying home and taking care of Gwen while Mary worked, and when she could support the family thus — why not?

Four years later, she became pregnant again, this time with a boy, and William Burke came angrily screaming into the world, completing their family of four perfectly.

    i slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths among the branches of the perfect trees.

The family moved to Tenebrin when Will was only three, drawn more by responsibility than anything else, an illness in Jon’s family leaving his mother frail, and in need of her son nearby. Mary began research on a new book, surrounding the role of Uther in Arthur mythology. Will and Gwen were raised by their parents, yes, but also by their grandmother, a severe woman, strict about everything but more than a little willing to tell her grandchildren stories about Tenebrin — after all, she could do little else, stuck in bed as she was. More than one night, the pair would sleep with dream wreathed in swirling water, crashing waves upon a shoreline echoing in their mind. She wove a good story, and it was oh so easy for the children to find their way into the web, to the chagrin of parents who would so much rather their children didn’t have the screaming nightmares these stories inspired.

Though Will’s grandmother eventually died, four years later, her stories had an impact on him: while Gwen was made of stronger stuff, he grew terrified of water deeper than a bathtub, resisting the swimming lessons at the community centre to the point where even bribes of toys and post-swimming ice cream trips had little effect. He just wouldn’t do it, and so while his sister spent summers advancing up the rungs of the Red Cross Swimming levels, he was to spend his days at the outdoor camps, hiking and camping in the forest that surrounded the town, learning bear tracks and how to start fires and how to keep them from spreading. That he took to, spectacularly so, finding a love of the woods to match his fear of water. 

He threw himself into this love wholeheartedly, looking forward to summers spent in the Olympic National Forest, always begging his parents to let him climb trees. Will was up one such tree in the backyard of his house, all of nine without even the slightest fear of heights, on one of fall’s rare rainless days, when a police car pulled in, with two officers exiting the car to knock on the front door. Will was scared then, for a brief moment, freezing with the knowledge that this wasn’t normal, that maybe he was in trouble somehow, that something was wrong. He didn’t hear the discussion that took place inside the house, but when his mother emerged with the two officers, the group walking towards him, he knew he was right to worry. Her face streamed with tears, and Will scrambled down the tree, erring in a way he rarely did, and falling to the ground.

In the end: that was that. He broke his arm, and his father was dead, in terrible fluke of a car accident, on such a perfect day, no less. There was no one to blame but the cruelty of fate, and suddenly Will’s mother, an outsider to the strange, small town, was alone without her strongest link to it.

all night I heard the small kingdoms breathing around me, the insects, and the birds who do their work in the darkness.

Will Burke was not one for grief. It passed like it came, and though he’d make his way to the Tenebrin graveyard twice a month, a plaid-clad pilgrim carefully balancing flowers in the basket of his bike, and although he would always hold the memories of his father close to his heart, the pain left him. The first year, his grin was a little too wide, his laugh a little too loud, and if he disrupted the class with comedic antics one too many times, well, who could blame him. No child should lose a parent that young.

But it did pass, with time, and Will found himself settling comfortably into the role of class clown that he’d first taken on to hide his grief. It was so easy to make people laugh, and the grins on his classmates’ faces made all the punishments worth it -- especially when he managed to avoid those too! Let it never be said that he wasn’t smart: he just didn’t apply himself, said year after year at parent-teacher conferences. When he did try, though, he succeeded, and like his mother, Will found he excelled at English, though struggling more than a little with the more complex problems in Math. Biology didn’t come easily either, but he knew that to work in the forests he loved in a meaningful way, he’d have to work hard, and he did, pushing himself to seek out teachers after class, doing extra research online… It was perhaps the thing he worked hardest on, even if he didn’t know what path his life would take.

That was the problem, though: it all felt so theoretical, the idea of graduating, university, of getting a job. Being young was so easy, so peaceful, and Will didn’t want to trade away the crystalline memories of juggling strawberries in the cafeteria to generous applause, or late nights spent watching movies with his friends, for hard work and stress that seemed to come so naturally. Perhaps his mother had read him a little too much Peter Pan as a child, perhaps he’d simply observed her too well, but the result was the same. The effort was there, to do well, to succeed in school, but beyond that: it was easy to slip under the radar, especially with Gwen at a nearby university, and his mother increasingly busy, and easy to avoid planning and applications in favour of things that brought him more joy. Lind-Carter talked him out of that, in the end, forcing him to make plans for a future that was rapidly growing nearer, and while he frowned profusely at her at the time, somewhere in the back of his mind he was grateful.

all night i rose and fell, as if in water, grappling with a luminous doom.

He was one month graduated, the coastal chill of spring starting to burn off into summer’s warmth, Independence Day festivities past, looking ahead to university, to something different than the mundane existence he’d always known to be true in Tenebrin.

Will was just waking up when he got a text from Lind-Carter, brain fuzzy from sleep that had gone on a little too longer than it should, but hey, it was the summer! It was that first text that would always stand in his mind more than anything else, that concern, so immediate, pulling him sharply into the world. He’d biked over quickly, and it was all a whirlwind of memories after that, so fragmented and confused that he was never sure which was the memory and which was the dream. The water, Andy’s face as she leapt into it, the determination, and a haunting song that seemed pulled from his grandmother’s stories.

He made his appearance at the funeral, dressed in black alongside Gwen and his mother, shoulders down, eyes bleak, distant. He barely acknowledged the coffin as it was lowered into the grave, placing the flowers he’d brought next to the stone with vacant eyes. The next day, he fled to the woods.

by morning i had vanished at least a dozen times into something better.

He went north, in the end, fleeing Tenebrin and the loss that crushed him like so many falling rocks. It hurt too much to bear, and Will was grateful in a way he hadn’t ever been before that he’d decided to go to school so far away. It went smoothly, though he was reticent to make friends in a way he never had been before: it seemed easier to go without. He still laughed, partied, had fun, but it was all a little hollow inside. Some days he felt as though Andy’s death had affected him more than his own father’s: a fleeting, guilty idea, but one that was more than a little true. Maybe it was because he’d witnessed it, maybe it was because she was his age, but it had all felt so wrong in a way that stuck with him. Coming back to Tenebrin after graduating university felt like a homecoming, but it also felt like a resolution. He would use the summer to repair this odd, broken feeling inside of him, so he could leave again whole, and begin his new job in the fall with a clean heart. The trees had always felt like home to him, but perhaps the water would cleanse what they didn’t seem to be able to purify.

[vera-invenire]

VnC Liveblog - Chapter 14

Previously: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13

Those are, uh, some interesting eyes you got there, Murr. I know you’re a cat, but please don’t murder anyone, kay? Please, Murr.

We start with a recap of our latest mystery -- in one week three vampires have mysteriously disappeared and the suspected kidnappers are the Church’s anti-vampire unit, the chasseurs. (should that be capped? eh, I’ll leave it for now.)

I see Vanitas still hasn’t bounced back from whatever blow he was dealt when he recognized that button. Only now he looks...sad, too?

Mentioning the Vampire of the Blue Moon in a general way makes him almost defiantly manic and driven; mentioning his quest for revenge makes him look not only lost but like he lost something, like it’s still an open wound. Mentioning the chasseurs gets you a face similar to the lost look, but he’s maybe not quite as dazed? I think it’s the difference between still being gutted and raw and being resigned to the wound, maybe? Speculating off of two textless panels is so fun and productive, guys.

Anyway, the catacombs! The catacombs of Paris are famous, y’all. LOTS of skulls, so of course it’s perfect for VnC.

Memoire 14 Catacombs

Where the Dead Sleep

Well, I hope they’re not playing poker.

(I bet you ten bucks Noé got distracted looking at the streetcar and didn’t realize it was leaving. The things Vanitas has to put up with, honestly. Aw, and Murr caught the eye of a fancy lady! That’s the real love story, right there.)

So the catacombs are a vast ossuary built inside an old system of quarries, we’re told. Twenty meters underground and roughly two hundred kilometers in length, it is said to house the earthly remains of approx. six million people.

So many skulls, guys. (Vanitas picked a good name)

Riche: oh god oh god, i just touched him, i just touched the hot guy, what do i do, he l p

Murr, why you giving her the stink-eye, she’s nice.

Look at this smooth, mofo. He caught the girl AND the candle. Thank god he’s oblivious or else nothing would be able to stop him.

(the real plot twist of VnC: Noé knows EXACTLY what he’s doing when he gives people That Look. He just acts oblivious to stave off the incipient fanclubs. *le gasp*)

Guys, I think the dhams are my favorites. And Dante’s angling for the de Sades, eh?

Noé’s not interested in the comedy routine, though -- something else is distracting him.

I’m glad Noé’s noticed something is off about Vanitas. He’s been avoiding the ‘camera’ for a bit now, which isn’t like him. It’s almost as if he’s withdrawing to the background, an intriguing facet of Vanitas’ personality that we haven’t seen before. But Noé notices he’s gone and won’t let him slip away so easily.

(though now that I think about it, the retreat to quietness isn’t completely new -- it’s what he does when he goes up on the rooftops, after all. we just haven’t seen him get this introspective around others before.)

Hmm, vampires in the tunnels of Paris, fighting the chasseurs...this is reminding me of World War Z, ie. it sounds freaking terrifying, yikes. (er, the book, not movie version. don’t think that made it into the movie.)

“There could even be another war.”

And vampires going feral and attacking humans sounds like just the thing that could provoke another human-vampire war, don’t it. This could turn into one of our big stakes in the series. And with the introduction of Jeanne, who fought in the last war; the chasseurs, who also fought in the last war; Ruthven, who brokered the end of the war...well. It’s not hard to imagine that the board is being set up again.

(it occurs to me that if there’s a faction of vampires that actually WANTS war, a simple way of bringing it about would be to accuse the humans of causing the spread of Charlatan and the curse)

(...they...could blame a human...a particular human in possession of a Book that is made to alter vampires’ true names...)

(oh, crap)

(o_o)

Hey, Vanitas is laughing! First time that’s happened since last chapter when he left Orlok’s office. Good job, Dante.

Noé’s still watching, though.

Vanitas looks run-down. He’ll laugh at Dante getting busted by the guards, but his mood is still extremely -- flat? tired? -- right now.

I love how Johann has no compunctions at all to cozying up to Noé. He’s like, hot guy? Don’t mind if I do.

We already know Noé is a little oblivious when it comes to people, so I think it says a lot that he’s already so attuned to Vanitas.

He knew right away that Vanitas’ reaction on the chandelier was weird (and seems to have hit the bullseye as to why) and he knows when Vanitas’ actions are a veneer over something else. He’s already started differentiating between what’s real and what’s a front when it comes to Vanitas, even if he can’t always understand what he sees (see: their dance). And they’ve known each other for what, a few weeks?

Poor Vanitas. Noé was already disinclined to go along with the most egregious examples of Vanitas’ bullshit -- now that Noé’s Vanitas Radar is getting more refined, soon Vanitas won’t be able to get away with anything. For a loner like him, that might be hard to adjust to.

(Noé looks so comfy, I wish I could sleep like that. Vanitas, don’t you think you’d be more comfortable sleeping inside with Noé, he could use you like a pillow)

This button is a Symbol, and I think it used to be an important one.

Though -- is he looking at the back of it? Are we gonna get an FMA-style message on it?

And hey, speaking of FMA, check out that pocket-watch --

Vanitas waits on the roof until -- what is that, 3am? -- then gets up with a slightly alarming look of grim determination, dark bags under his eyes. (he didn’t sleep at all)

Someone’s trying to sneak out in the dead of night. What are you planning?

!!!!!!!!

:D :D :D

omg. I’m cackling. Look at Noé standing there. Fully dressed! Leaning on the wall with one hand in his pocket! Casually reading! Ahhh, this is the best. Reminder that Noé can be hellishly smooth when he feels like it and it’s awesome.

Not only did he outmaneuver Vanitas, but he scheduled his nap perfectly because he knew Vanitas and knew his next likely course of action, even though (because) Vanitas hardly said anything during the day. This pleases me so much, you have no idea.

(and not only is the nap thing galling on principle, but now Noé is well-rested while Vanitas is walking around with visible bags under his eyes. It’s beautiful.)

*epic flaily hands*

guys, guys, it’s a reversal of chapter 2! look, look!

This chapter is gold.

I LOVE parallels, especially when the shoe ends up on the other foot. Even Vanitas’ coat looks deflated this time around, ha.

I think my bottom lip is wobbling. Boys.

The best part -- the best part -- is we already know Noé likes Vanitas’ cranky face. He must be enjoying this as much as I am, lmao.

Also, please note that Vanitas can’t seem to say ‘no’ to Noé, to the point where it’s kind of turning into a pattern. A delightful pattern.

(Thanks to Assassin’s Creed: Unity, I, too, know where this side entrance to Notre Dame is located. Thanks, Assassin’s Creed.)

Hm, hold up.

Lock-picking seems like a very Vanitas-ish skill, so I’m not questioning that. (I do question what his upbringing was like, but that’s another conversation). No, the thing is, didn’t he use the Book to pick a lock in Orlok’s office before?

Yup. There are the formula marks. So why didn’t he use the Book this time?

...wait a minute. wait a goddamn minute.

holy shit. vanitas didn’t have the Book when they went to orlok’s office. that was the whole POINT of going to orlok, HE had the Book, so --

Vanitas can alter formulas without the Book?

UM.

Nothing like a little B&E (plus assault) to get one’s spirits back up.

Vanitas finds a hidden switch behind the candelabra that opens a secret passage. (this may also have been in Assassin’s Creed.)

“These aren’t like the place we visited this afternoon. There are entrances to the underground labyrinth all over Paris. ...but the catacombs we’re headed for are made so that only those in the know can reach them.”

...uh-huh. So how do YOU know about them? And if you knew, why’d you just follow the dhams to the tourist spot? Were you that thrown by that button?

The chasseurs live down here? Uh.

What’s that saying about those who hunt monsters...?

...

...Vanitas was a freaking chasseur, wasn’t he.

But he left them? Or they left him? How does the Vampire of the Blue Moon fit into that?

It would also mean that he lied to Noé in the beginning when Noé asked if he was a chasseur or a bourreau, but. That wouldn’t be much of a surprise. And not technically a lie if he wasn’t one anymore?

Sheltered he may be, but our boy Noé ain’t no dummy.

they’re his former comrades

*raises eyebrow* Chasseurs but not chasseurs? Renegade chasseurs, maybe?

And he knows exactly how they fight because of course he does.

This explains so much. The abilities of the vampires are on a whole ‘nother level, literally superhuman, so it’s easy to overlook sometimes that Vanitas is a really good fighter for a human.

Particularly against vampires.

He’s been doing this vampire-doctor thing for a little while now, right? Meaning, he’s been hunting down transformed and blood-mad vampires and fighting them with only one reluctant, mercenary dhampir as back-up. Sure, he latched onto Noé as a ‘shield’ immediately (probably because he had a few too many close calls and, unlike with Dante, he doesn’t have to pay for Noé), but he was still fighting -- and surviving -- the monsters long before Noé got on the scene.

So were could he have possibly gotten these vampire hunting skills? *insert thinking emoji*

(I don’t know how the Vampire of the Blue Moon fits into all this, but taken with the chasseurs, I can’t help but find Vanitas’ current vocation dryly amusing. Both these entities from his past who HATE VAMPIRES have done Vanitas wrong, so what’s he gonna do?

He’s gonna turn around and save the goddamn vampires out of spite. (...and probably for some other reason we don’t know about yet, because Vanitas, but you get the idea))

Oh look! More skeletons. (momento mori, yus)

Oh shit. It’s that guy from the end of chapter 13.

...oh god, this is a trophy room, isn’t it.

The boys are like “oh, f---!”

This guy’s design is weirdly -- cherubic?, and it’s freaking me out.

Hm. So lower-ranking (-powered?) vampires revert to a more human physiology after death? Why?

And damn, these skulls are in seriously bad shape. Must have been a hell of a fight to take each of them out. Shows the power of the chasseurs, for certain.

Is this guy taunting them?

Noé just seems shocked (as he should), but Vanitas almost looks struck dumb, like he doesn’t know what to do with Disturbingly Cheerful guy.

Hmm, a couple things.

I thought this guy’s name was Roland?? @vnckocurzyca, I think you said his name was Roland? It’s got all the marks of a translation error (swapped Ls and Rs), I just want to know the right name to call this guy, lol. (and if YP screwed up the translation so I can rag on them a bit)

Another thing that might only be amusing to me -- Vanitas has been carrying a sling on his back that I’ve been assuming carries the Book, his knives, etc. But when he stands next to Cheerful Guy who has his own his massive sling (that looks an awful like some sort of improbable weapon of the Kingdom Hearts variety), Vanitas looks like nothing so much as a Boy Scout standing next to an Eagle Scout and it’s kinda hilarious.

Just think about it. In another lifetime, this guy could have been Vanitas’ senpai.

Cheerful Guy is important, I see.

So, he got his high position sometime after Vanitas was no longer associated with the chasseurs? And he wasn’t even posted in the area until recently. Gives me reason to think he wasn’t involved in whatever happened to break Vanitas away from them.

Though it occurs to me the chasseurs might not recognize him anyway, depending on how long ago the association was (couldn’t have been that long, Vanitas is only 18 according to the omake) and when exactly he took on the name ‘Vanitas’. They might have known him under another name, maybe his REAL name, and isn’t THAT thought interesting.

“I’m Vincent and he’s Gilbert.”

“I’m Vincent and he’s Gilbert.”

“~I’M VINCENT AND HE’S  G I L B E R T.~”

ahhhhh, I love easter eggs.

(I prefer to read Vanitas’ bowing and babbling here as his version of a customer service voice. you know, that really fake, ‘sincerely apologetic’ one everyone who has ever worked in retail had to master.)

(is that not the face of every retail worker in the world, I mean, come on)

Vanitas has NO IDEA how to deal with this man, it’s amazing. But it looks like they haven’t been made (yet), so that’s good.

That armor on Mr Paladin’s arms is very reminiscent of Jeanne’s leg armor, no?

*tilts head* Is this a typical shounen-ish ‘he’s strong’ assessment, or can Noé analyze him on a different level because of his vampire eyes?

Either way, it says this guy is more dangerous than he seems. Guess you don’t rise to the rank of paladin by sitting on your butt.

(and what exactly is that weapon on his back???)

...y’all. I play a lot of video games. Suddenly walking into a large room with strategically placed cover spots is A VERY BAD SIGN.

I HOPE YOU SAVED BEFORE THIS CHECKPOINT, GUYS.

Ohhh, shit. There it is. Mr Paladin was playing them the entire time and they fell for it like a pair of shmucks.

Specifically, VANITAS fell for it. Dude, the sneaky tricks are supposed to be your area of expertise. Either this guy is better than you or you are seriously off your game. (possibly both)

(...random, but Mr Paladin is reminding me a bit of Might Guy. probably the gushing emotion and positivity.)

A flash bomb? And Vanitas knows exactly what it is, knows it’s meant to hurt Noé specifically. It also means that Mr Paladin knows Noé is a vampire, probably knew it when he was gushing about all those be-fanged skull trophies. Man, you can never trust the goofy ones.

When you think about it, a flash bomb would be the perfect weapon to use against vampires in an enclosed space like underground tunnels.

I’m paying attention to how MochiJun is depicting the affects of the flash on Noé ‘cause we still know precious little about how vampires eyes, and vampires in general, work.

So, we’ve got a shattering, as if the flash caused the world to break apart for Noé, and then a disorienting swirl where his vision is completely obscured. His eyes really are his weak point.

...ohhoho, wait. Wait, wait, wait, I just remembered something.

Vanitas used the flash bomb trick on Jeanne, way back in chapter 3 --

The canister looks about the same, too. I guess now we know why Vanitas keeps one of those in his pack.

It didn’t work as well on Jeanne, but, well, it’s Jeanne.

Mr Paladin is not only dangerous, but also creepy. And kind of dehumanizing, too, which I suppose is to be expected from this group. Not like Veronica de Sade is much better.

Alright, so. Does this mean Noé can usually see the two ‘worlds’ separately? And this is a thing all vampires can do because of their eyes, while some powerful vampires are then able to rewrite the formulas they see on a large scale? Though since Paracelsus was able to trigger Babel, that means having the innate ability to see formulas isn’t a requirement for rewriting them. And, you know, the existence of the Book.

...why would the Vampire of the Blue Moon, who could presumably also see and change formulas as other vampires do, need to write a Book that allows people to do the same thing? What the hell is in that Book, anyway? Does it just deal with True Names?

Give me answers, MochiJun! *shakes tiny fist*

oh geez, the disorientation was so bad it made Noé physically sick.

And Mr Paladin, the doll look is not an improvement, fyi.

So, if Vanitas can rewrite formulas without the Book, is that power also in his eyes, even though he doesn’t have the weird pupil-thing going on like the vampires, or does he work magic the way Paracelsus (presumably) did? Did the flash bang affect him, too? He’s not in the same kind of distress as Noé, but he had an instant’s more warning and DID cover his eyes. Hmm.

I do appreciate Vanitas’ panic over Noé’s plight, though! That’s always heartening to see.

That’s the frown of Bracing Yourself To Do Your Job. Because that’s what killing vampires is to this guy, his job. And he’s not nearly as gullible or naive as he looks.

Uh-oh.

Do we have a super-soldier serum on our hands here? That would explain how the chasseurs are able to take on vampires one-on-one.

Never trust the goofballs.

(i don’t think this fight is going to go well for our heroes, guys.)

Next up, CHAPTER 15!