#sympathetic remy

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Cuddle Bugs | The Swarm

Very recently, I got to thinking about Cuddle Bugs, the fic you have where Virgil is raising his gaggle of kids and how much I *adored it*. Is Virgil a single parent in that fic? Has he ever had any potential romantic partner(s)? And how did the kids take it, were they suspicious of this sudden guy sending their dad flowers, wooing him, etc? It is hilarious to imagine a kinda "several moments where the kids disapprove of a man courting their dad, and the one time they don't" sort of fic. And the guy that they eventually gave their blessing to to date their dad is Remy or smth. :D – anon

Read on Ao3 Part 1 (not fully necessary but does establish the world)

Warnings: none!!!

Pairings: virgil/remy

Word Count: 2865

Virgil starts to see someone. His children have...opinions.

 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Virgil says as he opens the door, “but I’ve got one of my kids still here, his club got canceled and the babysitter has her exams this week.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” Remy puts his sunglasses on top of his head. “Given that you’ve got five of the little munchkins, I figured I’d normally get you with one of them.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like we—“

“Dad? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Pop Star, it’s me!” Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Remy mouthing Pop Star? He just shakes his head and turns to see Patton barrel down the stairs, his cat plushie held tightly under his chin. “Hey, there he is.”

Patton screeches to a halt when he sees Remy,. Remy waves a little bit and Patton pouts. Honest to god pouts.

“Who’s that?”

“I’m Remy. I’m a friend of your dad’s. Is it cool if I hang out for a bit?”

“Are you waiting for something?”

“Pat,” Virgil says softly and Patton glances at him, “he’s my friend. Friends can stay over for a bit, can’t they?”

Patton shuffles a little bit. “But you normally go to your friends and then Amy comes and stays with us.”

“That’s right, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have my friends over too, does it?”

Patton shrugs. “Is he staying for dinner? We have enough for garlic bread since Ro and Re aren’t home.”

“I like garlic bread.”

“You like any carb,” Virgil mutters, mainly for Remy to hear, and he just grins. “Well, does that mean you’re gone help me, Pop Star?”

“I can help. Can I put Winston on the counter?”

“Who’s Winston?”

Patton indignantly holds up the plushie, who Virgil could swear was named Star yesterday. “This is Winston!”

“Right, sorry. Yes, Winston can stay on the counter as long as he stays away from any of the food.”

“He doesn’t like garlic, it makes his breath smell really bad.”

”Garlic makes everybody’s breath smell bad, buddy.”

Patton wrinkles his nose as they move into the kitchen. “You should tell Janus that, he says it doesn’t work on him.”

”Oh, it works alright,” Virgil says under his breath and Remy laughs. As Patton bustles ahead to set Winston down on the safest part of the counter, he turns. “Thank you for doing this. I know it wasn’t what we planned—“

“Virgil. Sweetheart. I’d be an idiot to turn down fresh homemade garlic bread.” Remy pats his shoulder. “Besides, I think your little Pop Star has it covered.”

“You’re so gonna ask me about that later, aren’t you?”

“As soon as he’s out of the room.”

Virgil groans.

***

2.

“Logan? Where’d you go, bud?”

“I’m over here, Dad, I found the book i wanted.”

Virgil ducks around the end of the library shelf and sure enough, there’s his little genius sitting on the floor, cross-cross applesauce just as polite as can be, looking intently at t a book with pretty rocks on the front cover. He drops to one knee to ruffle his hair—and hear him squawk.

“What’s this one about?”

“Gemstone and minerals. The teacher said something in science class about how scientists can find out things based on the layers of rock and what would’ve been there when the dinosaurs were here and so I wanted to know more about how different types of rocks are made and do you know what iridium is?”

“Iridium? No, what is it?”

“It’s a type of really rare metal that’s actually more common in rocks from space so scientists can guess when and where they landed based on the amount of iridium.” Logan points to a picture of an asteroid. “See?”

“Whoa. That’s cool. How do they find out what’s iridium and what’s not?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“That’s my boy.” Virgo ruffles his hair one more time—Logan doesn’t even notice, already absorbed in the book—and looks around for the front desk. “Do you want to check this one out and read it at home?”

“I don’t know if this one will have it.”

“Did you check the index like Ms. Tori taught you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if it’ll be under iridium or something else, so I’m looking.”

“Virgil?”

Virgil turns. “Remy? What’re you doing here?”

Remy walks over to them, eyeing Logan. “That’s…a different one than the one I met last time, right?”

“Yeah, this is a different one. Logan, can you say hi to my friend?”

”Hello.” Logan looks up. “You work at the museum?”

Remy glances at his name tag. “Yeah, I do. You got sharp eyes, kid.”

“Do you know what iridium is?”

“Tell you what,” Virgil says quickly, “let’s go check that book out and you and Remy can talk about iridium while we do that, okay?”

Remy, as it turns out, does know about iridium. Even better, he knows the part of museum where they explain how scientists do research with it. Virgil has a hard time prying Logan away from him when the book is all checked out, but he does get the plan for their next date all squared away.

“Just bring your little genius with you, otherwise we��ll both never hear the end of it.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

***

3.

“Thank you for tonight,” Virgil says softly as they pull up to his house, “I really enjoyed it.”

”Hey, of course. There’s nothing wrong with a good old fashioned dinner and movie date.” Remy leans over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m glad you had fun.”

“Yeah, it was…really great.” Virgil glances up at the house. “You, uh, wanna come in for a drink before you drive home?”

“I’ll steal your bathroom, how’s that?”

“Mind the load-bearing wall, it tends to get stuck on the studs.”

Remy laughs as they get out, their breaths condensing in the cool night air. Virgil fishes in his pocket for the keys, the lazy contentment of a well-spent evening making his movements slow and a little clumsy. He eventually gets the door open just as Remy’s hands come to settle on his shoulders.

“You got it?”

“Mm.” He pushes the door open. “Still sure I can’t convince you to have one drink?”

”I’m driving.”

“Who said anything about alcohol?”

Remy’s eyes light up. “Why, Virgil, is this you telling me you’ll make me a nice fancy cup of coffee in your fancy coffee machine?”

“Oh, no, you said you only needed to use the bathroom, so—“

Remy pulls him back when he goes to turns way and kisses him properly. “Don’t do that to me, you menace, am I getting my coffee or not?”

“Go use the bathroom,” Virgil laughs, “then we’ll see.”

Remy gives him a look but turns to go off down the hall. Virgil chuckles, shaking his head. After he shrugs off his coat and shoes, keys in the key bowl, he goes to the kitchen and starts turning on his fancy coffee machine. What can he say, he’s a sucker for someone who appreciates the hard work it takes to make a good cup.

He’s considering what mug Remy would loathe the most when he hears a shout from down the hall.

“Remy? Is everything okay?”

He’s already moving. Dad instincts. He rounds the corner to see Remy frozen against the wall and a little bit further into the darkness, he sees gleaming eyes and a grinning mouth. He sighs.

“Remus, you’re supposed to be in bed.”

Remus giggles. Remy lets out a quiet noise as his little gremlin scuttles—yes, scuttles— forward and grins up at Remy. Remy gives him a little wave and he giggles again, leaving something on his foot before skittering up the stairs. Virgil sighs, leaning down to pick up—oh. It’s Remus’s green toy car.

“That,” Remy whispers as they hear a door creak open and shut, “was terrifying.”

“Yeah, sorry. I would’ve warned you about him.”

“You didn’t even flinch!”

“Yeah, well, after you wake up to him staring at you three inches from your face without saying a word a few times, you get used to it.”

Remy looks more than mildly horrified. Virgil holds up the toy.

“But hey, he gave you his green car, that means he likes you.”

”You literally have a gremlin.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you feed him after midnight?”

“I can’t feed him after nine.”

Remus shudders. “Now you’re definitely making me a cup of coffee before I leave.”

***

4.

He’s on the phone with Remy when there’s a little knock on his door. He pulls the phone away from his mouth and calls out and his little prince peeks his head around the door, his nose all red and his eyes all wet.

“Oh, hey,” he murmurs, sitting up and holding out his arms, “hey, Princey, what’s the matter?”

Little Roman lets out a sob and hurries across the room to fling himself into Virgil’s lap. Virgil hugs him immediately, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong? Can you tell me what’s going on?” Roman just sobs again. His little hiccuping breaths keep seizing against Virgil’s chest and he closes his eyes. “Shh, shh, baby, you’re okay. You’re safe, I’ve got you, I’m right here.”

“Is everything okay?” Remy asks quietly and Virgil jumps. He’d…forgotten he was on the phone.

“Roman’s crying,” he mutters back, “don’t know why.”

“Do you want to hang up?”

Virgil’s about to say yes when he notices that Roman’s not sobbing as much anymore. Instead, his little pouty face is peering up at the phone.

“Hey, Princey, it’s Remy. Can you hear him?” Roman nods. “You wanna say hi?”

He nods again and Virgil sets the phone on the other pillow tapping the speaker icon and hoisting his baby up onto his lap.

“You’re on speaker, Remy. Roman wants to say hi.”

“Hey, Roman,” comes Remy’s voice through the phone, “I hear you’re having a bad time right now, I’m sorry.”

Roman sniffles and clings his to Virgil a little more.

“I was just about to tell your dad about this story my zookeeper friend was telling me about their pandas. Do you wanna hear it?”

Roman nods and Virgil kisses his head. “Yeah, Remy, we’d like to hear about the pandas.”

Remy begins to tell a story about a panda getting confused by a little kid in a big white snow coat with a black hat. Apparently it thought the child was a pup that had gotten outside the enclosure, so it followed them around and around the pen, pawing at the window to try and figure out how to get the baby back. The poor thing had been so confused when the child took the coat off and had run to the other side of the enclosure.

Virgil goes to laugh again only to realize there's a snoozing Roman on his chest and laughing would definitely wake the poor thing up.

"He okay?" Remy asks when Virgil's side of the phone goes quiet.

"Yeah. He's just asleep now." He shifts to get a better angle so Roman won't wake up with a crick in his neck. "Sorry about that."

"Hey, nightmares get everybody. It's not the first time I've put someone to sleep with a story."

Virgil huffs a laugh. "Yeah?"

"Oh, my college friends used to call me Sleep 'cause I could knock 'em all out."

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

Remy makes a quiet offended noise that quickly turns into a laugh. "You two gonna bed down now?"

"That's probably for the best. Talk tomorrow?"

"See you then."

***

5.

Janus comes into the living room, sits down on the end of the couch, and puts his elbows on his knees like he's the kid genius in a supervillain movie, staring at Remy. Virgil's just about to scold him for being impolite when Remy, without missing a beat, puts his phone down and gets into the same position: criss-cross applesauce, elbows on knees, fingers steepled in front of his chin.

Virgil makes the very smart and reasonable decision to just see how this plays out.

"You're over here a lot," Janus says first.

"This is true."

"Why?"

"I like your dad. I want to spend time with him."

Virgil coughs to hide how red his face goes at that. Janus doesn't even notice.

"Why here?"

"Because your dad cares about you and your brothers a lot, and it makes him feel better to have you close in case anything goes wrong."

"Does that bother you?"

"Not at all."

Now, here's the thing: both Janus and Virgil are surprised by that. Technically, Janus has the smaller of their two reactions because he's in whatever interrogation mode this is—shit, his kid is giving the guy he's dating a shovel talk, isn't he, that's what's happening right now—but Virgil…Virgil just stares at him.

"Virgil is someone I care about, doesn't it make sense that I would care about the people he cares about?"

"Not necessarily."

Remy frowns. "Why not?"

"That hasn't been true of everyone that Dad's seen before."

"Okay," Virgil mutters, shifting on the couch, "we don't have to bring any of that up."

"Well, then those people should hope we're never in a room together, or else I might have to have a very nice, long, detailed chat with them about how wrong they are."

"Can I help?"

"Certainly."

"Guys," Virgil says, because this is very quickly spiraling into something it should absolutely not be—even if part of him is struggling not to find the whole thing very endearing, "I think that's enough."

"What's your favorite food?"

"I'm a big fan of spaghetti and meatballs."

"What about garlic bread?"

"I'll never say no to garlic bread."

"Are you staying for dinner?"

Remy just looks at Virgil, who shrugs. He looks back at Janus. "Is that alright with you?"

"Will you help us make garlic bread?"

"Absolutely, I will."

"Then come on, I'm hungry and the twins will start screaming in half an hour if they aren't fed."

"Oh, you're all gremlins, aren't you?"

Virgil doesn't quite know how that leads into Janus and Remy having a very heated debate about monsters and…something else, but he doesn't have to make dinner that night, so he's counting it as a win.

***

+1.

Virgil comes out of the bathroom and stifles a snort.

"I'm scared to move," Remy whispers, Patton's head nearly sliding off his shoulder, "help."

Movie nights had always been sacred in the household. They were for family only, they were a time where all of them put aside their differences and just spent the night cuddled up on the couch—sometimes going to sleep in Virgil's bed in a big pile too—and no one was willing to rupture the sanctity with things like arguments or fights.

Which is why, when all of the little munchkins clamored for Remy to come to a movie night, Virgil had a sneaking suspicion in might end this way.

All the kids had agreed on the movie beforehand—another rarity—settling on the new Puss in Boots movie that'd come out pretty recently. Remy had been sat on the outside of the couch at first, only for the kids to make, cajole, plead, and order him to come closer almost as soon as the movie started. Virgil had just chuckled and passed Patton over to sit on his lap, the others grabbing onto his arms, his hands, even his legs. He'd gone to the bathroom once they'd gotten to the forest and…

Well, he's come out to see his little ones absolutely sprawled over Remy.

Patton's still in his lap, his head on one shoulder. Somehow Janus has gotten there too, his arms wrapped around Remy's chest like a plushie. Roman is on his right, hand tangled in his hair, Logan on his left with a grip on his hand. Remus lays across his feet, snoozing away. God, Virgil loves them.

"Was this your ploy," Remy whispers as Virgil walks back over, the movie still playing quietly in the background, "to get me here and trap me with your adorable children?"

"No, but I can't say I'm too upset that it's happened."

"They're the cutest snare in the world."

"Mhm. And there's no escape from them."

Remy laughs as Virgil leans down to kiss him. "I'm not all that mad about it, now that I think about it."

Virgil smiles. "No. I'm not either."

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[whqreforstevengrant]

just some mommies for the HS AU

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 2: You Drew Stars, Around My Scars.

Prequel to The Last Great American Dynasty. Masterlist.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Swearing, 18+.

Summary: In the shadowy underworld of New Orleans, where power is currency and loyalty is a fragile thread, you find yourself entangled with Remy LeBeau, a charismatic and dangerous mob boss. What begins as a chance encounter soon evolves into a complex, intense relationship that neither of you saw coming.

Wednesdays were the bane of your existence. There was something about the middle of the week that left you feeling trapped in a perpetual loop, too far from the last weekend to feel rested and too far from the next one to feel hopeful. Wednesdays weren’t special like Fridays, nor productive like Mondays. They just existed, heavy and unremarkable, the forgotten middle child of the week.

You woke up that morning with a groan, already feeling the ache in your bones from the long shift you pulled the night before. Your head was pounding with a dull throb that pulsed behind your eyes, and your stomach felt like it was filled with lead. It was a tiredness that went beyond lack of sleep—a fatigue that seemed to settle into your very soul, making every movement feel like wading through thick mud. Your fingers absently touched the white bandage that was tightly wrapped around the palm of your hand, underneath holding a gauze which had spent the night soaking up the blood from wound the sharp piece of glass had made.

The memory of last night’s shift played on a loop in your mind, each moment replaying with a sour tinge. It had been one of those nights where everything felt off-kilter, like you were a half-step behind in everything you did. The bar had been busier than usual, packed with patrons whose voices blended into an indistinct roar, each shout for another round grating on your already frayed nerves. And then there was the moment when everything went from bad to worse.

You had been balancing a tray of glasses, trying to navigate through the crowd, when someone bumped into you, sending the entire tray crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering glass was deafening, instantly silencing the bar as every head turned to stare. You felt your face flush with heat, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration tightening your throat. James had rushed over to help, shooting you a sympathetic look, but the damage was done. You could feel the eyes on you, whispers buzzing just under the din of the bar’s usual noise.

“You good?” James had asked, his voice low as he picked up shards of glass with you. You’d nodded, forcing a tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. But inside, you were screaming. It was just another Tuesday, another night that felt like a chore you couldn’t escape from, and now this—another thing to add to the pile of reasons you loathed the middle of the week.

Today, it seemed, was no different. You dragged yourself out of bed, every movement feeling like an uphill battle. The heaviness from the night before lingered in your bones, a stubborn ache that refused to ease up, and your head pounded with a dull, relentless throb that pulsed behind your eyes. Your stomach churned as if you’d swallowed a stone, a sickly reminder of the stress that had wrapped itself around you like a vice. But the clock was ticking, and there was no time to wallow in the discomfort. You had a shift waiting for you, another long day at the bar that wouldn’t let you off the hook just because you weren’t feeling your best.

With a sigh, you trudged into the bathroom, the tiles cool under your bare feet. You peeled off your clothes, tossing them aside without a second glance, and stepped into the shower. The water burst from the showerhead in a warm cascade, and you let it wash over you, the heat slowly easing the tension knotted in your muscles. The steam rose around you, clouding the glass and softening the harsh light of the bathroom. It was a brief moment of solitude, a small reprieve from the world outside, but your mind was far from quiet.

As the water pounded against your skin, your thoughts drifted back to Remy and the envelope of money he’d left you. You could still feel the weight of it in your hands, the crisp bills neatly bundled, a small fortune that had been casually handed over like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing—not to you. You couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in your chest since you’d opened it, the nagging question of why he’d done it, and what, if anything, he expected in return.

The money was supposed to make things easier, wasn’t it? A generous gesture that could take the edge off your worries, at least for a while. And yet, it had the opposite effect. Instead of relief, all you felt was anxiety—a prickling discomfort that gnawed at you every time you thought about it. Remy’s note replayed in your head, his messy handwriting scrawled across the scrap of paper: “Now you won’t need the hours for a while.” What did he mean by that? Did he think you needed saving? Did he see you as some kind of charity case, or worse, someone he could manipulate with a wad of cash?

You leaned your forehead against the cool tiles, the water streaming down your back as you tried to make sense of it all. Remy was a mystery, wrapped up in charm and danger, a man who moved through life with a confidence that was as magnetic as it was unsettling. He didn’t follow the same rules as everyone else—hell, he seemed to make up his own as he went along. And now, you were caught in his orbit, pulled in by the gravity of his unexpected generosity.

But generosity from someone like Remy didn’t come without strings. You knew that much. He was a man who played by his own rules, and those rules were as unpredictable as he was. What if this was just the start of something bigger? A debt you hadn’t asked for but now found yourself owing? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, the warmth of the shower doing little to chase away the chill of uncertainty.

You tried to push the thoughts away, focusing instead on the simple task of washing your hair, the familiar routine a welcome distraction. But even as you lathered up, your mind kept drifting back to him—the way his eyes had lingered on you with that knowing smirk, the way he’d effortlessly made the room bend to his will. He was charming, sure, but there was always an edge to it, a hint of something sharper hidden beneath the surface.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about you, too. Was this all just a game to him? Another move in whatever strategy he was playing? The water cascaded over your face, blurring your vision as you scrubbed at your skin a little harder, as if you could wash away the confusion that clung to you like the steam in the bathroom.

What did he see when he looked at you? A barmaid trying to make ends meet? A girl with a chip on her shoulder and too much pride to accept help, even when it was handed to her in crisp hundreds? Or maybe he saw something else entirely, something that even you couldn’t see.

You stood there, letting the water run over you until it started to cool, the heat fading into a lukewarm drizzle that did little to soothe the restless thoughts circling in your head. The sound of the shower became a distant hum, the white noise failing to drown out the questions that had no easy answers. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever—Remy wasn’t the type to let things go, especially not when he’d taken an interest. And with the promise of lunch today, it seemed that whatever game he was playing was far from over.

With a heavy sigh, you turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping yourself in a towel as the cool air hit your skin. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your reflection slightly blurred by the lingering steam. You looked tired, your eyes shadowed with the weight of a sleepless night and the worries that refused to be rinsed away.

You dried off slowly, each motion feeling deliberate and almost meditative, as if you could ground yourself in the routine. But even as you dressed, pulling on your work clothes and tying your hair back, the questions lingered. You couldn’t help but feel like you were standing on the edge of something, a line that once crossed, there’d be no going back.

You grabbed your bag and keys, giving yourself one last look in the mirror—a silent pep talk before stepping back into the world. The bar awaited, another shift that would blend into the rest, but now, with Remy’s shadow looming over your thoughts, even the familiar felt uncertain. You squared your shoulders, taking a deep breath as you left the apartment, ready to face whatever the day—and Remy—might throw your way. But deep down, you knew that today wasn’t just another Wednesday. It was the start of something you couldn’t yet define, but you felt it in your gut, the unsettling sense that everything was about to change. <><><><><><><> Jean Grey walked through Remy LeBeau's expansive penthouse, her fiery red hair catching the sunlight that streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The space was as impressive as it was impersonal—clean, modern lines, dark leather furniture, and artwork that hinted at wealth, but not at the man who lived there. Jean moved with purpose, her eyes scanning each room with a quick, practiced sweep, searching for the man she’d known almost her entire life. Despite the warmth in her expression, the kindness that softened her features, Jean was no stranger to the dangerous world Remy occupied. She had been by his side through all of it—the good, the bad, the bloody. There was no one either of them would ever trust more than the other.

"Where the hell are you, LeBeau?" she muttered under her breath, finally making her way to his bedroom.

The room was a study in understated luxury. The king-sized bed, draped in crisp white linens, sat against a dark, slate-grey accent wall. Matching nightstands flanked the bed, each holding minimalistic lamps that cast a soft, ambient glow across the room. The hardwood floors gleamed beneath her feet, polished to perfection, and on the far side of the room, a large window overlooked the city skyline, offering a breathtaking view of New Orleans.

To the left was an open doorway leading into a walk-in closet that could rival a high-end boutique. The light inside was on, casting a warm glow across rows of carefully arranged designer suits, shoes, and accessories. Jean grinned as she caught sight of him inside.

"Ah, we’re going to need intercoms in this place if this keeps happening," she joked, leaning against the doorframe. There he was, standing in front of a full-length mirror, dressed in nothing but a white dress shirt and a pair of impeccably tailored black suit pants, his usually confident demeanor tinged with uncharacteristic hesitation.

Remy glanced over his shoulder at her, his grin reflecting in the mirror. "’fraid I migh’ be too far away to hear y’ nagging, chère?"

Jean’s smirk widened as she watched Remy toss yet another shirt onto the growing pile on the nearby chair. His movements were quick, graceful, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a subtle rigidity that she didn’t miss. He was thinking—overthinking, really—and that wasn’t like him. Normally, Remy LeBeau was all instinct and smooth confidence, especially when it came to matters of appearance. But today?

Today, he was deliberate.

"Dark blue, far right," Jean said, her voice cutting through the silence with amusement.

Remy glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a fleeting look of gratitude passing over his face before he grabbed the suggested shirt. As he buttoned it with practiced ease, Jean leaned more comfortably against the doorframe, studying him like she always did when something was off. She knew him too damn well. And this? This wasn’t just business as usual.

"So," she began, keeping her tone light but probing, "why are you getting so dressed up? It’s just Olivia. You’ve had lunch with her a thousand times. It’s business."

Remy didn’t answer, his hands moving to loop a belt through his suit pants. His face remained impassive, but Jean caught the subtle shift in his posture—the way his jaw clenched just slightly, the way his eyes flickered toward the floor for a brief moment before he focused back on his task.

Jean’s smirk deepened. She knew this game. Remy was trying to play it cool, but Jean had seen him handle real threats—life-or-death situations—without a fraction of the tension he was carrying now. Which meant this wasn’t about Olivia. This was about something, or rather, someone, else.

"Unless…" she started, letting the word hang in the air, "you’re mixing business with pleasure?"

She watched as he fastened his cufflinks, his movements precise, almost too controlled. He didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch, but Jean knew better. She was getting close. Normally, Remy would have shot back some flirtatious quip by now, something playful and teasing to throw her off course. But today? He was silent.

Jean shook her head, dismissing her own theory with a wave of her hand. "No, she’s not your type. So it’s something to do with the bar, because you haven’t changed your regular spot in years. And suddenly, you have with zero issues involved."

Remy’s face remained neutral, but Jean saw the telltale sign of discomfort—the way his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, a habit he’d had since they were kids. He was trying to mask it, but Jean knew him too well. She was onto something.

"It’s not the owner," she continued, her eyes narrowing as she pieced the puzzle together. "She’s not your type either. So it’s either a regular… or someone who works there."

Remy moved to grab his suit jacket, slipping it on with his usual grace. But Jean didn’t miss the flash of hesitation in his eyes, the way his hands fumbled just slightly as he adjusted the lapels. It was subtle—so subtle—but Jean had been watching Remy for most of her life. She knew every little crack in his armor, every tiny tell that gave him away when he was trying to hide something.

"Not a regular," she mused aloud, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "You don’t like alcoholics, but you do like a challenge. So it’s someone who works there, someone who can handle themselves… someone who caught your attention."

Remy’s silence spoke volumes. He reached for his watch, slipping it onto his wrist with a precision that felt too forced, too deliberate. Jean’s smile grew. She was right, and they both knew it.

"Friday night," she said, her voice softening as the pieces started falling into place. "That’s when you started going to that bar, right? So whoever it is, they were working Friday... which narrows it down."

Remy didn’t meet her gaze, his attention focused on adjusting the watch, but Jean could feel the tension radiating off him. She was close—so close.

"It’s not a male," she concluded, her tone almost triumphant now. "You don’t fuss over your appearance this much unless it’s for a woman. And I’m guessing it’s the one you left the money for—am I right?"

And there it was—the smallest, briefest pause. Remy’s hand hovered over his dresser, his fingers stilling for just a fraction of a second. It was so quick, so subtle, that anyone else might have missed it. But Jean didn’t. She knew she’d hit her mark.

This was why they were friends. She could read him when no one else could.

She watched him carefully, her smile turning softer, more knowing. "I haven’t seen you act like this since—"

"Don’t say it," Remy cut her off, his voice low, a warning laced beneath the words.

Jean raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. She didn’t need to. She had already seen enough. Whoever it was—whoever had gotten under his skin—was stirring something in him. Not in the physical sense, but in a way that Remy wasn’t prepared for.

Remy LeBeau had spent most of his life building walls. He was charming, flirtatious, always ready with a smooth line or a quick smile. But beneath that exterior, beneath the easy confidence, there was something else. Something raw. Something he kept locked away. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was grief, maybe it was just the weight of all the things he’d done in his life. But whatever it was, it had made him keep people at arm’s length.

Until now.

Jean could see it in the way he moved today, in the way he was fussing over his appearance. He cared about this, about her. And that scared him—really scared him. Remy didn’t like to let people in. It was too much of a risk. Too much of a reminder of what he’d lost. But whoever this woman was, she had him rattled.

"Is she working today?" Jean asked, her voice gentler now, less teasing.

Remy shrugged, trying to play it off. "No idea," he muttered, but it was clear he was lying. Of course he knew. He wouldn’t be putting this much effort into his appearance if he didn’t know.

Jean pushed herself off the doorframe, stepping closer to him, her expression softening. "Might come say hello to Olivia today," she teased lightly, though her eyes remained sharp, searching for any reaction.

Remy sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching for his shoes. He slid them on with a practiced motion, his fingers moving quickly as he tied the laces. But Jean noticed the way his shoulders tensed at her words, the way his jaw tightened just slightly. He didn’t want Jean anywhere near the bar today, and that told her everything she needed to know.

"Jean," he said, his voice low but firm, "don’t."

She smiled, her eyes soft as she looked at him. "You’re allowed to feel things, Remy. It’s okay."

He stayed silent, his hands stilling for a moment as he straightened his jacket. Jean could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was fighting against whatever it was he was feeling. She knew he hated this—hated being vulnerable, hated letting people see beneath the mask he wore so well. But this was different. This was someone different.

"You don’t always need to shut the world out," Jean continued gently. "As you found out on Friday."

Remy stood, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket with quick, practiced movements. He didn’t say anything, but Jean didn’t need him to. She could see the truth in the way he moved, in the way he was preparing himself for whatever came next. He was trying to act like it didn’t matter, like this woman didn’t matter—but Jean knew better.

For the first time in a long time, Remy LeBeau cared about someone. And that terrified him.

As he made his way to the door, Jean didn’t stop him. She just watched, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Good luck," she called after him, her voice soft but knowing.

He didn’t respond, didn’t even spare her a glance over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold into the hallway, his footsteps quiet but purposeful. The door clicked softly behind him, the sound almost too final in the stillness that followed. Jean stood there for a moment longer, her eyes lingering on the empty space where he had just been, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She didn’t need to see his face to know what was going on inside his head. She could feel it, like a hum in the air, a tension that had been building for months.

This—whatever this was—was only the beginning.

Remy LeBeau could be as guarded as Fort Knox when he wanted to be. He’d spent years perfecting the persona of the smooth-talking charmer, the careless flirt who never let anyone too close, always keeping the world at arm’s length. It was his defense mechanism, his way of controlling the chaos in his life. But Jean had known him too long, seen too much of the real man beneath the mask to be fooled. She had watched him build those walls, brick by brick, after every loss, every betrayal.

And now, for the first time in a long time, she could see the cracks.

Whoever this woman was, she had done something in one night that no one else had in years—she had gotten under his skin. Jean could see it in everything Remy had done today, in the way he had fussed over his appearance like a man preparing for battle. It wasn’t just about looking good or making an impression. It was about vulnerability, about stepping into a situation where Remy no longer had complete control. He cared—and for someone like him, that was as dangerous as walking into a room full of enemies with no way out.

Jean’s smile softened as she thought about it. She had seen Remy flirt his way through countless encounters, his easy charm always deflecting any real emotional investment. But this? This was different. This wasn’t the calculated charm of a man who knew exactly what to say and do to keep things light and easy. This was Remy uncertain, Remy hesitant, Remy affected—and that was a side of him she hadn’t seen in years.

The truth was, Jean had a feeling that Remy wasn’t going to be able to keep this woman out, no matter how hard he tried. She had already slipped through the cracks, already found her way past the carefully constructed walls he kept around his heart. And once someone got that close, once they were inside, the game changed. Remy could try all he wanted to keep her at a distance, but it was too late.

Jean knew him well enough to know that Remy wasn’t the type to fall easily, but when he did, he fell hard. And this woman—whoever she was—had already managed to make him care. That was the dangerous part. Once Remy started caring, the stakes became higher, the risks more personal.

Jean sighed softly, pushing herself away from the doorframe and walking further into the room. She glanced at the discarded shirts still piled on the chair, at the cologne bottle sitting uncapped on the dresser. She could picture him standing there, staring at his reflection, second-guessing every detail, every choice. It wasn’t like him. Remy was usually the picture of confidence, the man who walked into a room and owned it without even trying. But this woman had him second-guessing, had him thinking—and that was the clearest sign of all.

This wasn’t just some passing interest. She wasn’t just another name on a list of fleeting romances. This woman had gotten to him in a way that no one else had in a long, long time.

And Jean had a feeling that Remy wouldn’t be able to shut her out, even if he wanted to.

What started as curiosity, maybe even a little temptation, had already turned into something more. Jean could see it in the way he had tried to deflect her questions, the way he had avoided her gaze when she mentioned the bar. He was protecting something, guarding it fiercely—but not because he didn’t want it. Because he did. Because it mattered. And that, more than anything, was what made this different.

Jean knew that Remy was walking into something he hadn’t prepared for, something he couldn’t control with charm or wit or the usual tricks up his sleeve. For the first time in a long time, Remy LeBeau was stepping into the unknown.

And whoever this woman was, she had the power to change everything.

Jean could only hope that Remy would let her. <><><><><><><><><><><> The bar felt warmer than usual today, the faint hum of the air conditioning not quite cutting through the lingering humidity from outside. It was one of those sticky New Orleans mornings where the air clung to your skin, and everything seemed to move just a little slower. The low murmur of conversation from the few early patrons mixed with the faint clink of glassware, creating a quiet, almost lazy backdrop that contrasted sharply with the undercurrent of tension building inside you.

The soft clink of glassware echoed through the bar, a familiar sound that usually brought you a sense of calm. James stood behind the counter, working methodically as he dried a glass, his movements slow and deliberate. The lunch rush hadn’t hit yet, and for a short, fleeting moment, the place felt almost peaceful. It was the kind of quiet that was rare in a bar like this, where the noise of clattering dishes, raised voices, and the chaos of service usually filled the air. But now, in this lull, you could hear the hum of the ice machine, the faint murmur of conversations from the few early patrons, and the occasional shuffle of feet on the worn floorboards.

You stood at the counter, absently slicing lemons, the knife gliding through the fruit with practiced ease. The citrus scent filled the air, sharp and fresh, mingling with the lingering smell of alcohol and old wood. It should have been comforting, this routine, this simple task that you had done a thousand times before. And in a way, it was. The rhythm of it, the repetition, kept your hands busy. But your mind? Your mind was far from settled.

You could feel the tension in your chest, a tight knot of anxiety that had been coiling tighter since Friday night. The memory of it played over and over in your head—the dim lights, the low hum of conversation, and him. Remy. The way he had looked at you, the way his voice had curled around your name like something tangible, something heavy with meaning.

“Ya listening, or are you off in your own little world?” James broke the silence, pulling you out of your thoughts with a teasing grin, his voice light but observant.

You blinked, realizing you had slowed your pace with the lemons, the knife hovering over the next slice. You shook your head, offering him a small smile, though it felt more like a reflex than anything genuine. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

James chuckled, shaking his head, but his eyes softened with understanding. “I was saying I’m thinking of taking Nat to that new restaurant on the high street. You know, the one with the ghost tours? Thought it might be fun.”

You watched him as he spoke, his face lighting up at the thought of Nat. There was something so...simple about it. Something so easy and real. The way he talked about her, the way he planned little surprises like this—it made your heart ache in a way you didn’t like to think about too often.

“It’s sweet watching you two, I mean it makes me want to vomit of course but the sentiment is still there,” you said, your voice softer now, the knife moving again as you focused on the lemons. “So, is she meeting you here after your shift?”

James nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I told her it’s a surprise, but hell, I’ve got nothing planned yet.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head affectionately. “A picnic. Simple, easy. You can pick up everything on your lunch break. Maybe get Vis to help you out if you’re desperate.”

James snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and risk Abigail finding out? No thanks. I’m not risking my life for a picnic.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand, watching him as he finished drying the glass. The bar was still quiet, the lunch rush only a looming threat for now, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. “I want to be taken out,” you muttered, almost to yourself, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

James looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Who by? Your last date was a fucking trainwreck.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off with a half-hearted smile. “By a bullet or a date, either one would work at this point.”

James laughed, the sound loud in the quiet of the bar, but warm, familiar. “It can’t be that bad. I thought you were done with the men of New Orleans?”

You paused, your hands stilling over the lemons, your eyes drifting out toward the empty tables. “Yeah, I am,” you said quietly, the truth of it settling in your chest like a weight. “But hearing you talk about Nat... it’s nice. I want someone to talk about me like that, you know? Without adding ‘She’s also slightly psychotic’ at the end.”

There it was again—that ache. That quiet, painful longing for something more than late nights at the bar and casual conversations that never went deeper than surface level. You wanted what James and Nat had. Something real. Something that wasn’t complicated. Someone who would look at you and see you, not just the bartender slicing lemons in the corner.

James reached out, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You’ll get it. You just need the right guy. Someone who can match your energy, someone who understands you.”

You smiled at him, but the words felt hollow. Because even if that someone existed, they weren’t in your life right now.

Just then, the sound of footsteps interrupted your thoughts, and Kate slid up to the bar, her black bangs falling into her eyes, a smirk already pulling at her lips. “I personally don’t know how you don’t have men throwing themselves at your feet after last night,” she teased, her tone light but knowing. “Smooth.”

You rolled your eyes, straightening up from your position at the bar as you glanced toward Kate, her black bangs falling into her eyes in that casual, effortless way that always seemed to work for her. A grin crossed her face, playful and full of mischief, as she brought up last night’s tray incident.

Trying to deflect, you held up your hand, showing the red, angry mark on your palm where you removed the bandage this morning. “Think I could get put on light duties for this?” you asked with a smirk, though the sting from the cut still pulsed faintly beneath your skin.

Kate raised an eyebrow, but before she could respond, James chimed in, not even looking up from the glass he was polishing. “Oh please, you could lose a leg and Abigail would still ask why you weren’t stocking the shelves.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that bubbles up more from exhaustion than amusement. The three of you grinned at each other, and in unison, you chorused the infamous line Abigail always threw at you whenever you dared rest for more than a moment: “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.”

It was a shared joke, but the weight behind it wasn’t lost on any of you. Abigail ran this place with an iron fist, and no one, not even James with his easy charm, was immune to her scrutiny. The moment of shared humor gave a brief reprieve to the tension you hadn’t realized had been steadily building since you walked in this morning. But it was only a brief reprieve.

Kate’s eyes glinted as she leaned in closer, her brown eyes gleaming with amusement. “Okay, Katniss Everdeen,” you shot back at her, trying to divert the conversation, “aren’t you working VIP today?”

She nodded, her grin widening like a cat who had just caught a mouse. “Yeah, but it’s pretty quiet up there, Clint has it covered for now, until 12:30 when your new best friend and his ‘friend’ are supposed to show up.”

The mention of him—Remy—made your heart skip a beat. You knew exactly who she meant, and the knot of anxiety that had been simmering in your stomach suddenly tightened. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but you could feel the heat rising in your chest, an uncomfortable mix of nerves and something else you weren’t ready to name yet. James, ever the keen observer, didn’t miss a beat. He turned to you, his grin widening as he leaned against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest. “Bet you’re regretting not working VIP today, huh?”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a laugh that felt too light, too forced. “Not in the least,” you said, though your voice wavered just enough to betray you. “I’ll take drunk tourists over mob bosses any day.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart was racing, the way your palms felt just a little too clammy. The truth was, the thought of seeing Remy again was already gnawing at you, the memory of last Friday still fresh in your mind. The way he had moved through the bar with a quiet confidence, the way his eyes had lingered on you just a moment too long, like he was seeing something more than just the bartender serving him. The air had felt heavier when he was near, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.

He was the kind of man you had always told yourself to stay far away from—dangerous, unpredictable, a walking storm wrapped in charm and mystery. And yet... there was something about him. Something magnetic. Something that made it hard to breathe when he was near. The chemistry between you had been undeniable, electric, and now, the thought of facing him again left you both terrified and... intrigued.

Kate, ever perceptive, shot you a knowing glance, her smirk widening. “Sure, you’re not curious,” she teased, her voice lilting with amusement. “But just so you know, the VIP section is wide open if you want to take a peek later. I go on my break at 2, so I’ll come get you to take over.”

You shook your head, trying to shake off the flutter of nerves in your chest. “Yeah, I’m good,” you muttered, turning back to the lemons, though your hands felt heavier now, the knife moving slower. “Let’s just get through the lunch rush without any drama.”

But even as you spoke the words, you knew they were hollow. Kate’s smirk lingered in the corner of your vision, James’s knowing grin hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge. They both knew you better than you wanted to admit. They knew you weren’t as indifferent as you were trying to pretend. Not when it came to him.

You busied yourself with the task at hand, slicing the lemons with mechanical precision, but your mind was already elsewhere. You couldn’t shake the feeling that today was going to be anything but ordinary. Remy was coming back, and no matter how much you tried to push the thought away, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t care, the truth was you did.

Because the truth was, you were already in deeper than you wanted to admit. You could deny it all you wanted, but the anticipation was there, simmering just beneath the surface. The anxiety. The curiosity. The pull. “Look, I’ll have a chat with Abigail when she comes up okay?” Kate smiled as she grabbed a large box of mineral water to take back with her. You shook your head, “Don’t you dare,” You warned. Kate’s grin widened as she turned on her heel and walked back the way she came from. The bar was starting to get busier as the lunch crowd trickled in, the low hum of conversation growing louder by the minute. You and James exchanged a glance, the kind of shared look that only came from working long shifts together, from knowing what the other was thinking without a word being said.

“Do you ever get the feeling that she knows more than she lets on?” you asked, your voice low, but laced with curiosity as your eyes followed Kate’s retreating figure. She had a way of knowing things—of reading people—that always left you feeling just a little exposed, like she could see right through the front you tried to put on.

James nodded, handing you a cloth and the bottle of disinfectant before turning back to the bar. “Oh, absolutely. Never misses a thing, that one,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room as if expecting Kate to pop back up with another knowing smirk.

You were about to respond when the sharp clatter of a glass hitting wood echoed down the bar. You turned just in time to see a patron spill his drink, the amber liquid pooling across the top of the bar and dripping down to the floor. A small, involuntary wince crossed your face as you grabbed the cloth and headed down to clean it up.

As you reached the end of the bar, the man—a middle-aged guy with kind eyes and a slightly embarrassed smile—was already apologizing profusely, his words tumbling over each other in a rush. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—please, let me clean it up for you.”

You offered him a smile, though it felt tight around the edges, the automatic response of someone who had dealt with too many spills, too many apologies. “Oh no, it’s fine, honestly,” you lied, your voice warm with the practiced ease of someone used to dealing with messes—both literal and metaphorical. “These things happen. Not an issue.”

Inside, though, you couldn’t help the irritation that prickled at the edges of your patience. The man was polite enough, but cleaning up after someone else’s carelessness always had a way of wearing you down. You wiped down the bar, your movements quick and efficient, while he continued to apologize, asking if you could pour him another drink once you were done.

For a moment, you hesitated, the urge to deny him service flaring up inside you. After all, he’d just made a mess, hadn’t he? Why should you rush to refill his glass when you were the one stuck cleaning up after him? But then, as always, the part of you that knew better—the part that understood the unspoken rules of service work—forced a brighter smile onto your face. “I’ll get right on that,” you said, your voice chipper, though the words felt hollow.

As you finished cleaning the spill, you couldn’t help but glance up just in time to see Abigail making her way across the bar. There was something about her presence that always made the room shift—like the air itself tightened in her wake. She walked with an air of authority, her shoulders squared, her head held high. Even the regulars sat up a little straighter when she passed by, their conversations quieting as they instinctively tried to look more sober, more responsible.

You and James exchanged another look, one that spoke volumes without saying a word. It was the same every time Abigail walked in. Even when she wasn’t watching, it felt like she was always watching.

But then, just as Abigail disappeared into the back office, the front door swung open, and he walked in.

Remy.

Your heart skipped a beat before you could stop it, an involuntary reaction that sent a jolt of warmth—no, frustration—through your chest. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but there was no ignoring the way your stomach twisted when you saw him. He looked as effortlessly charming as ever, his grin wide and easy, his eyes sweeping across the room like he owned the place. And there, tucked neatly under his arm, was a woman—a brunette with long, perfectly curled hair and a body that seemed to mold perfectly against his side.

The sight of her—of them—sent a flicker of something sharp and unpleasant through you. Jealousy. You hated the way it crept up, unbidden and unwanted, curling around your chest like a tight fist. You had no right to feel like this. You barely knew him. Sure, there had been some... moments between you—moments that had left you feeling dizzy and breathless and more than a little confused—but that didn’t mean anything, right?

Right.

You tried to remind yourself of who he was. Of what he was. Remy was trouble. Unpredictable. Dangerous. The kind of man who could sweep you off your feet one minute and disappear the next, leaving you to wonder if any of it had been real. You’d seen it before—men like him, with their smooth words and easy smiles, always keeping you at arm’s length, always leaving you wanting more but never offering anything solid to hold onto.

And yet, you couldn’t stop the way your eyes lingered on him as he led the woman toward the VIP section. His arm was still wrapped around her waist, and she was laughing at something he said, her head tilted back, her smile wide and carefree. The sight of them together stirred something bitter in the back of your throat, but you swallowed it down, forcing yourself to look away.

You had no reason to feel like this. No right. What had happened between you and Remy—if you could even call it that—was nothing more than a fleeting moment, a spark that had flickered briefly before being snuffed out by the reality of who he was.

James, always perceptive, caught the shift in your expression. He glanced from you to Remy, his brow furrowing slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just handed you another clean cloth, his voice quiet but steady. “You good?”

You nodded quickly, too quickly, and plastered on a smile that felt a little too tight. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just need to finish up here.”

But as you wiped down the last of the spill and turned back to the bar, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of Remy’s presence, even from across the room. It was like he had cast a shadow over the space, one that you couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard you tried.

Because the truth was, no matter how much you wanted to pretend otherwise, seeing him with someone else had stirred something inside you—something you weren’t sure you were ready to face yet.

The lunch rush had swept in like a tide, and you found yourself pulled from one patron to the next, each conversation blurring into the next. The stories and small talk were always the same—mundane snippets of life, told with slight variations by different faces. A businessman complaining about his boss. A tourist asking for recommendations. A regular droning on about their week. You nodded, smiled, and laughed in all the right places, the mask of polite interest never slipping from your face. It was part of the job, after all—being invisible, being present, being everything they needed you to be for the few minutes they stood at the bar.

But as the minutes dragged on, you could feel the dull ache in your hand becoming sharper, the wound from earlier throbbing with each movement. Every time you gripped a bottle or wiped down the counter, the skin stretched and pulled, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from wincing. You glanced down at your palm, the red mark still angry and swollen despite the bandage. But there wasn’t time to stop, not with the bar bustling and James already swamped at the other end.

Finally, when you couldn’t ignore the tightness in your hand any longer, you allowed yourself a brief moment of reprieve. You leant back for a moment, blowing on the cut in your hand, trying to quell the pain. As you heard your name being called from the other end of the bar, you turned to the sound and there stood a familiar figure, his blond hair catching the light, his wide grin instantly putting you at ease. Steve. The sight of him made your shoulders relax, and the tension that had been coiling inside you loosened slightly.

“Well, good afternoon, Steven,” you teased lightly, a grin to match his spreading across your face.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the bar as the tight black uniform he wore stretched across his broad chest and arms. “What, no nicknames today?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing.

You cleared your throat dramatically, playing along. “Sorry, Captain America,” you replied with a laugh, watching as the amusement sparkled in his bright blue eyes. There was something undeniably comforting about Steve—something stable, easy, uncomplicated. A sense of friendship rooted in years of shared banter and harmless flirting, where neither of you expected more than the lighthearted companionship. There was always a natural ease between you and Steve—a rhythm you’d both fallen into over time, like an unspoken dance. Conversations flowed effortlessly, punctuated by teasing quips and the occasional shared glance that said more than words ever could. He wasn’t just another face behind the bar. Steve was steady, like a lighthouse in the storm, always there to keep things grounded when the crowd got rowdy, or when the night wore on and you found yourself needing a moment of respite.

It hadn’t always been this way, though. Not long ago, when Steve first stepped foot in the bar, there was something more intense about him. He used to have that sharp, commanding presence—like someone who could size up a room in seconds and have everything under control with just a flicker of his gaze. He hadn’t needed to raise his voice to keep things in check; his mere presence had a way of calming the chaos, the same way it likely had when he was still in uniform.

Steve had been forced to leave the Army after an incident—a shadowy chapter in his life that no one knew the full details of. He never talked about it, but the scars were there in his posture, in the way his shoulders tightened when someone asked about his past. Whatever happened had changed the course of his life, leaving a mark that still lingered, though he carried it with quiet grace.

Now, instead of leading soldiers or making split-second decisions in the heat of battle, Steve worked security at the bar. It was a far cry from the days when he’d been responsible for a team, the weight of command heavy on his shoulders, but he still approached it with the same focus, the same precision. You could see it in the way he moved—every step deliberate, every glance calculated. He was always scanning the room, making sure everyone was safe, that there was no trouble brewing. Even when he seemed relaxed, arms crossed or leaning against the bar with that familiar grin, you knew his mind was always working.

The Army had shaped him, molded him into someone who thrived under pressure, who could make order out of chaos, and though he wasn’t in command anymore, some habits died hard. Sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, you’d catch a glimpse of the weight he carried. A distant look in his eye, a slight wince when someone mentioned anything military-related, or the way he’d instinctively roll his shoulder, like the strain of responsibility still tugged at him.

You respected the boundary he kept about his past, never pushing for details. There was no need. Whatever he had gone through was his to carry, and it didn’t define who he was in this place. Steve was more than that. He was the guy who made your worst shifts bearable with his easygoing smile and quick wit, the one who had your back when things got tough. There was comfort in knowing that, no matter what, Steve was there, watching over you and the rest of the bar.

And in return, you offered him that same unspoken understanding. You both knew your friendship—the playful flirting, the camaraderie—it wasn’t going anywhere beyond the bar. There was no secret longing, no hidden agenda. Just a shared connection, a mutual respect, and the knowledge that, in some small way, you were both each other's refuge from the more complicated parts of your lives.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s better.” He shifted his weight slightly, his smile softening as he looked around the bar. “Has it been okay today?”

You nodded, feeling some of the stress of the rush starting to slip away now that you had a familiar face in front of you. “Oh yeah. We’ve got Lebeau upstairs in VIP, so I feel like everyone’s on their best behavior today,” you said with a small grin, though the mention of Remy’s name made your stomach tighten again.

Steve nodded knowingly, his expression thoughtful for a moment before he winced slightly, rolling his shoulder. “Well, let’s hope it stays that way. I’m not sure I’m up for dealing with any trouble today. Pulled a muscle in my shoulder last night, and it’s killing me.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his dramatic tone, reaching across the bar to give his arm a playful rub. “Aww, poor baby,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. But your touch lingered for just a second longer than necessary, a brief moment of warmth passing between you before you pulled your hand back.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head at your teasing, but before the conversation could go any further, you noticed James getting swamped again on the other side of the bar, his movements quick and a little frantic as more patrons crowded around.

You turned back to Steve, offering him an apologetic smile. “Looks like I’m needed. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

He gave you a quick nod, his smile still easy and relaxed, before he straightened up and waved you off. “Go save the day, bartender extraordinaire.”

You made your way to the customers, a smile gracing your face as you continued to take orders; but you felt the lingering gaze on you, the way your hairs stand up on the back of your neck the way it does when something feels off in the air.

You looked up and saw him—Remy, seated in the VIP section, surrounded by luxury and comfort. His posture was relaxed, but his expression wasn’t. His brow was furrowed, his gaze sharp, but it wasn’t anger or possessiveness that darkened his features. No, it was something subtler. Something more elusive.

He wasn’t even pretending to pay attention to the woman beside him now. His focus was on you, and there was something in the way he looked at you that made you pause. It wasn’t jealousy, but curiosity—intense, unrelenting curiosity. As if he was trying to figure something out, to understand a puzzle that had just shifted in front of him.

His gaze flickered briefly toward Steve, who was now standing near another staff member, laughing at something they’d said. But Remy’s attention didn’t linger on him. It returned to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he was studying your every move. It didn’t feel invasive, but it was certainly... thorough. Like he was trying to understand why you had his attention at all—why he couldn’t look away.

There was a pull between you, but it wasn’t the kind that demanded anything, not in that moment. It was a slow burn, the kind that made you feel seen in a way that was both unsettling and intriguing. His eyes weren’t staking a claim, nor was there any silent demand. Instead, there was an openness—a question hanging in the air between you.

His expression softened slightly, as if he had come to some quiet realization, though you couldn’t guess what it was. And then, just as quickly, his eyes flicked away, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned back toward his conversation, leaving you with more questions than answers.

Your breath caught, not because of any looming tension, but because you could feel the weight of that curiosity—his, and now, your own. But it didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. You had no reason to feel this way—to feel anything at all for him. And yet, there it was, that undeniable pull, that inexplicable gravity that seemed to anchor you to him, even when you weren’t looking.

You quickly averted your gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as you forced yourself to focus on the drinks in front of you. But the weight of his stare lingered, and as you moved through the motions of the lunch rush, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something that you weren’t ready to face.

Because the truth was, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, Remy Lebeau had gotten under your skin. <><><><><><><><> Remy leaned back in the plush VIP chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, the other holding his phone as he turned it toward Olivia. She grabbed it out of his hand, quickly typing something in before handing it back. He grabbed his phone back and looked at it, the familiar excel spreadsheet now showing a long row of numbers.

His eyes slid away from Olivia and toward the bar area, where afternoon’s rhythm was in full swing. You moved with practiced speed, pouring drinks, laughing with patrons, and keeping the alcohol flowing. It was a well-oiled machine, a dance of chaos and control. But Remy wasn’t interested in what you were doing right now. He wasn’t interested in Olivia or the shallow conversations that filled the air. His gaze moved and settled on the dark-haired bartender who’d caught his eye earlier.

Kate, he believed her name was.

She moved with purpose, her hands always busy, but there was something in the way she carried herself that Remy found intriguing. A slight edge to her movements, a tension in her shoulders when she passed him. Her eyes never lingered too long on any one person, but tonight, Remy had caught her looking. And now, he was waiting.

He watched her with the same casual intensity he applied to most things—his posture relaxed, but his mind alert, always taking in the details. After a moment, her gaze flicked upward, meeting his. There it was. The pause, the hesitation.

Remy’s lips curled into a faint smile as he raised two fingers, gesturing for her to come over. It was a subtle motion, but one that carried weight, a quiet command that didn’t need words to be understood.

Kate’s reaction was immediate—her eyes widened just a fraction, and Remy could see the slight falter in her step, the momentary uncertainty. But she recovered quickly, smoothing her apron as if she needed something to do with her hands. After a second's pause, she made her way over, weaving through the crowd with a practiced grace, though her nerves were evident in the way she glanced around, avoiding eye contact with anyone but him.

When she reached him, she took a deep breath in, holding that tablet and standing a little straighter than before. “Can I help you with something?” she asked, her voice steady, though there was a trace of something beneath it. Anxiety, maybe. Or curiosity.

Remy’s smile widened slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He tipped his head back, studying her for a moment before speaking, his Cajun drawl slipping into his words like molasses. “Don’t be nervous, chère. Jus’ got a quick question for y’.” He nodded toward the lower bar area, where the tall, broad-shouldered blonde had just walked into the gaming room. “That blond man—th’ one who just left the bar. Who is he?”

Kate shifted, her eyes darting toward the gaming room. She saw the blonde hair, the uniform, and then she spotted you, laughing with James as you served a customer. Her stomach dropped. She swallowed deeply, trying to keep her tone neutral. “That’s Steve. He’s, uh… head of security here.”

She said it simply, like that would be enough. Short and sweet, she told herself. Don’t make things weirder than they already are.

But Remy wasn’t satisfied. He leaned back in his chair, his posture deceptively casual, though the atmosphere between them shifted. His fingers tapped thoughtfully against his lower lip, his red-on-black eyes never leaving Kate. The smile that had once played on his lips was gone now, replaced by something far more serious. His voice dropped, losing its earlier lightness, becoming something quieter but harder to ignore.

“Non, chère,” he said, his tone low and measured. “That ain’t what I asked.” His gaze sharpened, fixing on Kate with an intensity that made her shrink slightly under its weight. “Who’s Steve?”

Kate froze, her pulse racing in her ears. She knew exactly what Remy was asking now. He wasn’t interested in some random security guy. He was asking about Steve’s connection to you. And from the way Remy’s eyes bore into her, it was clear he already had his suspicions. This wasn’t a passing curiosity—Remy felt something, even if he hadn’t put a name to it yet.

The silence stretched between them, thick with tension, and Kate could feel her palms beginning to sweat. She swallowed hard, trying to think of the right thing to say, but her brain was moving too fast, her thoughts tangling together. She knew she had to be careful here. But panic, like it always does, betrayed her.

“They’re just friends,” she blurted out, her voice too quick, too loud. The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Remy’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, a subtle but clear indication that he wasn’t buying it. Kate’s stomach dropped, and she rushed to explain, her words coming out in a panicked tumble.

“Honestly! They’ve got this… weird thing. It’s always been like that since the day he started. They joke around a lot, but it’s nothing serious. I swear.”

She could feel the heat creeping up her neck, her heart hammering against her ribcage. She had definitely said too much now, and she knew it. Her mind raced, replaying what she’d just said, and the realization hit her like a punch to the gut. She had just confirmed there was something between you and Steve, even if it wasn’t what Remy had been imagining. She had given him a thread to pull on, and from what she knows about Remy, he wasn’t going to let it go.

Remy stayed silent, watching her with that same unnerving intensity. His fingers stopped tapping against his lip, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied her. There was no anger in his expression, no outward sign that he was upset—but his silence was heavy, filled with a quiet, simmering curiosity that felt more dangerous than any outburst.

Kate shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her apron again. She wanted to say something else, something to take back the words that had already slipped out, but she knew there was no point. The damage was done.

Remy’s eyes flickered toward the gaming room for just a moment, as if considering something, before returning to her. His voice, when he spoke again, was soft, but it held a weight that made her stomach twist.

“A ‘weird thing,’ huh?” His accent curled around the words, slow and deliberate, like he was tasting them. His lips quirked into a faint smile, but there was no humor in it. “They joke around a lot, you say?”

Kate nodded quickly, desperate to stick to her story now. “Yeah, yeah. It’s like… I don’t know, they’ve got this banter. It’s always been like that. He flirts with her, she flirts with him back. It’s just how they are. But it’s nothing serious, really. They’re just friends.” Her lips fell into a straight line once that came out. She knew what she just said. She just hoped you made it quick when you did kill her.

Remy leaned back again, his gaze drifting from Kate to where you were standing behind the bar, laughing with another bartender. His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in thought. He wasn’t jealous—that much was clear. But there was something about the way you moved around Steve, the way you smiled when he was near, that piqued Remy’s interest.

He tilted his head, his fingers resuming their idle tapping against the armrest of his chair. “Hmm,” he murmured, “So they just got a lil’ banter, is that it?”

Kate nodded again, her throat dry. She could feel the weight of her mistake pressing down on her, but there was no way out now. She had already put her foot in it, and all she could do was hope that Remy would let it go. But one look at his face told her he wouldn’t. Not yet.

“Right,” Remy said softly, his eyes still on you. “That’s all it is, huh?”

Kate could barely breathe. The way he said it—it was like he was testing her, seeing how far she’d go to stick to her story. She nodded one last time, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. That’s all.”

Remy’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he finally turned back to her, his smile returning, though it was small and unreadable. “D’accord, chère. I believe ya.” But the way he said it—it wasn’t a confirmation. It was more like an acknowledgment that the conversation was over, at least for now.

“Merci,” he added, his tone softening as he gave her a dismissive wave. “Go on, get back t’ work. Don’t let me keep ya.”

Kate didn’t need to be told twice. She nodded quickly, mumbling a quick “Thanks” before turning and hurrying back toward the bar. Her heart was still pounding, and she could feel the sweat clinging to the back of her neck as she moved. She cursed herself under her breath, knowing that she’d said too much.

As she put distance between herself and Remy, she couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder. He was still watching you, his expression thoughtful, almost calculating.

Remy wasn’t angry. But he was curious now. And that, Kate realized, might be even worse.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, his eyes never leaving you. There was no jealousy in his gaze, no possessiveness. Just a quiet, simmering interest. You weren’t an open book to him—you were a puzzle, and Remy loved puzzles.

He smiled to himself, a slow, deliberate smile, as he watched you from across the room. <><><><><><>

It wasn’t the rush that made you hate the lunch shift. The crowd wasn’t the biggest you’d face during the day—not by a long shot. Dinner and night shifts were much worse, especially on weekends when the small, dimly lit club in the basement opened up, drawing in waves of people eager to drink and dance until the early hours of the morning. That kind of chaos, you could manage. You *liked* managing it, in fact. The steady surge of orders, the challenge of keeping up with the pace, the way the energy of a packed bar felt like a living thing, charged and exhilarating.

But lunch? Lunch was different.

It wasn’t just the noise. It wasn’t just the sheer volume of people that filled the space. It was the kind of patrons lunch brought in. The ones who weren’t just loud—they were rowdy, boisterous, and far too handsy for comfort. There was something about the middle of the day that made people drink more aggressively, like they were trying to drown out the daylight itself, as if the brightness outside was something they needed to escape from. You always noticed it—the way they knocked back their drinks faster, ordered another before the first was even half-finished. By the time the second round hit them, the noise level had already soared, and conversations turned into shouting matches over the bar.

And then came the touches.

It was subtle at first, almost innocuous. A hand brushing too close when you leaned over to hand them their change. A casual touch on your arm as someone slurred a compliment at you. But as the hours dragged on and the drinks piled up, those touches became more frequent, more insistent, making your skin crawl. The way some of them leaned over the bar, their eyes glazed and too familiar, made you want to retreat. There was a different energy in the air during lunch shifts—one that rubbed against your nerves and left you feeling raw by the end of it.

So naturally, you hated the lunch shift.

Today was no different. As you caught your breath behind the bar, taking advantage of a brief lull, you wiped your hands on your apron, exhaling slowly. The air was thick with the smell of spilled beer and liquor, the sticky residue of too many drinks mixed with the faint scent of sweat from the crowd. The cacophony of voices had died down for the moment, but you knew it wouldn’t last. It never did.

From your left, you felt someone approaching before you even saw them. A presence that cut through the noise of the bar like a blade. Sharp. Commanding. Unmistakable.

Abigail.

Her arrival was always like clockwork—each step precise, deliberate, the steady click of her heels on the wooden floor like a metronome. Even in the middle of the chaos, she moved with an air of control, like the bar itself bent to her will. In her hand, she carried her ever-present clipboard, its edges worn from constant use, filled with lists and notes you could only imagine were as meticulous as she was.

Without so much as a glance in your direction, Abigail stopped beside you, her eyes already scanning the paperwork in front of her. She was always focused, always thinking several steps ahead, mentally checking off tasks before you even realized they were on the list. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun, not a strand out of place, her tailored suit as crisp as ever, even in the stifling heat of the bar. The only thing that seemed to move freely about her was the pen she twirled absentmindedly between her fingers, a constant reminder that she was already planning her next move.

She didn’t even look up from her clipboard as she spoke. “We need to restock the top shelf whiskey,” she said, her voice smooth but firm, cutting through the din of the bar. “And the IPA keg is about to run dry. Can’t afford to let that happen again.”

You nodded, wiping a bead of sweat from your brow. “I’ll take care of it.”

Abigail hummed in acknowledgment, still not looking at you. To her, it wasn’t a conversation. It was just another task on a long list of things that needed to be done. You weren’t sure if she ever truly saw you—or anyone, for that matter. She was the kind of person who existed in her own world, where efficiency and control were paramount. The noise, the chaos, the human element of it all seemed to roll off her like water, never sticking.

But you couldn’t let it roll off you. Not today.

You glanced around the bar, your eyes flicking over the patrons still lingering, their voices rising again as the brief lull came to an end. The rowdy energy was starting to build back up, like a wave gathering strength before it crashed. A group near the end of the bar had started laughing too loudly, their hands gesturing wildly as they sloshed their drinks around, already half-drunk despite the early hour. One of them—a man in a rumpled button-up shirt, tie askew—leaned over the counter, his eyes tracking you as you moved.

Abigail, of course, didn’t notice. Or if she did, she didn’t care.

“Make sure the inventory numbers are updated before the evening shift,” she continued, her pen flicking across the clipboard as she made another note. “We’re running behind, and I want it sorted before the weekend rush.”

You nodded again, but your attention was elsewhere. The man at the end of the bar had stood up now, his drink abandoned as he made his way toward you, his steps slow and unsteady. Your stomach twisted, the familiar knot of unease tightening as he approached.

Abigail’s voice droned on, calm and steady, completely oblivious to the growing tension in the air. “Also, I need you to—”

“Sorry,” you interrupted, your voice tense as you stepped away from her and toward the man before he could get too close. “I need to handle something.”

Abigail blinked, finally glancing up from her clipboard. Her gaze followed yours to the man now leaning against the bar, his eyes glassy, a lazy grin spreading across his face. She didn’t say anything, but the faint arch of her brow told you she had noticed him now. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t stop you. She didn’t need to. This was your job, after all.

You took a deep breath and moved to the man before he could get any closer, plastering on your best customer service smile. “Can I help you?”

He smirked, his eyes drifting down to your apron, then back up to your face. “You can help me with a refill, sweetheart,” he slurred, leaning in closer than necessary. His breath reeked of alcohol, and you had to resist the urge to pull back. “And maybe with a little… company?”

Your smile tightened. This was what you hated about the lunch shift—the way it brought out the worst in people. The way it made you feel like you were always one step away from something you didn’t want to deal with.

“I’ll get you that refill,” you said, your voice strained but polite, “but for the rest, you’re on your own.”

The man laughed, a loud, obnoxious sound that grated against your nerves. But before he could say anything else, you felt Abigail’s presence beside you again—this time, unmistakable. She stepped forward, clipboard still in hand, but now her eyes were on the man, cold and calculating.

“Is there a problem here?” she asked, her tone devoid of warmth, but not unkind. It was the kind of voice that commanded attention without needing to raise it.

The man blinked, his grin faltering as he looked between you and Abigail. Something about her presence—her sheer, unflinching authority—seemed to sober him up, if only for a moment. He straightened, muttering something under his breath before slinking back to his seat.

Abigail didn’t watch him go. She didn’t need to. Her attention was already back on you, her expression calm and composed, as if the little scene that had just played out was nothing more than a minor disruption in her meticulously organized world. “Get the refill,” she said quietly, her tone business-like. “Then take five.”

You nodded, grateful for the brief reprieve. The tension in your shoulders eased just a fraction, though the knot in your stomach remained tight. You turned to grab the man’s drink, but as you did, you couldn’t help but glance at Abigail from the corner of your eye. She was already back to her clipboard, her pen moving swiftly across the page, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. To her, it probably hadn’t. She was used to handling these situations with quiet authority, never letting anything faze her.

But for you, it was just another reminder of why the lunch shift always left you feeling on edge.

As you reached for the bottle, Abigail’s voice cut through the air again, sharp and clear—though not unkind. “Wanda—” she began, referencing the red-haired waitress who had helped you clean up after your little… incident the other night. You winced at the memory. “—she’s coming in to take over for you.”

You froze, brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait, what? Why?” You glanced instinctively toward James, who was working a few seats down the bar, pouring drinks for a couple who barely acknowledged his presence. He caught your look, shrugged casually, and went back to his task, clearly just as clueless as you were.

Abigail, however, didn’t miss a beat. She flipped a page on her clipboard, her pen clicking as she made another note. “You’re going to take over for Kate so she can go on her break,” she said, flat and matter-of-fact, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked, trying to process. “Take over for Kate?” The question felt ridiculous on your tongue, and yet there it was. “Why me?”

Abigail’s eyes snapped up from her clipboard, fixing you with a look that said she wasn’t asking a question—she was giving an order. And it was clear that there would be no arguing. Her expression remained neutral, but her gaze was sharp, piercing through any resistance you might have thought about mustering.

“Is that a problem?” she asked, her voice cool, her tone making it very clear that this wasn’t a conversation. It was a directive.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words that slipped out were not the ones you’d planned. “Did Kate put you up to this?” The second the question left your lips, you regretted it. You knew you’d crossed a line. Abigail’s face didn’t change, but her eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—narrowed ever so slightly, like a predator honing in on weakness.

For a long, excruciating moment, she didn’t say anything. The air between you seemed to grow thicker, heavier, the noise of the bar fading into the background as her gaze locked onto yours. There was no anger, no raised voice—just that terrifying calm Abigail always carried, the kind that made you feel like you were a step away from falling off a cliff.

Finally, she spoke, her voice dry and pointed. “Now why would she do that?” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, but there was an undercurrent there. An unspoken understanding that hung between you like a weight. She didn’t need to spell it out. You knew. She knew. Kate knew exactly what she was doing by sending you upstairs, and Abigail wasn’t oblivious to it, either.

And the reason?

He was sitting up there right now, lounging in the VIP section, sipping on a bottle of wine that probably cost more than your rent, his arm casually draped around a woman who wasn’t you.

The question wasn’t rhetorical, nor was it open for debate. Abigail’s pen scratched against the clipboard again, her eyes never leaving yours. “Just make sure you’re not tipping any trays of glasses on people today,” she added, her voice as cutting as ever. “I’ve had to file enough paperwork for you to last the rest of the month.”

You couldn’t help the small, sheepish smile that tugged at your lips, though the weight in your chest didn’t lift. “Oh, we’re still mentioning that?” you asked, your attempt at humor falling flat even to your own ears. You knew it was a losing battle, but you couldn’t help trying to lighten the mood. The incident from last night—the one where you had quite literally tipped an entire tray of glasses onto a patron—was still fresh in everyone’s mind. Clearly, Abigail wasn’t about to let it go anytime soon.

Abigail raised an eyebrow, her expression sharpening, though a faint glimmer of amusement flickered in her eyes. To your surprise, she actually smiled—a rare, thin-lipped smile that barely softened the edges of her usual severity. “Oh, this will be talked about and the footage shown to anyone who asks until the day you decide to leave here.”

You groaned softly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks again. The humiliation of last night still stung, and the idea of it becoming some kind of permanent inside joke made your stomach churn. Apparently, there would be no living it down anytime soon.

Abigail gave you one last look before nodding toward the stairs that led up to the VIP section. “Off you trot,” she said briskly. “And make sure you’ve got your radio on you. Just in case.” She paused, her gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. “You know how lunch gets around here. If anything happens, call Steve.”

The weight of her words settled heavily on your shoulders. Just in case.

You knew what she meant. You didn’t need her to say it outright. It wasn’t the lunch crowd she was worried about. It was him. Remy. The implications of being up in the VIP section with him, even for just a short time, hung in the air between you. There was always an edge of danger when it came to him, a sense that anything could happen—and that you weren’t entirely sure you could handle it when it did.

Abigail flicked her pen one last time before turning and marching off, her heels clicking against the floor in a precise rhythm, leaving you standing there with a deep sigh. Your gaze followed her retreating form until she disappeared into the back, and then it drifted upward, toward the staircase that loomed like a shadow over the rest of the bar.

Of course. Of course you were being sent up there. Kate had likely orchestrated the entire thing, knowing exactly what she was doing. She had probably seen the way you’d tensed when Remy walked in earlier, the way your eyes had flickered with something—jealousy? Curiosity? Longing?—when you saw him with that woman.

And now here you were. No escape, no excuses.

Your heart thudded heavily in your chest as you started toward the stairs, weaving your way through the crowd of oblivious patrons. The further you walked, the heavier the air seemed to become, like the atmosphere itself was thickening around you, pressing down on your lungs. By the time you reached the foot of the stairs, your pulse was racing, your chest tight with anticipation and anxiety.

You didn’t want to see him.

But the truth was, you did. You wanted to see him more than you cared to admit, even to yourself.

As your hand gripped the rail and you took the first step up, you tried to push the swirling thoughts from your mind. You reminded yourself, as you had a thousand times before, of who he was. Of what he was. Remy LeBeau was trouble—pure, unfiltered trouble. The kind of man who could ruin you without even trying. You’d seen it happen to others, had watched him charm his way into someone’s life and leave chaos in his wake. You knew better.

And yet, despite all the warnings, despite everything your brain screamed at you, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. The magnetism. The way he seemed to draw you in, like a moth to a flame, even when you knew you’d get burned.

The woman upstairs with him? She didn’t matter. Not really. Not when you knew that Remy didn’t let anyone get too close. Not when you knew that whatever connection you felt with him—whatever it was—it was fleeting. Temporary. A momentary spark that would never be allowed to catch fire.

But even as you told yourself this, you could feel the flutter of nerves in your stomach, the anticipation curling inside you as you climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last.

Because the truth was, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, a part of you wanted to see him again. And that terrified you more than anything else.

Because no matter how hard you tried to deny it, no matter how much you told yourself that Remy LeBeau was bad news, there was no escaping this truth: part of you didn’t care if being near him burned you.

You just wanted to feel the heat.

<><><><><> The VIP room, perched on an indoor balcony that overlooked the bustling main bar below, felt like a world apart—an oasis of luxury and exclusivity suspended above the chaos. Every detail of the space was carefully curated to exude opulence, from the grand chandelier that dominated the ceiling to the rich, dark leather couches that invited the wealthiest patrons to sink into their embrace. The chandelier’s crystals caught the warm, amber light, scattering it in delicate patterns that danced across the room, casting everything in a soft, intimate glow.

The polished mahogany tables, sleek and gleaming under the low light, were arranged in such a way as to provide small pockets of privacy—secluded alcoves where secrets could be whispered and deals could be made. At the far end of the room, a sleek bar stood as a monument to indulgence, stocked with the kind of premium liquors most people could only dream of tasting. Behind the bar, Kate worked quickly, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she prepared drinks for the waiting woman who sat nearby, her expression one of disinterested impatience.

The air was thick with the clinking of glasses, the low murmur of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter that felt just a bit too loud, too exaggerated. It was the kind of laughter that came from people who were playing a role—performing wealth, status, and power for the benefit of those around them. These were people who lived in a world of appearances, where every gesture, every word, was calculated to maintain an image. Even the murmurs of conversation carried a certain weight, as if each word exchanged was part of some intricate, high-stakes negotiation.

But despite the hum of activity, your attention was inexorably drawn to one particular table—the one that always seemed to catch your eye, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

As you ascended the stairs to the VIP section, your pulse quickened, that familiar combination of anticipation and trepidation settling deep in your chest. You hated how easily your body reacted to him, how the mere thought of his presence could send a ripple through your nerves. It frustrated you, the way he seemed to have this magnetic pull that you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that he was someone you should avoid. Someone dangerous. Someone who was nothing but trouble.

And yet, like gravity, he pulled you in, a force you couldn’t quite escape.

The moment you stepped into the VIP room, you felt it—the shift. Remy straightened ever so slightly in his seat. It wasn’t a dramatic movement, nothing overt that would draw attention, but it was enough. Enough to tell you that he’d seen you the second you walked in. That small, subtle shift sent a jolt through you, a silent acknowledgment of your presence, a reminder that Remy LeBeau was always aware of you. Always watching.

He sat with his usual air of relaxed confidence, his posture loose and lazy, one arm draped over the back of the leather couch. But there was something simmering beneath the surface, a tension in the way he held himself, as if he were a coiled spring waiting to snap. The stubble that shadowed his jawline added a dark edge to his already sharp features, giving him an air of menace that was impossible to ignore. His lips were curled into a subtle, knowing smirk, but it was his eyes—those dark, intense eyes—that truly set your nerves on edge.

They followed your every movement, slow and deliberate, like a predator watching its prey. There was something in his gaze that made your heart pound harder in your chest, though you couldn’t quite decide if it was from fear, excitement, or something far more dangerous.

Seated next to him was a woman who, under any other circumstances, would have commanded the room effortlessly. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like silk, and she was stunning in that way only wealth and confidence could craft. Her high cheekbones, full lips painted a deep, sultry red, and flawless skin seemed to glow under the soft lighting. She wore an emerald-green dress that clung to her body like it had been made specifically for her, its plunging neckline designed to draw attention. Every inch of her screamed elegance and poise, and yet, despite her beauty, there was a palpable disinterest in her demeanor.

She lifted a delicate forkful of food to her lips, her movements slow and deliberate, but her eyes never once flicked toward Remy. In fact, she barely seemed aware of his presence at all. Her other hand idly toyed with the strap of her clutch, her manicured fingers tapping against it in a rhythmic pattern. It was as if she were above it all—above him, above the room, above the entire situation. She was playing her part in this little performance, but her heart wasn’t in it.

The contrast between them was stark.

Her indifference was practiced, almost rehearsed, like she knew exactly how this game worked, and she didn’t need to try anymore. She was here for appearances, for the look of it, not for any real connection. But Remy? He wasn’t interested in her, either. Not really. His body language made that clear. He leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made the rest of the room seem to blur into the background. It was as if the woman beside him didn’t exist, as if she were nothing more than a beautiful prop in a scene that didn’t require her presence.

His attention, whether you wanted it or not, was entirely on you.

You hated the way your pulse raced in response, the way your skin prickled under the weight of his gaze. It made you feel exposed, vulnerable, even though you were fully clothed and standing in a room full of people. Remy had that effect on you—he made you feel like you were the only person in the room, like he could see right through you, past the carefully constructed walls you’d built around yourself.

And that terrified you.

Your feet carried you toward the bar, your movements automatic, but your mind was spinning. You told yourself to focus on the task at hand, to keep your head down and do your job. But as you passed by his table, you couldn’t help but feel the pull—the gravitational force that seemed to bind you to him, no matter how hard you fought against it.

Remy’s lips curled into a smile as you neared, a lazy, knowing smile that reached his eyes, making them gleam with something dark and dangerous.  He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to.

The woman beside him didn’t even glance up. She was too busy pretending not to care.

But Remy? He cared. He cared in a way that made your stomach twist with equal parts dread and desire.

Kate was practically vibrating with anticipation, her grin sharp and knowing as she leaned over the bar, brimming with whatever delicious gossip she was about to drop on you. You could feel her eyes on you, her excitement barely contained, like she’d been waiting all night for this moment.

She took a quick glance around the room—more for show than out of any real need for secrecy—and her voice dropped to a hushed tone, as if she were about to share state secrets. “Okay, so,” she began, her tone laced with that familiar edge of exasperation. Her eyes flickered toward Table 7. “Our friend over there is about to be cut off. The guy’s been downing whiskey like it’s water, and he’s well past the point of making a fool of himself.”

You followed her gaze to Table 7, where the man in question was gesturing wildly with his drink, his voice carrying a little too loudly over the low hum of conversation. He was already starting to slur his words, and you could tell it wouldn't be long before he became a problem.

Kate rolled her eyes, her lips pulling into a thin line of annoyance. “I’ve already had to remind him twice that this isn’t a frat party. If he gets any louder, I might just throw him out myself.”

You nodded, mentally filing away the warning. You’d clocked the guy the moment he ordered his third double in less than an hour. He was a disaster waiting to happen, and you didn’t envy the poor soul who’d have to deal with him once he hit his breaking point.

But Kate wasn’t finished.

She jerked her head subtly toward another table, her tone shifting, a little more serious now. “Table 9—that one’s a little weird. The guy’s been feeding his date margaritas like it’s some kind of competition. I don’t like the vibe. Something’s off.”

Your eyes darted to Table 9. The man was leaning in close to his date, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh, but her expression was distant, her eyes slightly glazed over. The laughter didn’t reach her eyes, and the unsettling feeling that had been gnawing at you all night suddenly sharpened. The gut feeling Kate mentioned washed over you, too—a heavy, sinking sensation that made your stomach twist.

“Keep an eye on her, will you?” Kate added, her voice low but firm. “I’ve got a bad gut feeling about it.”

You nodded again, this time more seriously, making a mental note to swing by their table more frequently. Something about the way the man’s hand rested on his date’s arm, possessive and a little too tight, made your skin crawl. You didn’t want to wait until something went wrong.

But Kate wasn’t done, and you could tell by the glint in her eyes that she was saving the best for last.

She shifted her weight, pointing a casual thumb over her shoulder toward Table 2. Her expression softened just a little, the edge of her usual sarcasm giving way to something almost tender. “Oh, and Table 2 is celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary. Vis wanted to send them a special dessert, something on the house. Make sure it gets out to them, okay?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. You’d noticed the couple earlier in the night, their fingers intertwined across the table, still holding hands like they were teenagers in love. Table 2 had been nothing but sweet and polite all evening, and you were happy to make their night a little more special. A soft moment of kindness in the middle of all the chaos.

But just as you were about to respond, Kate’s grin widened into something positively wicked. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she leaned in even closer, her voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper. You could tell by the way she was savoring the moment that this was the part she’d been waiting for.

“And of course...” She paused dramatically, drawing out the suspense, her smile growing even more smug. “Your favorite person in the world is being the least interesting man in the room tonight.”

Your heart sank, the familiar tightness settling in your chest. You didn’t need to ask who she meant. The sinking feeling told you everything. But instead of letting on, you raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference as you waited for her to spill the rest.

Kate’s eyes gleamed as she said his name, her tone dripping with mock reverence. “Remy LeBeau.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Just hearing his name was enough to send a ripple through you, but you kept your expression neutral. Barely.

Kate, apparently oblivious to your internal turmoil or maybe just enjoying it too much to care, continued with a smirk. “Him and his date? Zero chemistry. Seriously. They’ll talk for maybe thirty seconds, she’ll look at her phone, and he’ll go back to doing his whole brooding, mysterious thing.” She placed a hand over her heart in mock adoration, sighing dramatically. “Which, let me tell you, I’m a little surprised about. I figured he’d at least pretend to care—flash that charming smile, maybe throw a few of his smooth lines her way.”

Kate paused, letting the moment hang between you like a spark waiting to ignite something much bigger. You could see the gleam in her eyes, the way she was savoring this. And then, with a smug little smile, she dropped the bomb.

"But nope. You know what he did ask me about earlier? Steve."

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Steve?” What does Remy care about Steve?

Kate’s grin got impossibly wider, clearly enjoying every second of her revelation. “Yeah. Well, not about Steve exactly.” She leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice as if she were about to share some great secret. “He was asking all casual-like, ‘Who’s that who just walked into the gaming room?’ And me, being the genius that I am, go, ‘Oh, that’s Steve. He’s head of security’” She rolled her eyes dramatically, clearly amused by her own mistake. “And then it hits me—he wasn’t asking about Steve. He was asking about you.”

Your stomach twisted, a knot of anxiety tightening into something sharp. The realization hit like a wave crashing over you, cold and relentless. Remy hadn’t been interested in security, not really. He had been fishing, and Kate—without even realizing it—had handed him exactly what he was looking for.

You felt your heart rate pick up, a strange mix of anger and unease threading through your veins. Of course Remy would find a way to get under your skin without even trying. But what really got to you—what really pissed you off—was Kate's casual slip-up.

“Jesus, Kate,” you muttered, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “You didn’t tell him about Steve and me, did you?”

Her smug expression faltered for a split second, and then she gave a sheepish shrug, biting her lip as if trying to contain a laugh. “Well... I might’ve mentioned the whole ‘flirting thing.’ You know, the way you and Steve are always at each other’s throats but in, like, a cute flirting way.” She waggled her eyebrows, clearly not reading the room—or at least, not your mood. “I figured it was harmless. I mean, come on, it’s an open secret around here. Everyone knows you two have that whole back-and-forth thing that isn’t going anywhere going for you.”

You could feel the heat rise in your chest, not from embarrassment but from frustration. The last thing you needed was for someone like Remy to get the wrong idea about your relationship with Steve. While the banter between you and Steve was mostly harmless—a few playful jabs here and there—it was yours, a private dynamic that kept things light on the long, grueling shifts. It was certainly not something you wanted to be shared with someone like Remy, who would no doubt twist it into something else, something he could use to needle you.

“Kate,” you said, your voice strained. “He’s Remy LeBeau. He doesn’t need more ammunition.”

Kate’s grin faded slightly, her expression softening as she noticed the real tension behind your words. She shifted her weight, her tone turning more serious. “I didn’t mean to put my foot in it,” she said, voice quieter now. “I just thought... well, you know. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

You exhaled sharply, trying to rein in the frustration that was bubbling up inside you. It wasn’t Kate’s fault, not really. She didn’t know the full extent of what you were dealing with when it came to Remy. She didn’t know how he always seemed to be one step ahead, always watching, always figuring out ways to dig deeper under your skin. She saw him as everyone else did—a little dangerous, sure, but charming enough to make it seem harmless. But you knew better. You’d felt the weight of his attention, the way he could turn the simplest conversation into something that left you unsettled and thinking about it long after he’d walked away.

“I know,” you said finally, your voice softer now, the edge of anger replaced with something more resigned. “But he’s not... he’s not like the others. He’s trouble, Kate. Real trouble.”

Kate gave you a long, searching look, her smirk returning just a little, though there was more understanding behind it now. “Sure,” she said, drawing the word out like she wasn’t buying your explanation for a second. “But whatever it is, it’s got him asking about you. And I’m just saying... that doesn’t happen for no reason.”

You swallowed hard, trying to push down the flurry of emotions rising up inside you. “It’s not a thing,” you said, more to yourself than to Kate. “He’s just... he’s just trying to mess with me. That’s all.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Mess with you? That’s what you think is going on here?” She eyed you for a moment longer, then shook her head with a small, knowing smile. “Whatever you say, hon. But if I were you, I’d keep an eye on that one. He’s asking questions—and he’s watching you like a hawk. You can’t tell me that doesn’t mean something.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died in your throat. Because, deep down, you knew Kate wasn’t wrong. Remy’s attention wasn’t random. It wasn’t casual. And that fact alone was enough to unsettle you in ways you couldn’t quite explain. “It isn’t whatever the fuck you think it is,” You mumbled to yourself as you moved around the bar.

Kate raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, her eyes dancing with amusement. “If you say so,” she said with a casual shrug, though her knowing grin never wavered. She  stepped back, handing you the order tablet with a little flourish. “Go on, then. Try not to make it too obvious when you stare him down, okay? People are starting to talk.”

You shook your head, refusing to take the bait, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I don’t stare,” you muttered under your breath, but Kate was already turning away, making her way towards the stairs, clearly enjoying your discomfort. You tried to shake it off, focusing on the task at hand, but the question Kate had planted in your mind lingered. Was there something else simmering beneath the surface? Something neither of you was quite ready to confront?

You had barely even made your first drink when you saw him approach.

Remy leaned casually against the bar, handing you an empty glass with that same effortless confidence that always seemed to follow him. His eyes flicked down to your hand, and you could feel the weight of his attention settle on you, even as you focused on pouring a drink for the blonde woman beside him. She smiled her thanks before walking away, leaving you alone with him—the man who had been the source of all the uneasy feelings building inside you.

“Th' usual,” he said smoothly, his voice low and rich with that familiar Cajun drawl. A grin tugged at his lips, but the look in his eyes was different—more intense, sharper. He leaned in closer, his presence filling the space between you, and despite the casual tone, there was something about the way he looked at you that made your stomach twist, your pulse quicken.

You reached for the bottle from the top shelf, trying to ignore the way your hands trembled ever so slightly as you poured the drink. As you set the glass in front of him, you could feel his gaze lingering on you, like he was waiting for something—something you weren’t sure you were ready to give.

Before you could say anything, Remy’s hand reached across the bar, his fingers brushing yours as he gently took your hand in his. His touch sent a jolt through you, soft but firm, as he turned your hand over, his eyes narrowing slightly as they landed on the wound on your palm.

“Wha’ happen’, chère?” His voice was lower now, concerned, the playful tone from earlier replaced by something more serious. His thumb traced lightly over the slightly swollen skin, the small movement sending a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you froze, heart stuttering at the warmth of his hand against yours. The gentleness of his touch was unexpected, and it stirred something inside you—an unfamiliar flutter that made you feel both vulnerable and guarded all at once. You pulled your hand back reflexively, bringing it close to your chest like you could shield it from him.

“Just… had an incident yesterday,” you mumbled, trying to sound casual, though your voice wavered slightly. “I cut myself.”

Remy’s eyes never left yours as he asked, “How?”

His gaze was relentless, pinning you in place, and for a moment, you considered telling him not to worry about it, that it was none of his business. But the intensity in his eyes—the quiet way he seemed to search for something deeper—made it impossible. You sighed, looking away, your shoulders slumping slightly.

“I dropped a tray,” you admitted softly. “Cut my hand cleaning up the glass.”

Remy’s expression didn’t change much, but there was something in the way he studied you—something that felt too perceptive, too knowing. His eyes lingered on your face, tracing over every line, every flicker of emotion that passed through you. The weight of his stare made your chest tighten, and for a brief moment, you felt exposed under his scrutiny.

But then, he gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied with your explanation. “Gotta be careful wit’ tha’,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost gentle. He didn’t push for more, didn’t pry or lecture—just acknowledged it with that same easy-going tone, as if he understood that the conversation was over.

The tension in your shoulders eased slightly, though your heart was still racing. You slid his drink across the bar, trying to compose yourself, but the knot in your stomach only tightened with each passing second. Remy was still watching you, his gaze heavy, unreadable, and the weight of it made the air feel thick around you. There was something unsaid between the two of you—something that had been gnawing at you since Friday night.

Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out, driven by a mixture of confusion and frustration.

“Why’d you give me that money?”

It came out quieter than you intended, but the vulnerability in your voice was impossible to hide. You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to pull back, to shield yourself from whatever answer he might give. “I don’t have anything to offer you for it.”

Remy’s eyes flicked up to yours, and for a fleeting moment, something shifted in them. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—like he understood more than you were ready to admit. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. When he set the glass down, his smile softened, the usual cocky edge replaced by something quieter, something real.

“Was a tip,” he said simply, his voice softer now, the drawl in his words less playful and more sincere. “Y’ did good on Friday nigh’.”

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Not that good,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “Not enough for a tip like that.”

A small, knowing smile curled at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes stayed fixed on yours, steady and unwavering. “Maybe y’ did,” he replied, his voice low and sure, like he was stating something obvious. “Bu’ either way, chère, y’ don’ owe me nothin’.”

His words hit harder than you expected, catching you off guard. There was a sincerity in his tone that you hadn’t anticipated, and it lodged itself deep in your chest, unsettling you in a way you couldn’t quite explain. You wanted to argue, to push back against the strange kindness he was offering, but the way he looked at you—like he saw past all your defenses—made it impossible. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond to Remy’s steady gaze. His sincerity had thrown you off balance, and the weight of his words had left a strange warmth in your chest. Before you could even formulate a response, Remy tipped his head back, finishing the last of his drink in a single, smooth motion. The glass clinked softly against the bar as he set it down, and without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away—back to his waiting date.

You watched him, feeling the energy between you shift abruptly, like a door closing with a soft yet definitive click. His date, the brunette with her perfectly styled waves and an emerald-green dress that hugged her like she’d stepped out of a fashion editorial, had been watching the entire interaction. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked between you and Remy as he sat down. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—curiosity, maybe, or amusement—but whatever it was, she kept it carefully masked behind an air of cool detachment.

She looked at Remy as if expecting some explanation, some acknowledgment of the strangeness of what had just occurred. But he didn’t give her any. He didn’t even spare her a glance. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, one arm draped casually over the back of his seat. His attention had already shifted, as if the brief exchange with you was all he needed for the moment, like it had been a checkmark on a list, a box neatly ticked.

The room buzzed with noise—laughter, clinking glasses, the low hum of conversation—but it all seemed to fade into the background as you stood there at the bar, frozen in place. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the strange feeling that settled over you, a feeling you couldn’t quite name but that gnawed at your insides nonetheless.

Remy’s words, few as they were, lingered in the air around you. They echoed in your thoughts, replaying on a loop—the tone of his voice, the way he said your name like he had known you far longer than the two times you have crossed paths, the way his gaze seemed to cut through every bit of armor you’d built around yourself.

And that touch—just the briefest brush of his fingers against your hand—still ghosted on your skin. It wasn’t the touch itself that unnerved you; it was the intent behind it. It wasn’t flirty, not overtly seductive like the Remy you’d heard about. It was something else. Something quieter, more deliberate, like he was trying to convey a message you weren’t quite ready to hear.

For the first time, you wondered if there was more to Remy LeBeau than the swagger, the effortless charm he used like a weapon. Maybe, just maybe, there was something deeper lurking beneath the surface—something he didn’t show to just anyone. And maybe, just maybe, he saw something in you that you hadn’t yet seen in yourself.

As that thought crept into the far corners of your mind, you stood frozen at the bar, your heart pounding in your chest. The moment replayed itself over and over in your head. His words, his touch, the way he looked at you—not with the casual interest that he might’ve shown anyone else, but with a focus that made your skin prickle, made you feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

You weren’t used to that. You were used to blending in, to keeping your head down, to being just another face in the crowd. But with Remy, it was different. He had a way of zeroing in on you, of making you feel like the only person in the room, even if only for a moment. And that feeling… that was dangerous.

It was dangerous because you knew who Remy LeBeau was. He was the kind of man people warned you about—the kind of man who could get under your skin, who could make you forget who you were if you weren’t careful. He was dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with physical harm and everything to do with what he could do to your heart, to your mind.

And yet, here you were, standing at the bar, replaying every subtle nuance of the brief conversation in your head as if it meant something—something more than just a casual exchange between two people who happened to be in the same place at the same time.

You didn’t know what to make of it, or of him. But one thing had become clear to you in that moment: Remy LeBeau wasn’t just dangerous because of the things you’d heard about him. He was dangerous because he had a way of making you want to know more, of pulling you in even when every part of you knew you should stay away.

And as you watched him lean back in his chair, his eyes flicking briefly toward you before settling somewhere in the distance, you realized that the real threat wasn’t Remy himself.

The real threat was what you might do if you ever let yourself get too close. You watched as Kate sauntered back from her break, a smug smile plastered across her face—the kind of grin that made it clear she’d enjoyed herself way too much. She slid behind the bar with the casual ease of someone who’d just spent the last thirty minutes indulging in something delicious.

"God, I love the Chinese place down the street," she sighed dramatically, leaning against the counter like she was about to launch into a monologue. "I swear, their noodle dish? Life-changing."

You chuckled, placing a glass in the washer. "Careful, Vis will be heartbroken hearing you rave about someone else’s cooking."

Kate snorted, waving a hand dismissively. "Vis can live with it. Besides, I needed something to break up the monotony of this shift." She leaned further into the bar, tapping her fingers rhythmically on the polished wood. "Speaking of monotony, you’re free to go save poor, hard-done-by James, who’s been spending the last ten minutes scrubbing someone’s vomit off the floor."

You winced in sympathy. "Better him than me," you muttered, mentally bracing yourself for the rest of the shift. You went to move, but Kate’s persistent finger-tapping on the bar caught your attention. Her eyes were a little too bright, and her lips were pursed in that familiar way that told you she was sitting on something she was dying to say.

“What is it, Kate?” you asked, turning to face her fully.

She hesitated for a moment, her mouth twitching as if trying to decide whether it was worth saying out loud. But Kate was never one to hold back, and before long, she looked like she was on the verge of bursting. Finally, she leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "So... did you talk to Remy?"

You rolled your eyes, a mix of irritation and amusement bubbling up inside you. Of course that’s what was on her mind. "Have a good afternoon, Kate," you said, brushing her off with a playful tone as you moved past her.

You didn’t wait for her response, heading down the stairs and back to the main floor. The bar had quieted considerably since earlier; the rowdy patrons had either left or settled into a calmer rhythm, leaving the room feeling almost peaceful. The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the space, but it was a far cry from the chaos you’d seen earlier.

You approached James and Nat, who were standing by the bar, both looking like they were done for the day. James was just finishing loading the last tray into the washer, his face twisted in the kind of grimace that spoke volumes about the unspeakable things he’d had to deal with. Nat stood beside him, arms crossed over her chest, her expression neutral, but you could see the exhaustion in the way her shoulders slumped slightly. Still, there was a hint of amusement in her eyes, visible only if you knew her well enough to catch it.

"How’s it going?" you asked, leaning casually on the counter next to Nat.

"James is traumatized," she replied dryly, though you could hear the teasing edge in her voice. "You missed quite the show."

James groaned dramatically, casting a look of pure disgust in Nat’s direction as he wiped his hands on a towel. "If I never have to deal with that again, it’ll still be too soon."

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head. "Well, you’re almost done. Just clock out and try to erase the memory. Pretend it never happened."

James rolled his eyes but grinned, tossing the towel onto the counter. "Easier said than done."

Nat shot him a sideways glance, her lips quirking up into a small smile. "I’ll help distract him," she said, her voice softer now, more playful. "We’ve got plans this afternoon."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh yeah? What’s on the agenda?"

Nat uncrossed her arms and leaned against the bar, her posture relaxing slightly. "We’re heading down to the riverwalk. There’s this new place—well, new to me—where you can rent bikes or take a boat. Figured we’d check it out, get some fresh air, maybe have lunch by the water."

James nodded, though he still looked half-dead from the day’s work. "If I don’t pass out first," he added, earning a light elbow jab from Nat.

"Don’t be dramatic," she teased, rolling her eyes. "A little sunshine will do you good."

You smiled at the thought of Nat and James spending the afternoon together. It was rare to get a break from the constant grind of work, and the idea of them sneaking away for a few quiet hours by the river seemed perfect. You could hear that subtle excitement in Nat’s voice—the kind she didn’t show often, but when she did, it was impossible to miss.

"Sounds like a perfect plan," you said, glancing at your watch with a dramatic sigh. "I’ve still got a whole afternoon here, so I guess I’ll just go die in a corner somewhere." You grabbed the list of tasks that still needed to be tackled before the night shift took over, waving it like a white flag of surrender.

Nat chuckled, shaking her head. "At least you’ve got good company." She gestured toward Steve, who was standing a few feet away, deep in conversation with one of the security team, his arms crossed over his chest in that casual yet commanding way.

You rolled your eyes, laughing. "Yeah, he can be okay sometimes," you teased, but the grin tugging at your lips betrayed more than your words did.

James snorted, drying his hands with a clean towel. "Don’t tell him that—you’ll inflate his ego."

"Too late," you quipped, casting a glance toward Steve, who seemed to sense your gaze and gave you a small, curious look from across the room. You quickly turned back to Nat and James, grinning. "Besides, a little ego boost never hurt anyone."

Nat raised an eyebrow, catching the playful edge in your tone. "Careful," she said with a smirk. "Flirting on the job is a slippery slope."

"Who, me?" you said, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

James shook his head, tossing the towel onto the counter. "Alright, enough of that. Let’s get out of here before this conversation gets dangerous."

Nat chuckled, giving you a quick wave. "We’ll see you later?"

"Yeah," you nodded, giving them both a mock salute. "Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

James grinned, his arm casually draping around Nat’s shoulders as they made their way toward the door. "That leaves us with a lot of options, doesn’t it?"

You laughed, watching them go, feeling a warm sense of contentment settle over you. They deserved the break, and it felt good to see them heading off to enjoy some time together.

As the door swung shut behind them, you turned back to the list in your hands, ready to dive into the never-ending tasks of the day. But before you could get too far, Steve wandered over, his presence as steady and noticeable as always.

"Looks like they’re off to have a nice afternoon," he observed, leaning casually against the bar next to you.

"Yeah," you said, glancing up at him with a smile. "Some of us aren’t so lucky."

Steve tilted his head, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "I don’t know, seems like you’re doing just fine here."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Oh, yeah, you know me—just living the dream behind the bar." You paused, then added, "Speaking of which, I heard you’re going to your sister’s place next week?"

Steve nodded, and there was something so genuine about the soft smile that crossed his face. His eyes seemed to warm at the thought, the kind of smile that made you forget, for a second, the chaos of the bar around you. "Yeah," he said, his voice carrying that quiet sincerity he was known for. "Heading out for a few days. Haven’t seen her in a while. Figured it was time."

You couldn’t help but tease him, your lips curving into a smirk as you gestured around the bar with an exaggerated sweep of your arm. "Going to miss all this?" you asked, mock disbelief in your tone. "How could you possibly survive without the endless excitement of dealing with customers, broken glasses, and, of course, vomit?"

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that somehow made the room feel smaller, like the world had momentarily shrunk to just the two of you standing there. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed always got to you, even if you’d never admit it. "Yeah, it’s gonna be tough," he said, shaking his head as if the thought amused him. "But I think I’ll manage."

You leaned against the bar, feeling the cool wood press against your palms, and tilted your head slightly as you looked up at him.

"You sure?" you asked, the playful edge in your voice hiding the undercurrent of something more. "Because, you know, I could always tag along. Make sure you don’t get too bored."

For a moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that made you want to take a step back. His grin widened, that easy confidence of his coming to the surface as he leaned in just a fraction, lowering his voice as if you were the only two people in the room. "I think I’d enjoy the company," he said, and there was something in that tone, something teasing but also sincere, that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you quickly covered it with a playful smile, your eyebrow arching as you fought to maintain your composure. "Careful what you wish for, Rogers," you shot back.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and you could feel the weight of it. But before either of you could say anything else, the moment was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching the bar. You straightened up instinctively, pulling away from the invisible thread that had been tethering you to Steve.

Remy strode into the bar, his presence as magnetic as ever, but now, there was something different in the air around him. It was as if a storm had followed him in, darkening the space with a tension you could almost feel on your skin. If Steve’s energy was like a calm breeze, steady and grounding, Remy’s was the opposite—intense, electric, and demanding attention. He didn’t need to say a word; his mere presence was enough to shift the atmosphere.

You noticed it immediately. The easygoing swagger that usually accompanied him, the smooth confidence that seemed to follow him like a shadow, was gone. His movements were stiffer, more deliberate, as if he was holding something back. His dark eyes scanned the room, but when they locked on you and Steve standing by the bar, something flickered behind them—something raw, something unsettled.

"Hey," you greeted him, trying to keep your tone light, but even you couldn't ignore the sudden weight in the air. There was an edge to Remy right now, one that hadn’t been there before when you saw him. The playful banter that had existed between you and Steve just moments earlier seemed to vanish in an instant, like a candle snuffed out by a gust of wind. The room felt heavier, more charged, as if something unspoken had filled the space between all of you.

Remy’s eyes flickered between you and Steve, and you saw it—the brief tightening of his jaw, the way his gaze lingered on Steve just a moment too long. His usual charm, that effortless grin that could disarm anyone, was nowhere to be found. Instead, his expression was unreadable, dark, as if he were fighting to keep something buried beneath the surface.

You could feel it too, that subtle shift in the air. Remy had always had a way of commanding attention, but this was different. It wasn’t just intensity—it was something darker, more personal. As his eyes moved back to you, there was a moment where you thought you saw something flash in them—hurt… jealousy? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a rigid mask of indifference.

He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. His voice was low, clipped, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large bill. "Can you pass this to Kate for me?" he asked, his words sharp, like he was eager to get the interaction over with. His tone was so unlike the Remy you knew—smooth, charming, always with a joke or a teasing remark. There was none of that now. Just cold efficiency.

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift in his demeanor. "Uh, sure," you said, taking the bill from him with a small nod. "I’ll make sure she gets it."

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, dark and unreadable. There was tension in the set of his shoulders, the way he stood as if ready to bolt or explode at the slightest provocation. And then, just as quickly, his gaze flicked toward Steve, something hard flashing in his eyes. It felt like a silent confrontation, a challenge neither of them was willing to voice.

Steve, to his credit, remained calm, his posture relaxed—though you noticed his blue eyes narrow slightly, as if sensing the shift as well. He didn’t say anything, but the air between the two men seemed to crackle with unspoken words, unacknowledged tension.

Remy gave a tight nod, his jaw still clenched, before turning away. His hand rested lightly on the back of his date as they moved toward the door, but even that gesture felt different—less affectionate, more mechanical, as though he was going through the motions. His usual fluid grace seemed absent, replaced by something colder, more deliberate, like a man who was forcing himself to keep control.

As you watched him go, the knot in your stomach tightened. The air between you and Steve felt heavier now, thick with something unspoken, as if Remy’s tension had seeped into the room and refused to leave. The moment Remy had appeared, the playful ease between you and Steve had evaporated, replaced by a strange, lingering weight.

Steve, who had been quiet through the entire exchange, finally spoke, his voice low and concerned. "Everything okay there?" he asked, his brow furrowed as he glanced at you with a mixture of curiosity and something else—something protective.

You shrugged, trying to shake off the strange vibe that had settled over you. "Yeah… fine," you said, though even as the words left your mouth, you weren’t entirely convinced. Something had shifted, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was. It wasn’t just Remy’s sudden coldness, or the way he had looked at you. There was something deeper, something that felt unresolved.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, searching your face as if he could sense that something was off. He didn’t press the issue, but his presence beside you felt steady, reassuring in a way that made the knot in your stomach loosen just a little. Still, the unease remained.

As you glanced back toward the door where Remy had just left, the feeling gnawed at you. You couldn’t shake the way his demeanor had changed the moment he’d approached, or the way his gaze had lingered on you and Steve. Was it jealousy? Had he overheard the playful banter between you and Steve? Was that what had gotten under his skin? The thought made your chest tighten, and you wondered if you’d unknowingly crossed a line with him.

Remy had always been enigmatic, but this was different. There was something raw in the way he’d looked at you, something almost vulnerable beneath the surface of his coldness. And that vulnerability, that hint of something deeper, unsettled you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Steve leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping back into that familiar teasing tone, as if trying to pull you back from whatever thoughts were swirling in your mind. "So… where were we?" he asked, his smile warm, inviting you to return to the ease you’d shared before Remy had appeared.

You managed a smile, grateful for the distraction, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Remy. Something had changed. The way he had looked at you, the way his usual charm had been replaced by something darker, more guarded—it all left a knot of unease in your chest. You couldn’t help but feel that whatever had shifted between you and Remy wasn’t over yet.

[showsandstuff]

Ways to make a Dale Dimmadome redemption work:

Hi! So, as a self proclaimed Dale Dimmadome redemption truther, I wanted to make this post explaining why a redemption is, in my opinion, very much possible. (I am not nearly as confident about this as I am pretending to be)

Buckle up, this'll be a long one folks!

First, why do I think a Dale redemption could happen? Let's go through it:

It's still a kids show. I find the conclusion to the story that Dale will never love his son a bit grim for a show for children. You could of course make it work by using the found family trope with Peri instead, plus there are plenty of kids shows that have used the evil father of secondary character/antagonist trope, without the father getting a redemption but I do think a Dale redemption is the most satisfying conclusion for this show.

Even Remy Buxaplentys parents started caring for Remy at some point, so I got hope. Though to be fair, they were incredibly one note.

His past with Vicky makes him a bit more sympathetic. Knowing what he went through in his childhood, it makes sense he probably wouldn't know what a child needs. I'm just saying it means there's room for improvement

He emotionally neglects Dev, but his physical needs are met. Which is something, right? Like Yay... And all...

We don't know if Dale doesn't love Dev. I think there's a possibility that he does care but just doesn't know it because he's taken his child for granted. That's not an excuse of course, but it would make a redemption more plausibel. If Dale genuinely does not love Dev whatsoever, I'll give up on my redemption hope.

How could they pull it off, if at all?

Assuming that Dale does love Dev, deep deeeep down, and just doesn't realize it because he's so focused on his company, the best way to show this is through a choice.

Dev doing things that benefit the company has never helped their relationship, Dale just gets happy because Money and it doesn't make him appreciate his son more, Dev just becomes someone useful to him.

But if Dev causes Dale to lose money, that's a good start to see what Dale truly prioritizes deep down.

Dale choosing Dev over his company is what I need if they decide to redeem him. I need Dale in one way or another show us that he truly cares. Maybe have Dale spend so much money to find and save Dev, that his company goes bankrott? Or have his company explodes and Dale's main concern could be Devs wellbeing. Or Dev goes behind his father's back and intentionally hurts the company, but instead of lashing out at Dev, Dale reflects on himself.

Now... That's all incredibly out of character for Dale and I would hate for an unearned redemption. I'd need there to be a lot of build up to that moment, some foreshadowing that hints at Dale not feeling entirely indifferent about Dev. Small moments, nothing too grand. Maybe he'd be worried if he finds out that he had left Dev with Vicky at one Point, and that could be the catalyst to show us that he isn't as awful as we were shown previously.

And after we had enough of those moments and already have a feel that Dale isn't all uncaring, we get to the grand moment where Dale shows us through his actions that in truth, he cares far more about his kid than his cash. It would feel earned and not be out of nowhere then.

Now before yall call me delusional, I know that this is extremely unrealistic and I'm just setting myself up if these are my expectations. Good thing they aren't. I do expect Dev to have something equivalent of his father's love at the end of the show, but that's it.

Here are some examples of what I actually believe would happen:

Hazel and Dev become friends (again) but this time their friendship is explored more. Maybe Dev also befriends Hazel's friends and finds fulfillment through that. (although I think that'll happen regardless and would be unsatisfying if that was all we got)

Involving Peri in this mess and giving him a character arc of his own would work as well. He realizes that Dev doesn't need a Fairy to be happy because, as Cosmo said in the finale, what Dev truly wants isn't something he can get through wishes. Dev, being super rich, is already used to getting "stuff", but love isn't stuff. So Peri basically becoming a parental figure for Dev, which is what he is supposed to be as a godparent anyway, could work. Besides, Peri already solidified himself in this role in the finale when he told Dev that he cared about him. It was a heartwarming moment. We all loved it so ofc we would want more of that.

Anything involving Irep, another Fairy or even Timmy. Dev needs someone that cares for him. My top three go to characters are obviously Peri, Hazel and Dale, but they're not the only ones that could fulfill that role. We just need to wait and see what the writers do.

So yea, a Dale redemption is my first pick for a season 2 finale (or technically my first pick is a hint at a Dale redemption in the s2 finale and the actual redemption happens way later because slow burn) but I do understand that it's pretty unlikely and would be very much satisfied with Peri becoming his godparent with Emphasis on parent, or even the power of friendship with Hazel, though that'd be harder to execute without it feeling cheap (I got faith in the writers)

So this was very long. And I am going to sleep now. Thanks for reading.

[headincloudsmindingutter]

Rogue / Gambit X-Men ‘97 - Fix it Fic!

Canon divergence, mutual pining, near death experiences, grief, fluff, love confessions, angst, jealousy, rivalries, sleep deprived Rogue

“Some things be deeper than skin, chère.” - “Not this.”

Rogue sat beside Gambit’s hospital bed in the mansion, her gloved hand holding his limp, and bruised hand. She’d been there for days, ever since that night where he nearly sacrificed himself. The night she rejected him, the night she broke his heart. She sat next to him, eyes swollen and red from tears, hair tangled and greasy, wearing clothes she hadn’t changed in days. Anna barely left Remy’s side.

Anna watched the monitors, waiting for brain activity, hoping the line showing his heart rate wouldn’t change, waiting for him to wake up.

“Rogue, go get some rest, take a shower, get a proper meal. You need to take care of yourself.” Jean said as she sat next to her, and rubbed her palm up and down Anna’s back.

“Ah can’t stand t’ be away from him.” Rogue said quietly, Jean sighed.

“I know you’re hurting, but you need to eat, shower, change your clothes, you’ve barely left the med bay in days. Go take care of yourself, I’ll look after him. Okay?”

Jean was right, Rogue knew it. She needed to take care of herself to take care of Gambit.

“You’re right… thanks sugah.” She gave a weak smile and exited the room. She passed Remy’s room on her way to her own and slowly opened the door. She layed on his bed and hugged his pillow, taking in his scent and crying.

She wasn’t sure when she’d fallen asleep but she awoke an unknown amount of time later surrounded by Gambit’s smell, she sat up, went to his dresser and pulled out his favorite pink shirt. She held it close to her as she walked to her room to shower. She felt empty, like a ghost. She was fourn through the motions but she wasn’t really there.

She dried herself off and dressed herself in sweatpants and Remy’s shirt. She was still drying her hair as she went down to the kitchen to make coffee, she didn’t care how late or dark it was.

“Midnight snack?” Magneto’s voice said behind her.

“Yeah.” She sighed.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He accused

“I’ve been looking after Gambit.” She snapped at him, grabbed her cup, shoved past magneto and walked back to the medical bay.

Jean was no longer there, instead replaced by Beast who was reading a book in the corner by a small lamp.

“Ah Rogue! I assume you’re back to look after him?” He walked past her and patted her shoulder “it’s going to be alright.” He gave a sympathetic smile and left her in peace with the unconscious Cajun.

“I’m so sorry, Remy. I need ya t’wake up sug, I can’t do this without’cha.” She sat down in her chair, put her gloved hand to his and laid her head on the blanket that covered him and closed her tear filled eyes…

Anna sat on a love seat couch, book in hand, tea next to her, blanket covering her legs, with Remy’s arms wrapped around her as he sat behind her.

“Y’ enjoyin’ de book chère?” He ran his fingers through her hair

“No.” She leaned to the side a bit and tilted her head back on his shoulder to look at him “It’s boring.” She smiled. “I love you.”

He chuckled and stroked her cheek. “An Remy love you, Mrs. LeBeau.” He tilted his head to kiss her…

And then the sun shone in her eyes, waking her from her sweet dream, and she groaned as she lifted her aching neck and rubbed her tired eyes.

“Y’look good wearin’ m’ shirt, chère. Maybe y’should keep it.” A familiar, Cajun drawl said.

“Remy!” She shot up from her chair and wrapped her arms around him, careful not to let her skin touch his. She was all but sitting on his lap when Hank walked in with a glass of water for Gambit.

“Thank you, mon Ami.” He said as he drank the full glass, one arm still wrapped around Anna’s waist.

“Your vitals are stable, there’s no internal bleeding, scrapes and bruises and a rough concussion but otherwise you seem to have made it out alright, but it’s best to keep resting.” Beast explained

“Yah’ll get no complaints from Gambit ‘bout resting.” He groaned as he layed back down on the pillows. Beast nodded and again left the two of them alone.

“Remy… I’m so sorry.” Anna said after a few moments. Remy lifted her gloved hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles and held her hand to his face.

“When Gambit was out,” he kissed her palm “he dreamt we went t’ Paris together.” He kissed her wrist “Dreamt ah got t’ hold ya.” He kisses the knuckle of her thumb. “Dreamt’ y’said yah love Gambit…” he kissed the top of her hand. “dreamt y’ married me.” He held her hand. “Gambit could never be mad at ya chère… love yah too much t’be angry.”

“I love you so much, Remy. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell ya sooner, I’m sorry I waited til I almost lost ya.” Tears fell down her cheeks, Gambit used a corner of his blanket to dry her eyes

“S’alright chère… I gotcha now.”

“Yeah… Y’got me now, sugah.” She sniffled with a small smile and rubbed her govef thumb over his cheek.

Magneto peaked into the medical room, watching as Rogue confessed her love to Gambit. He felt bitter watching them. He was so close to having her and there she was, back in Gambits arms.

[nyxnightshade7656]

Hooked Pt8

This one is a little shorter, sorry! I just didn't want to lose the momentum, I'll try and make the next post longer!

Beeping. What was that incessant beeping? Her eyes opened slowly, only to take in the sight of machines all around her. Oh. That wasn’t good, was it? She looked around a little more, trying to get her bearings. She hadn’t seen this room before, but she could tell that it was still in the mansion. Slowly, the memory of what she had done began to come back to her and her heartrate nearly doubled. The monitor that had been slowly beeping matched the sharp increase. There was a small commotion outside her line of sight, then Hank McCoy came into the room; he wasn’t running but it was an urgency to his movements that she had never really seen before. He paused when he saw that she was awake, “What seems to be the matter, Little One?” He made his way from the floor to the ceiling, where he gracefully maneuvered to hang upside down in front of her heart monitor, “Other than a rapid heart rate, your blood oxygen levels and other vital signs appear to be within normal range.” He flipped down to the floor and began to check her over. She shook her head, eyes widening as one of her hands flew to her mouth, covering it. Hank proved that, not only was he intelligent, he was also insightful, “Ah, yes. You used your Siren Song. It has been a few days since the attack, but other than you and Gambit, no one belonging to the Institute was seriously injured. You took a nasty tumble when you and Gambit were attacked, you will probably be disoriented for a while due to the blow you took to the head. But thankfully, the worst of your problems was merely exhaustion due to the sudden, and frankly overwhelmingly powerful, use of your Siren’s Song.” Her heart rate nearly tripled at the mention of her secondary mutation, making Hank give her a reassuring smile. As reassuring as a mouth full of fangs could be, at any rate, “No one from the Institute, with the exception of Gambit, was close enough to hear the call of the Siren over the battle raging.”

She shot up in the bed, nearly yanking the IV in her hand out with the sudden motion, only for Hank to place a large paw on her delicate shoulder, “Gambit is unharmed. In fact, he should be coming in soon to check on you, if the last two days is any indication of a pattern forming. He has been quite worried about you.” Here, Hank winked at her as if sharing a secret with her. Did everyone know about her crush on the smooth-talking Cajun? She shook her head, only to immediately bring a hand to her temple in pain. Hank gave her a sympathetic look, “You are lucky that your shoulder took the worst of the impact, had your head taken any more blunt force trauma you would more than likely have a concussion. As it is, you will still have quite a bit of disorientation and probably some migraines for the next few days. You’re through the worst of it, however. It’s all up hill from here, Little One.” He told her with another smile. Just then, there was a knock, “Come in, Gambit.”

“An’ ‘ow’d ya know it was Gambit, Mon Ami?” He poked his head around the doorway, a cautious look on his face. That caution instantly morphed into a bright smile when he took in the sight of her sitting up in bed, “Dere’s da La Belle au bois dormant! Good ta see dem pretty eyes, Chère.” Hank shook his head with a smile.

 “I will go inform the rest of the Team that you are awake. You have had quite a few people inquiring about your well-being.” And with that, he left, Gambit politely moving out of Hank’s way to let him leave the room. Once they were alone, Gambit’s smile dropped and he walked over to the side of the bed, where a chair was sitting. She hadn’t noticed it before Gamit grabbed it to sit in it, “Ya ‘ad Gambit worried, Chère. Got ya inside fast, fastest Gambit ever moved, but you was out like a light. Den you wouldn’ wake up.” She bit her lip, the worry and concern flowing off of Remy was so powerful she could nearly see it, “’Ank said you was ‘hausted. Ova’use of ya pow’rs. Wolvie never tol’ us ya ‘ad two pow’rs, Belle.” He paused for a moment and watched her, there was no judgment coming from him. No disgust or anger, no fear, “Ne’er seen not’in like it. You tol’ ‘em to drop dere gun, and ‘e looked like a man’quin on strings. Damn impressive, Belle.” She shook her head. But Gambit reached out and gently took her hands in his.

“Petite, ya single hand’ly saved e’rey’un. Wadn’t Wolvie, wadn’t Scottie, Stormy, or any ‘o da otha’ X-Men. Def’nitely wadn’t ol’ Gambit savin’ da day. Was you.” She winced, looking around for her phone or something to communicate with, “Jus’ you an’ Gambit ‘ere, Petite. A’int gotta hide yer voice no more. ‘Least no’ from Remy. ‘E was dere, Petite. ‘E ‘eard ya voice, Wolvie and ‘Ank called it yer Song. Dey tol’ Remy ‘e shoulda dun ‘xactly what d’oes soldier did, followed ya e’ry word to da ‘T’. But ‘e didn’. Ya mebbe a Siren, but ya Song don’ work on dis ol’ noggin’, Chère. When it jus Remy? Ya safe. Ya can use dat pretty voice a yers. A’int gotta be ‘fraid wit Remy.” The monitor went crazy as his words seemed to echo in her mind. He was still here; he was here and talking to her. Her Siren Song hadn’t affected him. She didn’t know what to make of any of this. No one had even been immune to her Song before. At least, not anyone in possession of fully functional hearing. And yet Remy hadn’t followed her orders.

Remy shook his head and kicked off his boots before he carefully climbed into the bed and cradled her to his chest, “Shh, shh, s’okay Chère, s’okay. Les no’ put ye’self inta ‘notha panic attack, yeah? Scared Remy half ta death out dere. ‘Mon, now, talk ta Remy. Le’ it out.” He pressed the words into the crown of her head. His emotions were making everything simultaneously better and worse. They were soothing: care, affection, understanding, relief, happiness, protectiveness. Not a single negative emotion was directed to her, and it was throwing her off. Because her own self-directed negativity was directly juxtaposed to his lighter emotions, causing something almost like whiplash.

How could she be sure her voice wouldn’t affect him? Had it been a fluke? Had his head injury affected his hearing enough to block her song? Or maybe the injury had rattled his brain enough that it prevented her Song from creating the necessary illusions to make him listen to it in the first place? There were too many possibilities, too many ways this could go wrong if she spoke. Despite all the what ifs, however, the desire to actually talk to Remy, to not have to rely on a phone or a notebook, was tempting. She bit her lip and pressed her forehead into his chest, hiding from him; too bad she couldn’t hide from her own thoughts in the same way. There was a moment of silence, then Remy pressed a kiss to her head, “Remy won’ push ya, Chère. Remy jus’ wan’ ya ‘appy. If no’ talkin keeps ya ‘appy, Remy fine wit dat. But Remy don’t t’ink ya ‘appy li’dis. ‘E seen ya. Seen ya watchin’ otha’s talkin’ ‘bout dere day. Seen da way ya stare at ‘em like a starvin’ man stares at a feast. Bu’ ya tell Remy ‘e wrong, and ‘e’ll leave it ‘lone.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” She whispered. But even at a whisper, her voice undulated with the sound of a dozen or more voices all at once. She went still, scared to look up and see the blank face of Gambit fallen victim to her Song. Gambit’s arms tightened around her.

“Dere’s dat pretty voice. Ya no’ hurtin this Brigan’. Now tell Remy wha’ both’rin’ ya, Belle.” She pulled back to look at him, eyes wide. He was still in full control of himself. He hadn’t been affected by her voice. He was still him. How? He smiled in the face of her disbelief. Understanding, he just felt so understanding. Why was he so understanding? She bit her lip and just let his emotions flow over her, soothing her bruised soul.

“I made him turn on his friends. I basically told him to kill all his friends and himself. And this ain’t even the first time…. What kinda monster-“ She bit her lip, but it was a little too late to stop the thought from escaping her. She curled up as best she could in his hold, shame roaring through her. Gambit rubbed her back, letting out a soft hum, some little tune only he seemed to know.

“Ya no monster, Petite. Ya fight tooth ‘n nail ta no’ hurt folks. Fo’ som’un raised by da Wolverine, ya the gent’list lil t’ing Remy know. So ya made ‘em fight each otha. Dey woulda killed all ‘o us wit’out remorse. Ya saved ev’ryone ‘o us ‘ere. By yaself. Dats impressive, Petite. Real impressive. 'Ank said ya been holdin’ da song in fo’ so long it built up ova time. Dats why it was so strong; add ta dat ya panic attack and dats what caused ya to pass out. Well, all’o dat and yer near concussion. We wasn’ spectin’ ya to wake up fer a few more days, honestly.” Remy gave her a smile, tucking some hair out of her face. The air tasted of vanilla, apples and cinnamon, Remy smelled like peppery-spice, leather, citrus. The combined scents and tastes were swirling around her, the comfort it all brought her was immeasurable.

“Never want to hurt folks. I-I know they would have hurt us, but I don’t….” She bit her lip again, only for Remy to shake his head. He used his thump to pull her lip from between her teeth, something he seemed to do often with her.

“Mon amour, ya gotta look at it diff’ren’ly. Ya didn’ take lives. Ya saved ‘em. Ya gotta t’ink ‘bout all da people ya saved. Ya ca’int let da bad ov’r shadow da good. An’ ya did damn good. No trainin’, y’a’int used dat power in years ‘cordin’ ta Wolvie, and da first time ya did, ya saved ev’ry mutant in da school. Dats a lot of people, Petite. Cel’brate da win. Don’ ignore da bad t’ings, but don’ let’em kill ya light, either.”

[bastart13]

Well, you said it, now it's on you, haha!

1) Apart from Love & Legends, do you enjoy any other stories from Lovestruck? If so, which ones are your favorites?

2) If you were to create your own version of the Love & Legends characters, how different would they look compared to the original versions you've shared?

3) Is there anything you wish had been explored more or done differently in the original, both in terms of design and plot?

4) You've mentioned changes made to Reiner and others, but have you discussed Altea's redesign? Can you share more about the direction you've taken with her and the reasons behind it?

5) I noticed the addition of wet-haired sprites for the MC and Helena. Have you created or do you plan to create other variations like this?

6) Have you started working on redesigning the weapons? Is that something that interests you, given the unique and interesting weapons in Love & Legends?

7) Do you plan to create or add heart gallery scenes, and if so, how would the process differ from creating the sprites? Would you aim to recreate them faithfully or put your own spin on them?

8) Do you have favorite heart scenes from the original? Are there scenes you wish had been drawn?

9) If you had unlimited time and resources, what ambitious additions or changes would you make to the revival?

10) Are there any non-playable characters from the original that you wish had been added as love interests?

I think 10 questions are a good enough start, lol.

1) Apart from Love & Legends, do you enjoy any other stories from Lovestruck? If so, which ones are your favorites?

I love most of the other Lovestruck series :D There’s such a broad variety of genres and characters, but they share this great focus on group dynamics that really makes you get attached to them as a whole. I think my other favourite series are Reigning Passions, Queen of Thieves, and Sweet Enchantments. My favourite routes are Amara, Fiona, Onyx, Zain, Emilio, and Razi, though shoutout to Remy and Onyx’s writers for being the ones to make me cry.

[Going to stick the rest under a read more to avoid the long post]

2) If you were to create your own version of the Love & Legends characters, how different would they look compared to the original versions you've shared?

Immensely hard to say. My tendencies aren’t towards classic medieval fantasy so the aesthetic probably would have ended up entirely different but I feel like I already took a lot of liberties with them? Honestly, they could have ended up like anything XD

3) Is there anything you wish had been explored more or done differently in the original, both in terms of design and plot?

Hm... Reiner’s probably my favourite character of the lot, but I do think I’d prefer his route if it carried over some worldbuilding from Helena’s and wedding traditions were different from modern western ones. Culture shock comes up a lot in the game as conflict and leaning into Reiner not understanding why giving the MC a ring makes her uncomfortable or the proposal being the first stage of establishing their relationship would make his end a bit more sympathetic.

Also, personally, I get a bit checked out with prophecies or acts of god, even in fantasy, so Alain and Saerys’ routes can get harder for me to engage with towards the end.

4) You've mentioned changes made to Reiner and others, but have you discussed Altea's redesign? Can you share more about the direction you've taken with her and the reasons behind it?

Ooh, yeah! So Altea’s design is a bit racially ambiguous but like the MC and Saerys I thought it’d be nice to draw her as Asian, though more south-east Asian like Cambodia or Malaysia. You get a lot of beautiful ornamentation and clothing from those cultures which I could style into celestial or winged symbols to suit Altea’s magical girl aesthetic while grounding it.

The general direction I’m taking with Eclaciel is combining medieval European silhouettes with the fabrics and styles of south east Asia + magical girl colours and sparkles.

As for her actual design, I wanted to make her chubbier as a further contrast to Helena and as another symbol of her subtle wealth. Altea’s the sort of character I imagine who took the peace time to flourish, especially after such a hard childhood > adulthood. The retainers care about their appearances in different ways and while Altea doesn’t want to rub it in anyone’s face, she does like to show off a bit with good quality fabrics, polished jewellery, and bright colours.

5) I noticed the addition of wet-haired sprites for the MC and Helena. Have you created or do you plan to create other variations like this?

All the main characters have wet hair sprites now and I think my plan is to create new variations where I see them. The MC also has a ponytail sprite and Witch Queen eyes when she’s being possessed, Alain has a messy hair sprite to echo himself as a child, and Reiner wears a silk cap when he’s sleeping to protect his hair.

I’m not sure right now what other variations might pop up but I’m planning wedding variations, makeup, and the timeskip hairstyles.

6) Have you started working on redesigning the weapons? Is that something that interests you, given the unique and interesting weapons in Love & Legends?

I... don’t have much practice drawing weapons. I did have to sketch them out for the promo art I did, though I only really made references for Atlea’s staff, Iseul’s bow, and August and Alain’s swords.

Like the characters, I veer towards more grounded, simpler designs vs fantastical and detailed.

7) Do you plan to create or add heart gallery scenes, and if so, how would the process differ from creating the sprites? Would you aim to recreate them faithfully or put your own spin on them?

I do plan to draw CGs eventually, though I’m a bit intimidated by the sheer quantity. The process would be the same as most of my illustration work: thumbnails > lineart > flats > lighting. Similarly to the sprites, I’d vary how much inspiration I’d want to take. Some I’d essentially want to redraw, I’d have a bit of fun with others, and maybe replace others. One major change is converting all the portrait compositions to landscape. I understand why they did it that way, but landscape orientation is far more comfortable for the game.  

(Some of my ideation thumbnails)

8) Do you have favorite heart scenes from the original? Are there scenes you wish had been drawn?

Like all of Love & Legends, it’s an interesting blend of incredible and strange art. I think they got a new colourist past Iseul’s 7th season and that definitely made a big difference but the compositions have always been impressive. My favourites from each route are:

As for scenes I wish had been drawn, I’m not sure anything comes to mind other that Reiner and MC’s Vegas wedding, since that was the climax of the season.

9) If you had unlimited time and resources, what ambitious additions or changes would you make to the revival?

Oh god, I’m not sure? Voice acting would be sick even if I never know what anyone sounds like. An animated intro/trailer would be awesome. Maybe updating backgrounds as well?

10) Are there any non-playable characters from the original that you wish had been added as love interests?

Weirdly I’m not someone who looks for other characters to become love interests. It’s fairly obvious when characters weren’t intended to carry a route by themselves and I'm content with the stories we have :D

[caffeinated-eccentric-polymorph]

Here's an old short story I wrote around 2020 during quarantine because I'm trying to get back into writing fiction and coming back to this will hopefully motivate me (also I still really like it) 🩵✨

Remy Tintenfisch, scientist

Word count: 1925

“Wow, look at that one!” The kid’s friend rushed at his side to look at the tiny shark in the aquarium, gaping at it until their teacher, Miss Katelyn, ushered them along with the rest of the group. The trip was going fairly well considering it had only been planned a few days prior. A friend of hers, Marceline, had called her a few days prior to offer her class a trip to the aquarium where she worked. Katelyn, of course, had accepted: it would do the kids wonders to get out of school for a while, and they tended to learn better when things were presented in a lighter, funnier way. The trip, however, had been a hassle to plan, what with only a few days ahead. But they had pulled it off, and the kids were having fun, so Katelyn could only assume it was worth it. When she’d asked Marceline what the occasion was, she’d said one of her newest colleges wanted to give some kids a visit to interest them in marine science. Both women agreed it was a good idea, and there they were. The said colleague, Remy, was supposed to meet them in the hall, which is where she was trying to get her twenty-two kids at the moment.

“Are you sure you’ll be ok Remy?” asked Marc. He nodded, his notes in hand already, a nervous smile plastered on his sweaty face. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see,” said Marceline. Remy only nodded again before getting out into the hall just in time to spot the flock of children circling the big central aquarium. The only adult of the group quickly approached, ushering the small kids along with her. Her shoulder slumped as soon as they reached him. “Remy, is it? I’m Katelyn,” she said, shaking his hand. Her touch didn’t linger on his moist skin, and she lowered her voice, shooting him a sympathetic look. “Nervous?” He stiffly nodded. “It’s ok, they’re not too hard to entertain,” she assured, gesturing to the kids, most of which were already flocking against the aquarium’s cold glass. Remy’s legs were shaking and he stumbled a bit on his way to the kids, smiling weakly. If one was really honest too, they’d say he wasn’t walking very straight, though it was probably the stress.

“This is a first,” Marceline had said. “Is it? Does the aquarium never do those kinds of visits?” “Oh no, they do, I meant for Remy. See, he’s a foreigner, so his English isn’t always very good, and he has never been able to work up the courage to make a visit himself. He’s really easily understandable, mind you, he’s just a bit self-conscious.” “Oh, of course, don’t worry, I’ll give the kids a word about it, make sure they won’t make rude comments.” Marceline had smiled.

“Hello, small human children!” Remy cheerily greeted. At once, most of the little heads turned to him, some lingering, some returning to their observation of the octopus lazily resting on a rock not far from the glass. “I am Remy, the scientist in octopus science,” he continued. “Do you want to hear some fun octopus facts?” “Like what?” asked one of the kids still staring at him. “Like octopus can squeeze through one-inch holes!” A boy next to him made an approximation of an inch with his fingers and turned back to Remy: “No way, that's too little!” Before Remy even had time to open his mouth, a small girl staring at the octopus made a small circle with her fingers and held it between her eye and the animal, closing the other to see through it. “I think I can imagine it,” she said. Remy smiled, wriggling his hands. “Do you know anything else?” asked another child. Remy grinned. “Of course! I know lot about octopus, me! Is there anything you special want know about?” The kid hummed. “Where are the others? I thought there'd be more than one.” “Plenty octopus here! You just can not see !” “How come?” “Octopus can change color and shape for disguise like predator or rock or scientist in octopus science laboratory!” A kid farther back squinted at Remy, though he was too busy listening to the excited children babbling excitedly and trying to spot the disguised octopi to notice. The kid, Marcus, turned to his friend and whispered: “He’s very weird, isn’t he?” “Miss Katelyne told us about that,” his friend Luke whispered back. “It’s because english isn’t his language.” “Not only that, he’s just plain weird.” Luke shrugged, closing the conversation, as Marcus continued observing the scientist.

The group was now walking leisurely around the central aquarium, allowing the children to observe more octopi. “Tell us another thing about octopus Mister Remy please!” Remy stifled a laugh. “Ok, did you know octopus has three hearts?” The children gasped. “No way,” some whispered. “Also, octopus blood is blue!” “Is it?” Remy nodded. “Say, how many octopus do you have here?” Katelyn asked. “Well, we have seventeen here in octopus science laboratory.” “I can’t see the seventeenth though…” said one of the kids after counting. “Maybe that’s because we couldn’t spot him in his disguise,” tried her teacher. “Oh no no,” said Remy, “you have seen all of them.” “Then how come I counted sixteen?” “Ah, that is because science octopus is missing, no one knows where is,” answered Remy, laughing. “Why is it so funny to you,” asked Marcus as some of his classmates giggled. “Isn’t it your job to make sure they're all there?” “Of course it is human child! But some time, even scientist in octopus science laboratory has slip ups! And should not worry because octopus will be found eventually! Is not like octopus could overthrow human leader!” The kids giggled at his little joke, even Marcus cracked a smile, though he still wasn’t sure about the guy.

The following day, as per usual, Remy was the first on the premises. He was preparing the laboratory for a very important guest. The place was spotless. As the man leading (and paying for) the research arrived at the meeting room, Remy set out to look after his assistant, a tiny robot, which would not be needed during the meeting. As Remy was new, he did not partake in it either. He sat on the floor, his back against the aquarium, the robot at his side. They stayed in companionable silence for a while before Remy asked: “Want hear some fun octopus facts?” The robot was silent for so long the robot didn’t seem like it was going to answer, but at last it did. “Why not?” “Octopus can squeeze through one-inch holes. They also change color and shape for disguise like predator or rock or scientist in octopus science laboratory. Octopus has blue blood and three hearts too.” The robot made a low beeping noise. “Now is your turn for tell me some human facts,” Remy said to the robot. “For example: how many arm does human leader have?” The robot started to beep out an answer but was interrupted as its owner came out of the meeting room. “And good luck with finding that missing one! It can’t have gotten too far.” He waved to Remy, who waved back, and the robot took off after him, leaving Remy alone besides the aquarium. He tilted his head back to look at the octopus swimming behind him. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it as his colleague Marceline got out of the meeting room too. She came to sit beside him. "Sorry you couldn't assist. It's the procedure and all you know, it's a security thing." "It is quite ok, I don't mind. I think I understand too. Wouldn't want important information to go to bad person." She smiled. "Quite right, though I don't think you're a bad person Remy." He laughed lightly. "You don't know that." She laughed with him. "Well no, but I've been told I'm skilled at reading people." His laugh quieted out as he turned to look at her. She followed suit. "What?" "Nothing," he answered. "You are not bad person either." She grinned.

The monitors were beeping calmly before him as he nursed a coffee pitcher in his hands. "Remy, there you are!" Remy jumped. The pitcher slipped from his hands and fell to the floor, sharp pieces flying around. He turned to face the source of the sound, which was no other than Marceline. "I'm so sorry! Wait, let me help you!" "No need, no need, I am fine!" "No really, let me help, it's my fault." "No matter no matter, I will handle it." After a bit more pushing, she hung back silently as Remy picked up the shards. He threw some of them away, painfully aware of Marceline's gaze on his back. His hand too was painful and he looked around for something to cover the dripping wound with. He grabbed a cloth besides the cup holder and tied it around his wound, biting back a gasp as pain shot through his arm. "Are you ok? You got cut didn't you?" Marceline took a step forward. "At least let me help with that." Remy turned back around, holding his injured hand. "No need, look! It is fine!" "Are you sure?" He nodded as he bent down once more, picking up the last glass shards littering the floor. "Is there anything I can do?" He mulled it over as he looked up at her. "We should vacuum. So we are sure no glass is left." She nodded, scurrying to the janitor's closet to retrieve a vacuum.

At closure, Remy was the last to pack up. After he closed the lab, he rolled the legs of his pants and climbed the stairs to the aquarium. Before that, he had set his stuff in the vent closest to them. He took off his bandage to let the wound breathe and settled on the edge, his feet dangling in the water. Multiple octopi were swarming around him. One of them looked worriedly at the blue dripping slowly into the water as he recalled his day to them.

Bonus

The president climbed on stage under the people’s applause. His sweat glistened under the spots. “Hello fellow humans. I would like to thank all you for support during elections. As newly appointed human leader, I would like remind you all of the new regulation concerning sea-life. As you know, I previously was scientist in octopus science laboratory. Hence, this subject is very dear to my hearts.” As he was finally getting some water backstage, the applause still ringing in the air, a woman made his way to the president, escorted by two guards. “Mr Tintenfisch, your wife wanted to see you.” He motioned for them to take their leave, and she spoke as they did, embracing him. “You did it love!” Remy smiled, relaxing in her arms. “I would not have been able without you, Marceline.” After basking in Marceline’s warm hug for another moment, he asked: “Do you think they have suspicions?” She took her time to answer, weighing her words. “Maybe. Even if they do, I’m sure they won’t mind my sweet octopus.”

[hyenahunt]

Obbligato: In Praise of Folly - 5

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring, two years ago

Characters: Ibara, Nagisa, Hiyori

Proofreading: Remi + 310mc (JP) & Skyress (ENG)

Translation: Peace & hyenahunt

Ibara: He gladly suffers through such a miserable life no other could hope to understand, all for a God that only he believes in, that only he can see!

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Ibara: Frankly speaking, many people have mentioned those comments to him. Time and time again he's refused, isolating himself further.

Of course he would. After all, Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya doesn't consider the soundness nor quality of his own life, nor even of the kindness shown to him by those that love him—

No, in short... he considers the fulfillment of his ideals more important than receiving love from others, than his own rights as a human being.

While others may normally consider love and liberty paramount to life...

Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya is wholly enthralled with the realization of his ideals above everything else; that all should be "equal" and treated "fairly" in the same measures, without one being favored over the other.

—What an absolute lunatic!

Who could ever hope to understand someone that far gone?

And humanity naturally fears those they can't understand, you see.

That's why we do all we can to try; we wrack our brains for any words that might bring us one step closer to shedding light on another's mind...

But unfortunately, Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya has shut down every attempt made towards him by another.

They may have asked, "Why would you sacrifice yourself for the happiness of others?"

But he'd never give them the answer they wanted.

Ibara: It was never anything about him wanting to be thought well of, or because he loved others, not even that he wanted to be loved or to get money out of it—

If he'd given such understandable, sympathetic answers, then perhaps they'd be left with a sense of relief. However...

Rather than any of that, he'd simply say "Because it is what I believe in."

Because God asks it of him! Because the Bible says so! Because the teachings of his faith claim that one ought to happily sacrifice themselves for others, to act a martyr!

Even if you explain yourself in such a way, there's not a single person in modern day Japan that'll understand nor empathize with you!

The very foundation of Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya's reasoning operates differently than than that of the common man.

He gladly suffers through such a miserable life no other could hope to understand, all for a God that only he believes in, that only he can see!

And in doing so, he is content! Anyone looking in might simply see a man chopping himself up for the dead's stew in Hell's grand kitchen!

But despite that, Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya faces every day with a smile of contentment. He truly, sincerely, is happy to be a martyr for his faith. That is how it goes for those who choose to be a martyr to their faith.

However... No one would ever consider someone so pleased in his own suffering the same as themselves.

It's only natural that one would see him as nothing but a monster when there's been such a lack of understanding and sympathy from the very start.

Nagisa: ... That's true. It is difficult for one to recognize another as similar to them should their ideology differ so much from the beginning.

Hiyori: Indeed. After all, it was through this very vein of psychology that fine was able to defeat the Five Eccentrics.

If someone is singled out as a monster no one may ever understand, then they may become the target of unfathomable violence from those around them, their assailants shutting off their own feelings all the while.

That has already been proven through the events in Yumenosaki.

However, this Tatsumi Kazehaya became a monster out of his own desire.

Ibara: Correct. Though he may not have been entirely aware of it, he began to slowly distance himself from those around him... in more ways than one.

At the same time, he is only human, with a body made of the same flesh and blood as you and I; as such, he could only endure so much for so long. His body is, without a doubt, screaming in agony at it all, with the man himself falling ill due to his sacrifice.

It's only natural his mind would fall as well, isn't it? There's only so much pain and suffering that faith can endure, no matter how ironclad it may be!

At the same time, perhaps that's why Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya's become so stubborn and consistent with his beliefs. As the mind weakens, it more easily becomes captive to obsessive notions.

The more mistakes he makes, the more his well-being falters; the more his well-being falters, the more mistakes he makes. He's become a victim of an utterly vicious cycle.

And thus, in its natural conclusion, the man himself has become quite the regular patient at the hospital.

While Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya has remained isolated in the hospital, Reimei Academy is facing a new travesty.

Something that would be enough to put a nail in the coffin of "Reimei's Revolutionary", who's mind and body has been so thoroughly exhausted — a situation most dire, you could say.

Hiyori: A situation most dire...?

Ibara: Just so. It's something of a major taboo in the industry, one that people have been quite tight-lipped about...

I don't know very much myself, and it isn't something that's appropriate to speak of in public…

But one thing is certain: the major culprit, or perhaps the star of the show—

Is Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya's greatest rival, a child prodigy called HiMERU.

[ ☆ ]

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[malicedafirenze]

SUN leads character descriptions in case anyone else needs them:

Zidan

"He was exceedingly handsome, even by vampiric standards. He was darker than those in the band Remy had just annihilated, with suggestions of kohl about the eyes, and had a strong chin covered by a five o’clock shadow that would have hinted at a three-day drunken binge on Remy but gave the intruder the respectability of a warlord fresh from battle sitting down for a portrait to commemorate his misdeeds. His hair was long, tied carelessly about the nape of his neck, and somehow still looked impeccably groomed.

Remy hated him already."

Xiaodan

"She sat on a lower tree branch above him. She was clearly dressed for the ball, and the hem of her gown rode up to reveal smooth, creamy pale skin, the barest hint of thighs. Her sleeves were far too long for what Elouvian fashion expected, and they flowed down either side of her, hiding her hands from sight. It was not the type of dress common in Aluria, though Remy was familiar enough with the styles in the outer kingdoms to recognize them. A spattering of freckles stretched across her nose, dusting her cheekbones. Her dark hair was curled into long ringlets, caught in the wind as she herself swung back and forth with deliberate slowness, watching him curiously with a silver-gray gaze, lids slightly lifted at the corners. She had eyes of a soft, unvarying hue, the color of mist if it could be smoothed down like icing over cake. They were also sharp and intelligent. She had the unearthly exquisiteness of feature that often comprised a vampire’s repertoire. She looked sympathetic. That was the worst part."

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

QTA: Queer Teacher Alliance | New Student

Feel free to ignore this if you're not feeling up to writing, but homophobia feat. a 2 hour math test and homophobia feat. queer teacher alliance both literally had me in tears (god I need teachers like that) soooo.... possibly something else within that realm? Pretty please? Maybe there's a new kid (remy? idk i think he's the only character not accounted for aside from the orange side and thomas at this point) that's struggling? Homophobia shit happens again, Virgil has a panic attack, and Remy or whoever tries to help? Cept they're highschoolers and not very good at helping so they just kind of make it worse and now both of them are panicking and one of the teachers finds them. And I think you can figure out where it goes from here haha – anon

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Warnings: homophobia, transphobia, panic attacks

Pairings: none!

Word Count: 3479

    You know, for once in his life, Virgil would really appreciate it if people just shut the fuck up about things they don't know. Seriously, whoever decided that it was every person with a platform's responsibility to use said platform to speak about something, even when the person doesn't know anything about whatever they're talking about, Virgil would like a word. Several words, in fact, many of them four letters, and then to acquaint their face with several different heavy objects. Repeatedly.

Point is, he's been forced to listen to some of his classmates discuss some celebrity's opinion of Harry Potter and J.K. Rowling for the past way-too-many minutes and he's about ready to rip his fucking ears off.

"I'm just saying, there has to be a way to—"

"There isn't! There literally isn't! She's come out and said publicly that she takes anyone who still engages with Harry Potter to mean that they secretly agree with her horrible transphobic views."

"But it's like he pointed out! Harry Potter is such big childhood nostalgia for so many people, what if it means something to them? I mean, obviously we don't endorse what the author's saying—"

"Did you not just listen to a fucking word I said?"

No, they didn't, they won't start to, and you need to shut the fuck up, Virgil thinks to himself as the other student sighs.

"Look, what about, you know, death to the author and all that?"

"I mean I'll kill that TERF without hesitating, yeah."

I don't think that's what death to the author means. I also think it's not actually called that.

"But like—are the books and movies really that bad?"

Nope. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, Virgil is not going to be here for this. He starts trying to put his stuff into his bag as subtly as he can, even hiding his pencil case under the table so he can ease the zipper open as quietly as possible. Pencil case, laptop, textbook, notebook, he's almost got everything in when suddenly he hears:

"Virgil! Virgil, come help me."

Absolutely the fuck not.

"Virgil," they call again even as he tries to shove his headphones in to surreptitiously indicate that he doesn't want to be talking about this right now, "Virgil! Hey, Virgil!"

"What?"

Fuck. Shouldn't have done that.

The first student sighs, leaning back in their chair. "Can you help me explain all the awful shit in Harry Potter?"

No, because I've got class in half an hour and there won't be enough time. "Uh—"

The other one snorts. "Look, I'm just saying that if you can't do it yourself, then maybe it's not really as bad as you're saying it is."

"Shut up, my inability to articulate doesn't make you right."

This is, in fact, an excellent point, and Virgil's going to use it to seamlessly segue his way out of this conversation, watch: "I, um, I—uh—"

See? Nailed it.

"Maybe Virgil's on my side," the other one says, "you don't know."

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Virgil says hastily, fighting every instinct to throw his backpack at their smug-ass face, "so—"

"What the fuck do you mean, don't know what we're talking about?"

No, no, no, not like that, abort, abort, abort—

The first student glares at him. "Have you been living under a rock or some shit? All the bullshit that J.K. Rowling keeps spewing about trans women not being real women and that they're dangerous and predatory, that stuff, do you really not know about that?"

"No, I do, but—"

"Then come on and help me convince this fucking idiot that her books are full of shit too!"

Virgil's hand tightens on the strap to his backpack and he starts edging toward the door. "I, um, I don't—I don't really have time for that, I need to go to class—"

"Period isn't over for another—" they glance at their phone— "twenty-seven minutes, dude, it's fine."

"I need to use the bathroom—"

"To do what," the other one snorts, "you have like, a mammoth shit you need to drop or something?"

"It's actually none of your business what I have to do in the bathroom," he spits, hunching protectively over himself.

"Whoa, man, easy." They raise their hands. "Calm down."

He takes a deep breath to try and calm himself before steeling his jaw. "Look, the internet is literally right at your fingertips. Google some shit or something."

"Yeah, 'cause people on the internet are so unbiased."

"Why don't—look," the first one says, "why don't you just give us one example, how about that?"

"Why are you so invested in me giving you an example?" Virgil asks in frustration, forgetting to get closer to the door—and his freedom. "Literally how am I involved in this conversation at all?"

"Because you're gay."

There's a faint ringing in his ears, he realizes after a moment. The entire room seems to slow down, moving in bullet time, and there's that whine in the back of his head almost like microphone feedback. His pulse thuds loudly in his ears, which is weird, because he was so sure he could only hear the whining but now he can hear this thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud. He can also hear some sort of really raspy thing, and there's a burning sensation near the base of his throat, which is strange, what could that be?

Oh, he realizes after their voices start to fade back in, I'm panicking.

Of course, realizing that he's panicking doesn't do anything other than slam every single big red button in his brain that says Hello! Time to have a Bad Time! In an instant his hands start sweating. His hoodie starts to itch. His chest keeps burning—that's what that was. His eyes widen and his mouth stops mouthing and he needs to go.

He barely even registers the run through the halls to get to the bathroom, doesn't even remember if there were people or if there are people currently in here or anything other than chucking his bag into the corner of the stall and slamming the door and huddling against the cold linoleum.

Stop it, he screams at himself, stop it, stop it, stop it!

He should be fine. None of this should be happening. He should be fine because nothing actually happened to him and he doesn't want to have to deal with the consequences of visibly having a panic attack in front of those two assholes and he doesn't want to deal with their stupid attempts at placating him afterwards.

Especially not their stupid attempts to placate him afterwards.

He can see it now, the way they'll stand in that weird and awkward way where they're trying to be sincere but they're high school kids so they only know how to do that weird handclasp thing that makes everything look like it's awkward picture day and they'll stumble their way over saying some stupid shit like we accept you the way you are and it's not a problem but something to be embraced or even just I see you, I hear you, I'm here for you, and he'll want to rip their fucking stupid vocal chords out before they can burble their way through some fucking platitude that doesn't mean shit and fuck this really isn't helping him stop panicking.

The door swings open.

"Uh, hey," the first student's voice rings out and Virgil curls up as tight as he can, "I, um, don't really know what happened, but you seem kinda upset, so I'm, uh, here to check on you?"

Go the fuck away. Go the fuck away right now and leave me the fuck alone.

"Look, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot," they say as they come closer, in fact, and do not leave, "I, uh, didn't mean to just volley you in like that."

A shadow lengthens under the stall door.

"We, uh, I mean, I just wanted to make sure that you knew I wasn't trying to be homophobic or anything. I just meant that—you know, you're, uh…you might have more of a stake in it than we did, so I thought it would be good to…get your side of things."

I'm not trans. I'm not trans. We're not—queer people aren't some fucking hive mind.

A very good point he would like to make out loud. Now if only his lungs would stop trying to flee through his esophagus.

"But, uh, are you—oh, you're in there." Two shoes appear under the stall door. "Can I come in?"

"No!" He sniffs and gasps. "Get out!"

"Are you—you're having a panic attack, right?"

"Get out," he yells again, voice cracking, "leave me alone!"

"I'm not gonna leave you alone if you're having a panic attack, dude, that's not what you're supposed to do."

What you're supposed to do is listen to the fucking person who's having the fucking panic attack in the first goddamn place so that you don't make it fucking worse, which is what you're fucking doing right fucking now!

But of course, his body won't fucking cooperate with him long enough to make all of those words come out of his mouth, and so he just screams again.

"Get out!"

"Okay, okay, you're upset—" yeah, no fucking shit, Sherlock— "so I'm gonna—I'm gonna go get someone for you, okay? Just stay right there."

Where in the fuck am I gonna go, asshole?

But actually, the tiny remaining rational part of him thinks as the shoes disappear and the door swings open and closed again, that might not be such a bad idea, to go somewhere else. Then he might not actually have to deal with the consequences right now and he can ride out the rest of this stupid panic attack in peace and not have to explain himself to whoever the fuck that asshole went to go get—

"No, he's in there, I swear."

Fuck, how are they back already?

The door swings open again and Virgil scrunches himself as small as he can go, huddled in the corner, as a set of footsteps moves along the length of the bathroom.

"Hello? Is someone in here?"

Mr. DeLuca.

Two different instincts war in Virgil's chest. On the one side, Mr. DeLuca has been nothing but patient with him whenever he's upset. He's been kind and gentle, Virgil dares to say, and he's not made a secret of the fact that he'll be on Virgil's side if shit goes down about queer people.

The other side, though, knows that Mr. DeLuca is fucking scary.

"I see a closed stall door," Mr. DeLuca says, his voice still quiet and soft, "so I'm going to guess that's where you are. I'm not going to get closer, I'm still over by the sinks."

Virgil sniffs and it rings in the empty bathroom.

"You've picked the perfect place," he continues, "I'm sure there's no shortage of tissues to blow your nose with."

Despite himself, he sobs out a laugh and after a moment he hears Mr. DeLuca chuckle too.

"Though I can't say the smell will be pleasant once you do, this is still a bathroom."

The part of Virgil that wants the soft and kind Mr. DeLuca is slowly winning the fight as his back and shoulders start to protest being curled up like this for so long. With a shaking hand, he reaches out and undoes the lock, letting the stall swing open.

"I see you've opened the door," Mr. DeLuca says, "is that permission to come over?"

"Y-yeah."

"Alright, thank you. I'm going to stand up and start walking over. If at any point you decide to change your mind, that's perfectly alright, just tell me." Footsteps and another shadow and a noise escapes Virgil's throat before he can stop it. "Was that to stop?"

"N-no."

"Alright, just checking."

He keeps coming, all the way over, and Virgil can't help but cower a little when his shadow blocks out the light. Still, he tries to peer up and see him as he comes around the edge of the door.

"I'm here now, let's—Virgil?"

At the obvious concern that suddenly floods his voice, Virgil can't hold back the sob.

"Oh, sweetie," Mr. DeLuca murmurs, crouching down and reaching for him, "what happened?"

Virgil just shakes his head and claps a hand over his mouth. Mr. DeLuca tuts.

"Don't muffle yourself, it's alright, there's no one else here. It's alright, cry it out if you need to, I won't go anywhere unless you want me to."

And fuck it, he's out again. He buries his face in his hands and hoodie sleeves and just starts bawling like a child. Mr. DeLuca's hand comes to rest gently on his shoulder, sliding around to rub circles into his back. It's so careful but it's clearly done on purpose to make him feel better and he takes it back, that kid wasn't an asshole because they did actually get someone who could help.

It just…takes a moment.

When Virgil's finally got a hold on himself and half a roll of tissue to blow his nose on, Mr. DeLuca smiles at him.

"Hello, sweetie," he says quietly, "do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Not really."

"Will you tell me anyway?"

Virgil sighs. "Some students—the one who got you, I'm guessing—"

"Remy?"

"Yeah, I guess, them and another student started talking about how awful J.K. Rowling is—" Mr. DeLuca makes a noise of agreement— "well, they were arguing, really, and then Remy—Remy asked me to weigh in and I tried to leave but they wouldn't let me and then they said—"

"What did they say," he prompts when Virgil chokes off, "what did they say, sweetie?"

"They said they were asking me 'cause I'm g-gay."

Mr. DeLuca's hand stills and Virgil flinches. He's quick to soothe it away, though: "Shh, sweetie, I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you."

"But this is stupid."

"What," he asks dryly, "having a response to your trauma when it gets triggered?"

"…yeah."

He chuckles. "I hate to break it to you, Virgil, but that's how it works, I'm afraid."

"That's stupid too."

"Yes, it is very stupid." He gives his shoulder a gentle shake. "Can I convince you to come up out of the bathroom? Not to deny you your space but I'm sure other students will soon want a chance to use it."

"Yeah."

"Come," Mr. DeLuca coaxes, helping him to his feet, "I think Mr. Prince has a free period now as well, can we have you go sit with him while I deal with this?"

"Y-you don't—" Mr. DeLuca raises an eyebrow and Virgil cows— "okay."

"Do you want to rinse your face off first?"

"Uh-huh."

He splashes cold water and scrubs at his face until everything's roughly the same amount of red. He pats himself dry with the shitty paper towels and runs his hoodie sleeve over his face to get the rest. Mr. DeLuca just waits patiently with his backpack until he's ready to go.

"Thanks."

"Of course. Come on, now, it's not far."

He decides to pay negative attention to the surrounding halls as Mr. DeLuca guides him around to Mr. Prince's classroom, only looking up when the door swings open and he hears the familiar sound of Mr. Prince humming to himself as he works.

"Janus! What a lovely surprise," Mr. Prince calls, "and—oh, you've brought someone with you."

"Mr. Prince." Virgil can't help but smile at the familiar sound of Mr. DeLuca being exasperated. "I have a favor to ask you."

"Oh?"

"Do you mind if Virgil spends the rest of the period with you?"

"Oh, is that who that is? Look up for me—oh," Mr. Prince murmurs, everything else vanishing as he takes in Virgil's still-swollen eyes, "hey, Virgil, yeah, you can stay, that's fine."

"…thanks."

Mr. Prince looks up at Mr. DeLuca and they exchange a nod like Mr. Prince is giving him permission to go off on some mission to—oh, wait, that's exactly what's happening. Mr. DeLuca pats his shoulder one more time before leaving through the door.

"Come sit," Mr. Prince encourages, gesturing towards any of the open tables, "do you want to talk about it, do you want me to distract you, or do you want to be left alone?"

"Uh—" Virgil glances at the table nearest him, currently spread with all manner of papers, "what's all that?"

"Oh, just stuff for the other class, you guys didn't need it." He waves dismissively at the scissors. "It's an exercise to help remember some of the quotes from the readings to use in your essays."

Virgil snorts. "Ah, yes, the quotes that are definitely words that we would normally use in academic papers."

"Exactly, see?" He perches on the edge of his desk and Virgil deliberately looks at the desk in front of him, sitting down and putting his chin on his crossed arms. "Are you okay? Do you need some water or something?"

"Nah."

There are a few minutes of quiet as Mr. Prince goes back to shuffling the papers around before he sighs and looks over. "Alright, I know I asked if you wanted to talk about it and you didn't say you did, but I'm nosy and I want to know what happened."

Virgil sighs. "J.K. Rowling happened."

Mr. Prince makes such an expression of disgust that he snorts again. "What the hell was a TERF doing in your free period?"

"Two students were watching someone explain that they still like Harry Potter but don't support her perspectives on things like…that," he says, "and then they, uh, argued about it."

Mr. Prince winces. "I'm hesitant to ask what happened next."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not."

"One of them basically volunteered me because I think they have the all-queer-people-think-alike thing, and I, uh, wasn't prepared for someone to just loudly declare my queerness, so…"

"Well, I was right, that sucks a whole lot and I'm sorry that happened." He nods toward the door. "I would guess that our fearless math teacher is on the warpath?"

"When isn't he on the warpath?"

"You make an excellent point."

Virgil lays his cheek against his arm. "Also, they started talking about 'death to the author,' and I don't—that's not what it's called, right?"

"No, it's 'death of the author.'" Mr. Prince glances over at him with a smile. "Do you remember what it means?"

"Yeah, it's when it doesn't matter what the author intended or didn't intend to put into the text, right? We prioritize reader interpretation instead of author intention?"

"That's exactly right, well done, Virgil."

Not now, gay panic, oh my fucking god, not now. But it's too late, he's already got a giddy smile forming on his face and Mr. Prince has seen it.

"Don't hide, you're allowed to be proud you're right." He laughs in surprise when Virgil buries his face in his arms. "You're never this shy in class, what's going on?"

"I've just had a panic attack!"

"Fair enough, fair enough," he chuckles and yeah, it's probably a better idea if Virgil just hides his face for a little longer.

Still, he can't resist the urge to peek out for too long, and he raises his head just enough to glimpse Mr. Prince working with the pieces of paper over the edge of his hoodie. Mr. Prince glances over at the slight rustle and waves.

"Hi, there."

"Hi."

"You feeling better?"

"A little."

"That's good. Do you feel up to helping me cut out some of these things?"

"Sure."

This is fine, he thinks as he actually gets to laugh a few more times and talk about the ridiculousness of some of the quotes, this is totally fine.

And to his surprise, it actually is.

(He thinks Remy was right about them getting off on the wrong foot, though. Maybe he'll go find him later and they can actually have a conversation. Not about Harry Potter, though.)

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[fanfic-inator795]

Man, like- Chip Whistler isn't even my favorite BCG character (Bill, Vasquez, Remy, Cricket and Tilly all outrank him by a wiiiiide margin) but the way the BCGs writers have developed Chip's whole arc really is fascinating in a morbid way - like a car crash you can't look away from.

Just like how the show - even if Chip's most intimidating moments - never forgets to still also show him as the loser he truly is, the show also never forgets to emphasize that EVERYTHING that has gone wrong for him is his own damn fault, regardless of how tragic it is.

(continue reading for a full look at Chip's arc and how I think it'll end)

I feel like whether or not Chip acknowledges this fault is going to be the catalyst as to whether or not he gets a second third FOURTH FIFTH chance, gets arrested or even gets killed off for realsies like the classic Disney Villains.

To get any sort of somewhat-happy ending, Chip would have to not only take responsibility for ALL his mistakes and crimes, vow to be better AND actually put in the work to be better, but he'd also has to acknowledge that the thing that started it all - chipping his tooth on fake produce - was something that he can ONLY blame himself for. And judging by the latest ep, this isn't just a matter of shifting blame but also a matter of finally realizing and accepting this self-inflicted mistake.

Go back to the scene with the 'Bean' family, which not only paints its fake!Cricket as the worst, least sympathetic and shallowest version of Real!Cricket, but afterwards Chip emphasizes that "(that boy) was so mean and I didn't even do anything to him", referring to fake!Cricket but obviously thinking about Real!Cricket in his mind.

But the thing about Cricket is that for as much as the kid can be reckless and make mistakes, he does put in the effort to make things right - often only needing a slight nudge from Tilly, Bill or his own conscious to fix his mistakes. The episode "Supermarket Scandal" is no exception to this. He realizes his mistake, fixes things, and even sacrifices his giant wad of cash. What's more, when Chip tries the fake produce (which is being clearly advertised as such), there's no 'trick' or 'prank' or whatever - it's just Chip ignoring the world and people around him, only to then blame these things when consequences happen.

Funnily enough, Chip isn't a complete moron. Sure, he's incredibly averse to hard work and thus doesn't have much sense, but he had enough business skills to do a decent job as one of Wholesome Foods' top managers and was even able to hold down an office job as Norm Alguy. Once his dad reminded him he had the power and resources of CEO, Chip came up with a pretty solid plan that nearly worked! He's not an idiot, but he's reckless, foolish, single-minded and - above all else - is driven more by pride and ego (as well as a hidden hunger for power) than by anything else.

Come to think of it, given that a big part of Chip originally being a Wholesome Foods manager was likely due to his father, I feel like his vendetta with the Greens was the first real challenge Chip ever had to face (or was 'forced' to face. We saw in his song that while he could challenge himself by changing careers or learning a new skill, he's not self-motivated enough to even try). Everything else was either handed to him or was something he succeeded just enough in to feel satisfied - so it makes sense that these multiple failures and 'offenses/personal attacks' from the Greens would impact his psyche to the point of it being impossible for him to ever completely let go of his need for revenge, needing that closure above all else.

Which brings me to another point: Beyond the fact that the initial tooth-chipping was Chip's own damn fault, Cricket has only ever been shown fighting back against Chip after Chip initiates it, he's never outright sought the guy out just to mess with him. And, when it came to both their tomato war and the apology contract, it was Cricket who gave Chip a chance to walk away both times. It was Cricket who wanted what was best for the farmer's market above all else, and it was Cricket who was the first one (even before Bill and Tilly!) to sign the contract, believing in Chip's ability to change and be a better person and possible friend instead of an enemy.

But each time, Chip refuses and ends up stabbing Cricket and the rest of the Greens in the back, no matter how illogical or foolish it may be for him, his happiness or his business. Again, Chip puts his ego, pride and power above all else. He can't agree to peace in the farmer's market because that still means surrendering. He can't become friends with the Greens because that would mean actually having to put in the effort to change and find other goals and means of satisfaction in his life. He can't just live a new life as Norm because he doesn't have the power over people that he had as Chip, thus putting him in a position to be 'wronged' again. He can't just let the Greens be happy because why should they be happy if I can't be.

And he can't fully accept blame and responsibility for the initial tooth-chipping because once he does, he has to also accept that EVERYTHING he did in the name of revenge truly was pointless.

At this point, you could make the argument that he really is too far gone. The man's essentially starting his Joker arc, fully embracing that he's a 'monster' by his own words, which kinda makes the idea of Chip simply stopping, apologizing and just going to therapy feel kiiiiinda farfetched (cause again, you can't really offer someone help if they don't want to actually put in the work to properly benefit from it- or at the very least, acknowledge that they need it)

With this in mind, I would honestly LOVE a scene where - after offering Chip chance after chance - Cricket finally just throws all these examples back in his face and forces Chip to fully acknowledge them, telling him its his own fault for never just walking away from this whole revenge thing and outright refusing to accept anymore blame or responsibility for this guy's misfortunes.

...Of course, even if Chip were to by some miracle gain some self-awareness/self-realization, I feel like he'd just respond to all this with "I don't CARE if chipping my tooth was my own fault! It still wouldn't have happened if I never met you or your dumb family! So if I'm going down, I'm gonna do all I can to take you down with me."

Like I said, it's a self-inflicted tragedy, and unless something major happens to break through to Chip - his father stepping in maybe? though tbh Chip seemed to barely respect him in the first place sooooo - I truly do feel like both his Joker arc and his story as a whole is going to end in flames with Chip getting the ol' Disney classic 'falls off a high place and/or into fire' villain death. That or he's finally arrested - either way, it'd be ending that cements his story as being finished (since, given that Chip is apparently going to try to destroy all of Big City and everyone in it, I'm not sure how much more you'd be able to do with his character after hitting that extreme that would still feel exciting or have some tension)

But who knows? The BCGs crew already surprised me quite a bit with where they decided to take Chip's story in his s4 return ep, so maybe they'll surprise me again. Whether they take it, I'm just hoping that (for unlikely as it may be) we don't get something that's either completely unsatisfying or something that feels like it's going against the whole point of Chip's arc - like Chip getting a snapshot redemption and rushing into an actual friendship with the Greens, or Cricket for whatever reason being the one to apologize despite every single one of Chip's misfortunes being - say it with me now - his own damn fault. As long as neither of these two examples happen, I'll probably be pretty happy and satisfied.

[aller-geez]

Geez.. when I posted Part One (the preface) of 29: Another Year Sicker, I said Part Two would be out in a few days and boy was I wrong!!

I actually wrote 3/4ths of the entire fic, then decided I hated it and didn’t touch it for a few weeks (^: (sorry guys, I have self esteem issues 🥸)

So change of plans, cause this fic is going to be upwards of 30k-40k words, I have broken it down further into parts! Each part will still have the illustrations I promised also! (:

Part Two includes: sick, super sneezy, so absolutely miserable that he’s emotional Remi on his 29th birthday, sweet Levi fluff taking care of him at home, stifles, full snz, some contagion? and slight mention of mess (nothing crazy)

Please enjoy! 🖤 Part Three will be posted soon, I hope!

Part One can be found here!!

29: Another Year Sicker Part Two

“Hey baby?” Levi’s soft voice broke through his boyfriend’s subconscious, the wolf letting out a soft groan from between his chapped lips, his face buried deeply into the pillow under him. “I know you’re going to hate me for this, but you can’t sleep all day on your birthday..” The leopard continued, one hand tenderly petting the large man across his raven hair which was matted with sweat and stuck out wildly in all directions.

“Nnnngh..” Remi’s eyes very slowly peeled open, revealing a dull green hue to the normally bright irises. He felt like he had been run over by a train and still laid in a puddle on the tracks. “W-What?” The wolf struggled to remain conscious, his eyelids heavy with sleep. As he swallowed a few times, the rawness in his throat was undeniable now, making him wince into the fabric of his pillow. “What time is it?” Remi’s deep voice was harsh, and missing all of the octaves it usually hit, sounding as if it scrapped his throat as he spoke. The quick exchange of air seemed to irritate the raw feeling that extended deep into his chest, and suddenly he was forced into a full sitting position, his large frame shaking from the force of the deep coughs that wracked through him. 

Levi offered his mate a gentle frown, his thin hand coming up to trace small circles against Remi’s sweat soaked back until the harsh coughs subsided, leaving the wolf with a hollow, dry feeling within his lungs. 

“It’s almost five, baby..” Levi purred sympathetically, the deep blue pools of the cat’s eyes displaying nothing but love and concern for his ill mate.

“Are you serious? Of course it is..” Remi hissed in frustration, his hands mindlessly rubbing at his eyes before giving a quick swipe to his bright pink nose. As he did so, the crust from his nose running over night, as well as the drool that still stuck to his face from having to sleep with his mouth open was removed, sending a gentle stinging sensation through the tip of his nose, and settling itself into the back of his sinuses. “God, i feel like shit..” he grumbled, slumping back into the bed beneath him.

Levi couldn't help but smile softly at the wolf's grumpy demeanor, his heart swelling with love for the sickly man beside him. He knew that Remi wasn't feeling his best, but seeing him so vulnerable and weak made the leopard want to care for him even more. "I know, love. But we can't let you spend your entire birthday in bed. I still have plans for us here, even if we aren’t going to have a party~," he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to Remi's forehead.

Remi groaned, the sound deep and guttural, as he buried himself further into the bed. His head throbbed painfully, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and drift back to sleep. However, the mention of plans piqued his curiosity. "What kind of plans?" he asked after a second, his voice rough and scratchy.

Levi grinned mischievously, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Oh, you’ll see!” The cat chimed happily, clapping his hands together in front of him with pride that he managed to catch the wolf’s attention, especially under these conditions.

Remi raised an eyebrow. Despite feeling like death warmed over, he couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement at the prospect of spending time with the leopard. He knew that his boyfriend always had something up his sleeve, some grand adventure or surprise waiting just around the corner. "Alright, you've got me intrigued," the wolf said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he tried to lean himself up on his elbows. However, his body felt heavy and weak, like all of his strength had simply been leeched away as he slept. Levi immediately took notice and reached out to help him, his hand supporting the other's back as he settled against the headboard.

"Thanks," Remi muttered, still feeling embarrassed by his weakness. He was used to being strong and capable, but now he felt like a burden to his mate. With a small snort, he ran one of his wrists up his nostrils to wipe away the already incessant running of his nose, looking away from the leopard in embarrassment.

Levi sensed his discomfort and leaned in to place a soft kiss on the wolf’s lips. "Don't worry about it, love. I'm happy to take care of you, especially on your birthday," he grinned with reassurance towards his sick boyfriend, his voice filled with sincerity.

Remi couldn't help but smile at Levi's words, feeling grateful for his boyfriend's unwavering support. "I love you, kitten." he croaked, flashing the younger man a gentle, gracious smile.

Just like his body knew it was the reason for the wolf’s misery, the same familiar tickle that he knew so well suddenly stung at his sensitive nose, the congestion in his full sinuses adjusting itself as he sat up. The intensity even took Remi off guard as he could do nothing but gasp desperately in preparation, his arched brows knitting tightly together on his forehead as his nostrils flared, his stubborn dampened nose begging for a release, one way or another.

“-hd’ISCHhh!! -h’dtTISHh! hhh’ISCHih! hh'IETTSSSH’UE!” Remi sneezed harshly to the side away from the leopard, which was instantly followed by a frustrated groan and a few unproductive snuffles. Wiping his already reddened nostrils against his sleeve, the wolf roughly cleared his throat, before sighing openly.

He could already tell; it was going to be a very long night..

“Bless you, and I love you too, baby~” The cat chirped happily, running his fingers through the large man’s damp hair, hoping a little positivity would help bring his mate’s mood up. “Whenever you feel okay enough to get up, I can show you—“

Cutting Levi off mid sentence, Remi's phone began to ring, the sound reverberating throughout the otherwise quiet room. The wolf frowned, not expecting anyone to call as everyone tended to avoid him like the plague on his birthday, simply because of the bad mood he was always in every year. Glancing down at the screen that lay face up against the bed, he saw the smiling face of his younger sister, Meeko, on the caller ID and his scowl instantly dissolved into a relieved smile. He tried to clear his throat a few times before answering to try and disguise his telling hoarse and congested voice but to no avail. By time it had already rung a few times, he still just stared at his phone instead of picking it up with a distant, slightly confused expression.

“You should probably take that," the cat nodded towards Remi’s phone with a smile, before handing it to the wolf, who took it slowly, still fighting the overwhelming buzzing in his full sinuses.

The moment he answered and put the call on speaker, his thoughts of love and gratitude quickly dissipated as an onslaught of sneezes erupted from deep within him.

“Ih’GXXNT’iiew! Huh'GDTS'ue! H'ihhSHHhh’iew!! hhh’ISCHih!!” Each one seemed louder than the last, and Remi felt helpless as he tried to stifle them with little success.

Meeko's high pitched voice on the other end of the line was filled with worry as she was greeted with the sudden fit. “Rem! I thought you said they were allergies! You sound horrible!” She cried with concern.

All the wolf could do was mumble something inaudible in response before another two sneezes came bursting out of him. “H'utsschhiew! hh'IETSH’UE” It seemed like it would never end...

Remi smashed his palm into his itchy nose, desperate to stop the breathtaking fit that took over every part of his weakened body, rubbing back and forth so quickly he could almost start a fire on his chapped skin. Before he could be interrupted again, he brought the phone closer to his face, his green eyes filled with tears as he fought against the burning that only grew more intense the longer he tried to smother it.

Levi quickly snatched another handful of tissues from the dwindling box that sat on their nightstand, and tried thrusting them into Remi’s free hand, but they were quickly waved off, the large man too concentrated on fighting his ticklish nose to do anything else.

“I’b really— sorry about the—… p-party.. HihhHh—!” The wolf’s breath hitched, and his broad chest swelled quickly as air began to fill his lungs, signaling that he was about to lose the battle he had been desperately trying to win.

“Ah, Rem, just get some rest and feel better, okay? We’ll be over as soon as you’re feeling up to it. Promise!” Meeko reassured him, a clear cringe in her voice as even a simple phone call had her feeling like she needed to duck and hide from her ill brother.

“IH’TTSCHH! HT’TTTSZCH!! IHT’TSSCHIIEWW!” His body shook with each powerful sneeze and he could feel snot dripping down his upper lip; it was impossible for him to keep his eyes open without them stinging with tears. Levi tried his best to help out, quickly swiping Remi’s phone from his trembling hand and taking it off speaker to put it up to his own face as his mate continued to snap forward with seemingly endless forceful sneezes.

“Thanks Meeks, I’ll make sure he rests and gets better soon so we can all celebrate for real. And I’ll tell him about the jenga as soon as he’s cognizant enough to listen!” Levi couldn’t help but chuckle lightly into the phone. “I’ll call you back later with an update!”

“You’re the best, Lee.. Good luck over there! Please don’t get sick!” Meeko was quick to get off of the call, thankful to have Levi there to dote on the wolf. She definitely wouldn’t want the job, no matter how much she loved her brother, as everyone who was ever around Remi when he was sick knew.. If you caught your cold/flu from him, it would be the worst illness of your life; like the man somehow made his own super viruses within his large body.

Tossing Remi’s phone beside him onto the bed, Levi leaned down to kiss the top of the older man’s head, the tissues he had tried to hand the wolf earlier once again slid gently into his grasp. With a soft groan, Remi graciously accepted this time and blew his nose into them thickly, even making himself cringe as he drenched the tissues in his hands instantly. Once the wolf was finally able to catch his breath from his fit, Remi looked at Levi with an apologetic expression on his face.

If the leopard had to be honest, he looked rather pathetic compared to his usual stoic facade. The wolf sat with his legs crossed in front of him, both hands held up to clutch a handful of tissues to his nose, not even considering taking the chance and removing them in case he was ambushed again. His sinuses were clearly swollen, leaving his face looking puffier than usual, and his eyes and nose were both rimmed with red, dry skin, his mouth constantly hanging open enough to breathe.

Levi could feel his heart breaking for his mate. The man deserved a good birthday for once, not feeling like absolute garbage.. He did everything for Levi, and was always more than attentive to the cats needs and feelings.. Stretching out a freckled hand, he rubbed Remi’s knee tenderly with a small frown.

“I’m sorry you feel so awful, baby..”

Letting out a slow, full exhale, Remi finally felt safe enough to be able to move the wall of tissues away from his face again. “Thadks, kidden.. sndff!” He swiped at his nose once more with the sodden ball of tissues before tossing them into the trash can by the bed. “What did I hear about Jedga?”

“Meeko’s present to you this year..” Levi’s worried expression was replaced with one of excitement as he glanced back at Remi. “I promised her we’d play it tonight, even if it’s just once.. you’ll get it when you see it. But you’ll have to go through the decorations, first~” The leopards features were taken over by a bright grin, thankful to have already spoken to his sister in law when she dropped off the game earlier in the day. He was constantly blown away by the love that Meeko had for Remi; this time though, it might be just what his mate needed.

A small smile tugged at the corners of the wolf’s mouth, and a little light returned to his unusually dull green eyes. At this point, anything was better than being the sole reason there was a worldwide tissue shortage while never leaving their shared bed that was currently soaked in his sweat. He snuffled softly, not willing to even tempt his sensitive nostrils to go off again, although the few harsh coughs that escaped couldn’t be helped.

“Oh? You didd’t put too buch effort id to it just to have to cagcel, though, right?” His dim, emerald eyes slid up to Levi’s with a sheepish expression, praying to whatever higher power that he was about to walk out of their room to a bunch of 3 balloons, and a little cupcake with a single candle lit on their table. But he knew his mate better than that.

With a carefree laugh, Levi ran his fingers through Remi’s hair starting from his forehead. “Do you even know me?” The cat stuck his tongue out playfully, giving his mates shoulder a light shove.

“No, you’re right.. that was a questiod I defiditely already dew the adswer to.” The wolf couldn’t help but chuckle weakly, although he was more embarrassed than he’d like to admit that Levi still did everything for his birthday party, something that the cat was so excited for, all for his stupid body to give out the one day he needed to not be sick. Figures.

As Levi’s attentive blue eyes traced his mates figure, he could see the man’s sickly body trembling forcefully under the blankets despite the constant stream of sweat that kept his hair matted to his neck and forehead. The cat’s eyebrows knitted together on his face, worry for his mate filling his blue orbs. “You doin okay, baby? Here,” he quickly turned on his heels to begin digging in their shared closet, a few clothes here and there being tossed out to the side haphazardly as the younger man searched. When he finally found what he was looking for, Levi chirped with happiness before pulling them off of the hangers they had been clipped to.

Once the cat emerged from the small space again, he laid the three articles of clothing down on the bed next to the wolf with a tender smile. One of Remi’s favorite hoodies, black with the words “SewerPerson” scrawled across the front in a death metal font, a clean pair of boxers, and a pair of thick grey sweatpants that fit him perfectly.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.” Levi smiled, before he offered an outstretched hand to reassure him. Remi started to open his mouth to argue, but the sudden sternness in his boyfriends usually relaxed features quickly caused him to abandon the idea all together, shutting his mouth forcefully with a ‘click’ from his teeth. A raspy, defeated sigh left the wolf, before he reluctantly took the cat’s thin hand and coaxed himself to stand, very slowly.

Helping the wolf get out of the bed and into the clothes he had laid out for him, Levi tried to remain positive despite the worry he had for his beloved. He and Remi had been together for a long time now, and he hadn’t seen his mate this sick in years.. The cat gulped silently, hoping with everything in him that this was just an ill timed head cold from hell, and not something more sinister like what had landed him in the hospital a few years back. But he didn’t have time to sit and worry. It was Remi’s birthday and damn it, they were going to have fun, even if it meant killing themselves to achieve it.

When Remi was finally dressed, Levi couldn't help but admire him, thinking how handsome he looked even in times like this. His poor nose was bright red and chapped, his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed with fever, even visible against the darkness of both his own hair, and the black hoodie he currently had on. His mouth hung open just slightly as he breathed, and a noticeable wheeze echoed in his lungs accompanying each exhale, the constant mouth breathing causing his lips to split painfully in a few places. Yet even so, he was beautiful to Levi.

“Okay, are you ready to see your party now?” Levi bounced up and down with excitement to show the wolf how much thought and effort he had put into his birthday, even if there was no one else to see it but Remi.

The wolf was almost dazed as he stood next to Levi, taking a full few seconds before he was able to even register that he was being spoken to. He had a far off, distracted look glazed over his dull green eyes, but the stoic wolf simply scrubbed at his now runny nostrils with his knuckles, giving an alarmingly liquidy snort that did nothing but increase the pressure behind his eyes, however he returned Levi’s smile weakly. “Okay, I thigk I’b ready.”

Gently taking Remi's hand in his own, Levi guided him towards the kitchen of the RV, but when they fully stepped in, what Remi saw completely took his breath away. The small kitchen was filled with decorations that were obviously meant for his birthday party, all set up by his mate, despite how sick he was feeling the night before.

‘He must have stayed up all night putting these up..’ Remi thought to himself as he looked around the once familiar space now blanketed in various birthday decorations.

The warm yellow and green lights glittered along the walls, illuminating colorful streamers and balloons that gave off a cheery atmosphere. There were two recently delivered boxes of pizza that still radiated heat on the counter, and drinks chilling in a mini-fridge nearby. A big banner hung from wall to wall reading: "Happy Birthday Remi!" Even though no one else could be there due to how sick he was, Levi had clearly gone out of his way to make sure this day was special just for him.

Feeling incredibly touched by the gesture, but also, overwhelmingly guilty that the love of his life could have spent the time resting last night instead of running around everywhere, Remi's throat tightened as tears started welling up in his eyes. He wanted to say something—anything—but words failed him and instead he just looked at Levi, his expression caught somewhere between amazement, and sadness. The cat looked back, clearly understanding what was transpiring within the complex man’s head without a single word being said. As Remi took a step back to admire everything, he stumbled slightly, losing his footing and ungracefully hitting his back loudly into the wall behind him. He sighed in frustration, before sliding down the wall slowly, and resting his head in his hands that were propped up against his knees.

Levi had been standing in front of the wolf, and the loud thump of his mate’s back against the wall nearly made him jump out of his skin, but he quickly recovered, gently crouching so he could be at Remi’s level. Carefully brushing the few stray tears away with the pad of his thumb, Levi tucked a couple of loose strands of jet black hair behind Remi’s ears before pressing their foreheads together gently, his bright blue pools displaying the genuine grin on his freckled cheeks.

“Remington… I’ve lived with you for years now.. You didn’t think I knew you were coming down with something yesterday?” The leopards tone was gentle and sweet as always, but there was definitely a hint of playful sarcasm in there as well as a small smirk that now tugged at his mouth. Snagging the corner of the small cow print blanket that hung neatly over the back of the chair next to them, Levi threw it over the wolf’s shoulders, rolling it in on itself up by his fevered cheeks and tucking it in the top of his hoodie.

“Baby, you don’t do a very good job at hiding it, if I’m being totally honest with you..” Levi couldn’t help but laugh gently at his own statement, although when he glanced back at Remi after a few moments with the same uplifting grin, the wolf’s expression remained troubled, tears still steadily filling his eyelids until they spilled down his cheeks. Unable to hold back his emotions any longer, Remi finally allowed himself to cry softly into Levi’s shoulder, which on its own was troubling for the smaller feline.

Remington took his strength and his ego very seriously, and Levi could count on one hand how many times he had seen his mate cry. So the fact that tears were pouring down his face now over something so small and trivial was indicative of how truly awful the wolf must have felt.

“Thagk you for doigg this for be.. do ode has ever dode adythigg special for be od by birthday..” Remi croaked between the small sobs that threatened to choke him. “I’b sorry I got sick agaid add you had to cagcel the party that you worked so hard od..” His voice was hoarse from all the crying and his sinuses began to swell, making it impossible to breathe through his nose whatsoever, yet pathetically his reddened nostrils ran like a faucet as if they were taunting him. He tried to open his mouth to speak again, but the breath caught in his raw throat, sending him into a deep, wet coughing fit that forced him to double over with his face buried in his elbow, that same ‘sick’ dry feeling in his lungs catching with each forceful exhale.

Levi tenderly wrapped his arms around Remi, holding him as he coughed and wiped his eyes once he was able to finally catch his breath again. “Hey, it's okay, don't apologize. I should apologize to you for not being able to throw you the birthday party that you deserve. I know it didn't turn out like we wanted but I still wanted to make sure you felt loved today so I did what I could." He ran his fingers through Remi's hair and kissed the top of his head before continuing in a soothing whisper, "Although this isn't how we planned on spending your birthday, there's still plenty of surprises in store for tonight - if you're feeling up for it. And if not...we can just lay here all night and cuddle under the stars with some hot tea." The leopard smiled warmly at him and brushed away a few fallen tears with his thumb.

As much as curling up with his warm mate sounded like heaven to Remi’s weakened body by now, even the thought of snuffing out any more of his thoughtful mate’s plans made him sick to his stomach. He shook his head quickly, maybe even too quickly, the room around him spinning to life and causing his stomach to flip and twist uncomfortably.

“N-no..” the wolf nearly pleaded with the other, his usual deep, threatening voice reduced to nothing but some occasional hisses and squeaks after his recent coughing fit.

How was anyone supposed to pretend he wasn’t the cutest thing in the world in his current state?

Chuckling breathlessly, the leopard was beyond grateful to be one of the only people in the world that his mate trusted enough to be this open and vulnerable with. “Okay, okay, Rem, it’s your birthday, okay? I’m just the chaperone.” The leopard giggled gently with a wink, thankful to finally see some of the color returning to his mates dim green eyes again.

. . . .

Thank you so much for reading Part Two of 29: Another Year Sicker!! Hopefully Part Three will be completed and posted before 2 months pass! 😭

Pls stay tuned 🖤

[yourchemicallyimbalancedromance]

Burned Bridges

Summary: Virgil runs into a wasted Janus at a party that his best friend, Roman, is throwing on Halloween night. A locked door forces them to confront their heavy past.

Ships: past analogical, present prinxiety

CW/TW: Alcohol, smoking, homophobia and bullying, Human!Virgil, Human!Remus (mentioned), Human!Roman, Human!Remy (mentioned), Human!Janus, Human!Logan (mentioned), unsympathetic Virgil, unsympathetic Janus, sympathetic Roman

It was October 31st and instead of binge watching horror movies by himself in the dark of his room, Virgil found himself standing in the corner of his childhood bestfriends house, early 2000’s pop music blasting in the background. He hadn’t dressed up and hundreds of people were bobbing up and down in a sea of red plastic cups, costumes, and glow stick bracelets, screaming the lyrics that came out of the speakers Roman had bought. He’d forced Virgil to go with him to buy them after begging him to come to the party because, in his words, “you never get out of the house, it’ll be fun! Especially if you meet a cute guy”

Virgil laughed after he said this, only responded with “yeah, whatever you say, Roman.”

Tequila suffocated anything that represented a pleasant smell out of the room. He was holding a drink himself, taking sips of it occasionally; not because it tasted good—at all—but because he had a hunch he wouldn’t want to remember the events of tonight.

His throat burned. He knew he wasn’t supposed to sip Tequila, normally he chugged it, but he liked the distraction of the pain and the warmth that filled him after every taste.

He desperately looked around for a familiar face. Last he saw Roman was when the party had started four hours earlier. It was now 2 AM and he had done nothing but drink, take shots with Remus and a few of his friends, be forced to dance by Remy, and stand in the corner waiting for it all to be over.

He chugged the rest of his drink and stood there for a moment, sinking in the environment around him, ultimately deciding to hide in the bathroom until the party was over. He took a few shaky steps into the crowd of people, shoving past drunks and the occasional stoner. He never really understood why Roman hung out with these kind of people, he honestly doubted that he knew most of the people in his house anyway.

He found his way to the bathroom and shoved it open, quickly closing and locking it, sitting on the cold tile floor.

In his rush, he hadn’t noticed Janus, wearing a Harry Potter costume, who was also sitting on the floor.

“Fuck, Sorry I didn’t know you were—“

Janus cuts him off “Vrrrrrrgggllll” he laughs, the name on his tongue slurring together.

“Look I didn’t know you were in here, I’ll just leave.” He states bluntly, getting up to open the door, wishing he still had his drink, he really didn’t want to remember this. He tried to force down his unresolved anger but it came out sharp in his voice.

“Vir-gil,” Janus hiccups “can I tell youuuu a secret?”

Virgil tries to unlock the door but it’s jammed, no matter how hard he pulls or twists the knob, it won’t budge. He sinks back down to the floor, annoyed. “Whatever Janus, sure” he says

“I think you’re still angry at me” he blurts out, giggling a bit, eyes drooping.

“Yeah, I am. You fucked me over, really bad. Who wouldn’t be.” he spits. He had his knees to his chest, his back to the door, trying to stay as far away from Janus as he could.

Janus struggled to stand up, grabbing onto the shower curtain and slipping, falling back down, pulling the curtain and rod down with him. Janus just giggled. “Oops.” was all he said.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Fucking hell, Janus. Can you stop being a nuisance for two minutes?” He screams.

Janus looks at him for a moment before registering what he said, mumbling a “sorry”

With anyone else, Virgil would’ve felt sorry for yelling, but Janus was the exception. He deserved it, worse than that even.

“You ruined the one good thing I had and you expect me to feel fucking sorry for you?” He snaps.

“I-“ Janus hiccups “I didn’t mean to” the light and carelessness in his eyes from earlier, gone. Now replaced with only a hint of it behind dull pupils.

“Yeah?, well you did. You think ganging up on me and Logan didn’t fucking ruin our relationship? You think the constant harassment inside and outside of Uni wasn’t fucking enough for me to have atleast a little bit of anger towards you?” he was practically screeching but he didn’t care, the music would cover it anyway.

Janus was staring at him, almost emotionless apart from the look in his eyes, which were starting to water.

Virgil got up to try the door again when Roman suddenly opened it, looking from Virgil to Janus and then Virgil again. He gave him a “what the actual hell is going on????” look and Virgil just shook his head, shoved past Roman and into the crowd.

Roman stared at Janus for a minute, taking notice of the curtain and curtain rod astray on the floor. He didn’t say anything, just closed the door and ran after Virgil.

———————————————————————

After a few minutes of searching inside, he found Virgil in his front yard, sitting on the stairs, smoking a cigarette.

He sat down next to him and a thick silence hung between them. Virgil blew out smoke into the cold air before clearing his throat. “He was acting like we were best friends again, can you believe it?” He laughed in exasperation.

Roman could believe it, Janus had always been an asshole in College and even before that, that was kinda his thing, which was why he was surprised when Virgil had suddenly decided to become friends with him one day.

“He’s so funny dude, like literally one of the best people I’ve ever met” he had said

Roman had just smiled and laughed in return, knowing how awful he was to his other friends.

Roman didn’t say anything this time either, just shook his head.

“I hate him so much, Ro. He’s awful. He ruined everything. Logan hasn’t spoken to me in almost a year because of the shit he pulled before we graduated.”

Roman sighed, “I know, Virg…but he’s not necessarily known for being a good person, I thought you knew that” he says softly.

Virgil took a drag of his cigarette and breathed out, “obviously not.” He said a little annoyed.

Immediately he regretted it. “Sorry” he said, tapping his cigarette and letting the ashes fall.

Roman gave him a reassuring smile, “it’s okay”

Virgil put his cigarette on the concrete step they were sat on, getting rid of its light and throwing the butt into the grass. He put his head in his hands. “Life’s rough, man. I don’t even miss him anymore I’m just upset because he made me really, really happy. Sometimes…I feel like it’s my fault? for introducing him to Janus.”

“It’s not your fault at all. It’s his. Honestly? I don’t even know why he’s here. I didn’t invite him, someone else probably did.“ Roman says the last part sheepishly, a little ashamed that he let Janus in his house with his best friend that he hurt irreversibly.

Virgil turns to Roman, staring at him longingly in the eyes. They were beautiful. Hazel with green specks around the edges. Maybe it was the tequila, or his exhaustion, or his desperation to feel loved by someone, but he slowly moved a hand to Romans face.

“Can I?” He whispered

Roman looked at him for a moment, weighing his options. He did like Virgil, but what if he was doing this in a drunken haze? What if he was just using him to get over Logan? He didn’t believe he was truly over their relationship just yet.

Despite these fears, Roman shook his head and their lips locked. He let himself melt into it, let himself enjoy the moment. He tasted of alcohol, honey lavender tea, and Marlboro Reds.

After a moment, Virgil pulled away; A look of blissful happiness on his face.

Roman was still holding onto the moment, staring through Virgil.

He looked at him, worried. “oh god I’m so sorry did you not want—“

Roman interrupted him, “No! no I did..I really, really did.” He smiled, genuinely.

Virgil returned it, “That’s good.”

Roman paused for a second “so…does this mean we’re dating?..” he asked “cause you’re drunk and I just don’t want-“

Virgil took Romans hands in his. “I’m just a little tipsy, Honey, but I know what I want, and what I want is this.” he says gently.

“Okay.” Roman responds, hopeful.

“I’m gonna head home, alright? Text me, I’ll respond as soon as I can” Virgil says

“I will, love” he says. The nickname feels odd leaving his lips, especially being used on someone who’s been his friend for 22 years, but he says it anyway.

Virgil gets in his car and pauses.

Romans phone dings after a minute or two and he takes it out of his pocket, reading the message before watching Virgil’s car leave his driveway.

Virgil<3: “I promise I want this, and I want you. Some tequila and a little heartbreak doesn’t change that. 💜”

Roman smiles, puts his phone back in his pocket, and goes back inside.

[thekinkyleopard]

I’m Not

A Remi Snz Fic

🫶🏻Anon Request🫶🏻

⚠️Content Warning ⚠️

Snz Fet & Fluff

Author’s Notes: So Sorry it took me so long to get this out, Anon! I was on a trip and then I had like a whole stack of drafts to finish….I’m a mess but, I’m here now to provide the goods 🫡 @aller-geez did the art and owns Remi!

Description: Remi has been called in for mandatory Jury Duty, but he's come down with yet another cold. Can he get through it? Or will he be forced to reschedule his duty?

Of all places he had to be, Jury duty. Jesus Christ. Remi sat back in the uncomfortable chair of the court house waiting room, his long thin leg shaking anxiously. His toxic green orbs scanning back and forth between all the other members of the jury that were forced to report here today.

They all looked boring, just a bunch of average looking nobodies. However, today on all the days he had to be at Jury Duty, he felt like an entire bag of shit. His head was pounding, and his body was hot. He snuffled loudly, sliding his suit sleeve across his nose angrily before crossing his arms, and hiding a cough in his shoulder. This was going to be tricky. He needed to get through this bullshit without blowing his whole face off and offending the entire lot of them.

He shifted in his seat, trying to gain some sort of relief from his growing cold. It was usually mild, but today it had taken a turn for the worse and he was scared of how it might affect the outcome of Jury Duty. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on something else, anything that could distract him from this damn waiting room. His eyes landed on the clock above, ticking away minutes until they began their trial. He sighed again, willing time to go faster. The bags under his eyes only growing darker with every passing second. He sat there slack jawed and dissociated for a bit of time, unable to will himself to look of average health.

However, just as he found himself about to get comfortable in the chair again, shifting slightly, he felt a hand tap him on the shoulder and heard a soft voice whisper beside him “Hey there, you don’t look so good. Are you alright?” He turned around with a swift jerk of his body, a little too fast for his clouded head, but he managed, only to find an elderly woman standing beside him with a concerned expression on her face. She must have seen how uncomfortable he was feeling and offered her help.

Remi's body turned ridged and he avoided eye contact with the woman, clearing his throat before answering her. "I'm uh, it's all good, I'm fine," he stumbled over his words slightly as his head slowly spun circles around his consciousness, his face still stinging with an irritating sensation. The woman gave him a sympathetic look and patted him gently on the arm. "Well, if you need anything, let me know. My name is Mrs. Johnson."

Remi nodded his head, not wanting to be rude to an elderly woman but also not wanting to converse with her either. "Thanks,” he responded simply. He watched as she walked away from the peripherals of his vision, before slumping back into his chair. He knew he had to keep it together, but the pressure was getting to him. He couldn't dismiss himself with a doctor's note...seeing as he was in between insurances.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. Just as he was starting to relax, a commotion broke out at the front of the room. Remi opened his eyes to see a group of lawyers and a defendant being escorted in by police officers. The defendant was a young teen boy, dressed in a blue jumpsuit and handcuffs.

Remi watched as the jury members all stirred in their seats, murmurs of shock and confusion filling the room. He too was surprised and couldn’t help but feel a wave of emotion wash over him, despite the spinning in his head. The cold that he had been fighting so hard to keep at bay began creeping back in, making his body tremble with anxiety. He looked away quickly, trying not to draw attention to himself.

It was then that he realized how truly serious this situation was and that he might be put in a position where he could make an impact on someone's life. It was both overwhelming and scary, but Remi knew that he had to do his best to see the situation for what it really was; he had to prove he was a valuable member of society to keep the home he and his boyfriend bought. If he didn't play the part, the city could very much make that a problem.

His nostrils twitched as he could feel a rough pressure building in the bridge of his nose. "Shit..." he hissed through gritted teeth. He was going to sneeze, he could feel it, but he couldn't. Not here, it would blow his whole cover of pretending to be healthy. Truly he would walk out if it were up to him, but he thought about Levi, and how disappointed he would be. He also definitely didn't want any of his consequences coming down on the leopard.

So, Remi swallowed the sneeze down hard and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He felt the burning sensation build up in his face, like he was trying to contain an earthquake within him. He glanced around the room, hoping no one else suspected the tension that had overcome his body. No one seemed to notice or care for that matter, they were too wrapped up in their own thoughts and worries as they waited for jury duty to begin.

Relieved, Remi allowed himself a few deep breaths as he tried to steady his body. But it was like he was playing a game of tug-of-war with himself; part of him wanted to let go and allow the eruption of air out while another part screamed at him not to move an inch lest anyone notice what was happening inside him. He was starting to sweat in his seat. After a few more moments of deliberation, Remi decided it would be best if he just let it out softly into his shoulder so as to avoid a blow out.

"hH-hah~" it started and he shook his head softly, his bright green eyes squeezing shut, unlike him usually, he shoved his mouth into the crook of his arm. Used to letting it out freely. This was different. He needed to accomplish this. Least it be rescheduled and he have to deal with it on a different day....no absolutely not. He took a deep breath, but only found that this made the issue more persistent. His nose twitched uncomfortably, he twisted it in circles to try and starve off the impending doom. Yet it was fruitless, it needed to come out in any way, shape, or form.

"H'KXNT!" He made quick work to cover his mouth head turning sharply downward, despite it being muffled into the fabric of his sleeve, the sound drew the attention of a few of the other jurors nearby. Thinking quickly, Remi pretended to be coughing and wiped his nose quickly before returning his attention to the front of the room. Avoiding any further suspicion. His body was sweating now, and his head was pounding with discomfort. He tried to focus on the proceedings once they were all pulled in, but his mind kept wandering, and he found himself losing track of the conversation.

As the lawyers began presenting their case to the jurors, Remi's mind began to drift. He thought of his boyfriend, Levi, and how worried he would be if he knew just how sick Remi was feeling. He thought of everything they had built together, their home, their life, and their future. He couldn't allow his health to interfere with that.

Suddenly, Remi snapped back to reality as the judge called on him to answer a question regarding the case. He swallowed hard and tried to focus on the question, but his mind was foggy. "I Uh.." he snuffled his nose softly, wiping it obnoxiously on his hand, the judge raising a brow.

"Excuse me, sir, do you need a moment?" the judge asked, concern in his voice. Remi shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "No, no, I'm fine. I apologize, could you repeat the question?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly. The judge repeated the question, and Remi did his best to answer it, despite the pounding in his head.

As the proceedings continued, Remi struggled to keep up. His mind was working at less than 10% wishing he was at home in bed with a handful of cold meds, he could feel his body slowly shutting down. He tried to focus, but it was like trying to see through a thick veil of mist. He knew he had to make it through this, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on, when his nose started up again...'Not fucking NOW..' he cursed inwardly at himself. "H'GnXT!" he struggled, stifling yet another sneeze into his shoulder, slightly spraying on the juror next to him.

"Ugh...dude?" The guy whispered, looking Remi up and down with a look of disgust.

"S-Sorry man...allergies.." he chuckled breathlessly with a sheepish look on his face.

Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to see Mrs. Johnson looking at him with concern. "Is everything alright, dear?" she asked. Remi nodded his head, tears pricking at the corners of his emerald orbs.

"M'Fine..." He whispered back to her in response. Mrs. Johnson didn't seem convinced, but she didn't press the issue. Instead, she squeezed his shoulder gently before returning to her seat. Remi wiped his eyes and tried to regain his composure. He couldn't break down now, not in front of all these people.

The trial continued, but Remi found himself struggling to stay conscious. His head was spinning, and his body felt like dead weight. Just as he was about to give up, the judge called for a short recess. Remi slumped back in his seat, relieved for a moment to recover.

As the other jurors began to file out of the room, Mrs. Johnson approached him once again. "Are you sure you're okay? You look like you're about to pass out," she said, worry written all over her face. Remi shook his head, his vision blurry.

"I'b nod....I'm...fibe.." he snuffled and sniffled, trying to fight the urge to rub his nose right in front of the lady.

"Do you need a tissue honey?" Mrs. Johnson asked, offering a pack of tissues from her bag. Remi's eyes lit up with gratitude as he accepted the pack of tissues. He took one out, almost ripping through the packaging like a wild animal and blew his nose with a loud and wet sound, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.

"Thangs…” he said, his voice hoarse. Mrs. Johnson smiled kindly at him.

"Of course, dear. You take care of yourself, okay?" she said before heading out of the room. Remi watched her go, feeling grateful for her kindness but still determined to get through this.

As the recess ended and the jurors filed back into the room, Remi took a deep breath and tried to focus. He knew it was going to be a long day, but with the help of the kind strange lady and her pack of tissues, he was ready to face whatever came his way.

He took a deep breath, which in retrospect was an entirely bad idea. The sensation of that irritating prickle was back in full force, stinging up the inner workings of his nostrils. Remi held his breath, trying to suppress the sneeze. But it was too late, the pressure was building up inside him, and he knew he couldn't hold it in any longer. "H'KXNT!" he stifled, his eyes feeling like they could blow full force out of his skull from trying to hold it down, his body shaking with the sheer vigor of it. He tried to cover his mouth with his tissue, but it slipped from his hand and landed on the floor.

Embarrassed, Remi quickly bent down to pick up the tissue. As he did, he felt a sharp pain in his sternum. He gasped, clutching his chest as the pain intensified. The other jurors turned to look at him, concern etched on their faces.

"Is everything okay?" one of them asked. Remi nodded his head swiftly, his face contorted with pain but then quickly he masked it with a stern and stoic look, despite his discomfort.

"Y-Yeah I'b fide, cad you guds jusd focub on the drial?" he gasped out with slight irritation. The last thing he needed was everyone's god damn eyes on him over a stupid chest cold.

The jurors reluctantly returned their attention to the trial, leaving Remi to try and suppress his urge to sneeze all over the place. He tightened his jaw, squinted his eyes shut, and desperately tried to focus on something else. For what felt like an eternal moment. Just when he thought it was about to subside, the sensation of another messy blow erupted through his body once again. "H'KXNT! HN'GXKT!" he pulled it in twice in quick succession, his body convulsing with each one as his head started to pound against the pressure, his nose now leaking profusely, nostrils dark red and chapped, mouth full of a mixture between saliva and blood.

It was getting out of hand, there wasn't enough tissues in the world to prepare him nor anyone else for such a mess. Regardless, he pulled another piece out of the tiny pack he's been given. He dabbed at his mouth, his swollen nose and he wiped another clean tissue across his sweating forehead. Stuffing the soiled ones within his suit vest pocket.

The other jurors turned to look at him again, some of them looking annoyed. Remi could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, embarrassed by his lack of control. He looked down at his hands, feeling defeated.

Just then, the judge's voice cut through the room. "Mr. Connors, I'm sorry, but we can't have you disrupting the trial like this. Perhaps it would be best for you to excuse yourself and come back when you're feeling better," the judge spoke sternly.

Remi's heart sank. He knew he couldn't leave now, not when the case was so close to being decided. But he also knew that he couldn't keep up this charade any longer. He looked up at the judge, his eyes pleading for one more chance. "Really, I'b bine," he snuffled loudly, snorting up a rough stream of congestion.

The judge shook his head, the jurors feeling rather relieved, worried they might end up with whatever he brought in today.

"No, I'm sorry Mr. Connors. We can't have this disruption in the courtroom," the judge had made his ruling, doubling down on the decision to send Remi home.

The wolf felt his throat catch and he bit back a protest, knowing it would be futile. He bowed his head in defeat and stood up, trying to maintain an air of composure as he exited the room. He could feel all eyes on him as he left, but soon the door shut behind him and he was left alone in the hallway outside.

He turned away from the closed door and started walking down the hallway, not quite sure what to do or where to go next. The urge to cry almost overwhelmed him, but instead, Remi gritted his teeth and continued walking with determination in his step. It's fine, he'll just have to reschedule and perform his civil duties another day. As angry as that made him inside, there was clearly nothing he could do about it right now. He snuffled loudly, wiping his nose yet again across his now stained sleeve, covered in little snail trails of snot.

"Guedd...I'b going hobe," he spoke out loud to himself now as he trudged his way over to his eye sore of a van. He would have to break the failure to his boyfriend when he got home, and he knew that Levi would pity him, and say it was all okay, but, he just wanted to accomplish something finally. Something substantial, he'd never been an active member of society before, and he was only doing it out of love and preservation for what he and his lover have currently built, but it was still effort.

As Remi approached his van, he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. He climbed into the driver's seat, and couldn't shake the feeling of defeat that hung over him like a dark cloud. He slumped down in his seat and rested his head against the steering wheel, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

But just as he was starting to feel a little better, he felt a sudden jolt of electricity shoot down his sinuses, and the prickle was back, full force, ready to take over. He leaned back in his seat, his head raising slowly, his watery, puffy eyes began to squint and his brows knitted upward. "H'h! ...Hh'Hah!" he struggled at first, but knowing he was in the safety of his own vehicle, he was ready to feel some sort of relief. “Hah'TSCHHUU! Hih'iitscHU! H'hah~" falling into a full on fit as his body trembled and shook with each large explosion. “Hh’itsshhhih!!” His open mouth releasing a misty cloud of particles that stained his windshield.

Remi reached for the pack of tissues on the passenger seat, but it was empty. Panicking, he rummaged through the glove compartment, hoping to find a stray tissue or napkin. All he found, however, was an old receipt and a crumpled-up fast-food bag.

"H'hah... no...no...no..." Remi muttered to himself, feeling the snot drip down his upper lip and chin. He reached for his shirt sleeve, but it was already soaked through. He looked around frantically, desperate for anything to wipe his nose on.

Then, he saw it. A stray blue scarf lying on the floor of the passenger seat, Levi's for sure by the color. Without a second thought, he grabbed it and brought it up to his nose, letting out a muffled sneeze as he did. "H'TSCHU!" The sensation was almost relieving, not quite as the previous, but it was better than nothing at all.

As the fit subsided, Remi leaned back in his seat, exhausted and defeated, mouth agape as he tried to catch his breath. He knew he had to let it calm down before he started driving home.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to regain his strength. But no matter how hard he tried, the feeling of defeat lingered inside him. He had embarrassed himself in front of the entire courtroom, failed to perform his civil duty, and now he was reduced to wiping his nose on his boyfriend's scarf.

The thought of Levi brought a small smile to his lips, even amidst all the chaos. He knew that Levi would understand and support him, no matter what. But still, Remi couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment. He wanted to be a better person, to do more for their relationship and for society in general.

As he continued to sit in his van, lost in thought, a sudden gust of wind blew through the open window, it washed a sense of calmness over him, cooling his heated face. He needed to get out of this damn monkey suit. Quickly he tore at the buttons, they popped off with ease and he shed himself of the stuffy jacket. "Finabby..." he sniffled once more, sitting in his black under shirt with much shorter sleeves and breathable fabric.

After a short while of just breathing out his open mouth and enjoying the cool breeze, he felt stable enough to get on the road. He grabbed the keys and shoved them in the ignition. He turned it on, listening to the comforting hum of its engine as he put it into reverse and started on his way home. His mood was still sour but it seemed to lighten a bit with each passing street, Guardin playing loudly through his newly installed sound system.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Remi's van pulled up in front of the home he shared with his beloved leopard. He opened the door and stepped out, only to be greeted with Levi's happy face as soon as the man walked through the threshold. "Hi baby!" Levi chimed in relief as he hugged him tight, not seeming to notice Remi's disheveled appearance or how exhausted he was from his courtroom drama earlier that day.

Remi couldn't help but smile at Levi's enthusiasm; it was enough for him to drop all worry and sorrow and just feel an instant wave of relief start to consume him. He leaned back into Levi's embrace, nuzzling into his boyfriend's shoulder no matter that he was leaning downward significantly to do so. "I god send hobe...." he mumbled weakly into the other's body, his calm draining back to that of pure disappointment in himself.

"Oh no! Why'd they send you home?" Levi asked curiously, but also with a tone of concern. If they had been unfairly discriminating against his boyfriend, they would hear an ear full from him. Holding tightly to Levi still, the wolf snuffled loudly, snuggling his face even further against the side of the leopard's neck.

"I'b sicg..." Remi responded, his voice muffled by Levi's shoulder. "I coulng't stob sneeding in courd, do dhey dold me do leabe."

Levi pulled back slightly, concern etched on his face as his light blues scanned over his features now. "Oh no, baby. Are you feeling okay?" he asked, running a hand over the wolf's forehead to test his temperature, noticing the glassy green eyes and irritated nose.

Remi shook his head, his nose starting to tingle again. "H'hah... yeah, I'll be fide," he said, but then taken by complete surprise he lets out another messy sneeze. "Hhuh’itsshhh’ue!!” slipping his hand pathetically over his leaking nostrils.

Levi chuckled delicately, "Let's get you cleaned up and into bed, then. I'll take care of you." He took Remi's hand and led him to the bedroom, where he helped him out of his clothes and into some comfortable pajama pants. He then tucked him into bed and sat next to him, stroking his hair gently after having cleaned up his face with a fresh tissue. "What am I going to do with you, hm?" his facial expression soft and kind as he always was with the man.

Remi smiled weakly at Levi's words, feeling grateful for his boyfriend's love and care. "Jusd lobe me," he said weakly, voice still afflicted from his stuffy and full sinuses. He allowed his eyes to come to a close as he snuggled deeper into his pillow.

Levi giggled through his nose, his hand never leaving Remi's hair as he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Always, baby," he whispered before standing up off the bed and turning towards the door. "Don't fall asleep just yet, I gotta get some meds into your system first okay?" he looked over his shoulder at the other.

Remi nodded, grateful for Levi's attention to detail. He watched as his boyfriend left the room, and then closed his eyes again, feeling the weight of the day finally catch up to him. But even as he dozed off, he struggled to feel any inkling of better.

When the little leopard returned with a glass of water and some medicine, Remi easily accepted, taking the pills with a gulp of water. He then settled back into bed, feeling the effects of the medicine starting to work their magic. He let out a sigh of relief, his body relaxing into the soft mattress.

"Thangs, kidden," he whispered to Levi, who was already sitting back down next to him. "Youde nod mad ad me, righd?" a rare sight to see the wolf pouting up at him. The cat could only feel his heart warm as he gently rubbed the man's chest.

"Not at all, Acushla....there's very very limited things you could accomplish that would make me mad at you," those soft freckled features baring down on him, only made Remi feel more at home.

"I'b do lucgy do habe you," the raven haired man sniffled tenderly before exhaling a slow breath.

Levi just smiled, his hand moving back to stroking Remi's hair. "As I, you, my love," The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying each other's company. And even though Remi's sinuses threatened to over bear him, he found comfort in squeezing tighter next to his tiny mate. Who in turn, stroked his head sweetly, until eventually, the wolf found himself fast asleep, ready to recoup from this horrible cold.

The End

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed this piece, Anon 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 I loved fulfilling it for you. Sorry there is no smut I was enjoying the fluffy vibes 😌

[summerstrash]

If Alex Summers comes out of Dark X-Men without some consequential alteration to his gender or sexuality I will eat my shorts.

Alex, currently:

Just insisted he and Maddie are "the same" and threw over his life as an X-Man to help her rule Limbo, which Maddie then characterized as a place that holds "the spirits no one wants to face. The parts of us we condemn to darkness. Nothing heals in darkness."

Most recently fucked a robot he perceived to be Maddie.

Spent the previous two years before Dark Web being manipulated by others for their nefarious or petty purposes in ways that left him physically & emotionally traumatized and isolated.

Was extremely sympathetic to robots and clones in an era when they were persona non grata.

Has a dissociative disorder that has not been explicitly resolved on panel yet.

Spent two years being paralleled with the most Wife Guy of genderweird WLWs , Mystique, during a period where Maddie's trans subtext feels its most intentional.

Alex, historically:

Is prone to fucking Scott & Bobby's exes (Lorna, Maddie, Annie)

Is prone to fucking people already in relationships when he meets them (Lorna, Maddie, Annie)

Tends to fuck MILFs (Maddie, Annie, Jan)

Feels deeply alone even when he doesn't have "good" reasons to be.

Once was the reason an energy vampire turned into a pterosaur man (Sauron).

And he's about to be on a team with:

Bobby's teen crush, but the version of Warren who experienced nonconsensual amputation and body modification and the isolation that creates.

A man married to a woman with a history of being unable to touch people. Remy's also extremely popular with X-Twitter Gays.

A robotic replica of Logan (y'know, the guy who is at minimum Scott's metamour, if not his boyfriend) named Albert, best known for hanging out with a robot little girl named Elsie Dee.

Kurt Wagner's demonic dad.

A guy who keeps fusing bodily with his sister and often walks around in a girl shaped body and who is an energy vampire (Emplate).

A guy who is part flesh and part machine and can sculpt his body any way he pleases and who can mind-control people by adding bits of his body to theirs (Zero).

Alex is absolutely surrounded by dudes who are exactly his type or who can be used for metaphors for transness as a result of Weird Body Stuff. There has never been a better time for him to be established as a closet case.