#‘he’s too unhinged’ first of all you’re wrong second of all I’d rather have him have his peace of mind and cause organized chaos | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cupofteaguk · 4 years

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a begin again drabble ↪ or, when a new professor shows up at hogwarts

There are many upsides and downsides to dating Jung Hoseok.

On one hand, he’s genuinely one of the nicest people you’ve had the pleasure of encountering. Being able to date him is just an extension of getting to see what kind of person Hoseok really is. Aside from his kind and understanding nature—underneath all those layers just lay the simple quality and fact that he really is nice and sweet and you adore those aspects of him.

On the other head, he’s genuinely one of the nicest people you’ve had the pleasure of encounter. He’s too nice, too understanding, too sweet and that type of personality constantly threatens to get on your nerves on more than one occasion. Most of the time, it’s little things that can result in exasperated, but otherwise fake, arguments about what to eat for dinner, whether to risk a trip to Hogsmeade during peak grading season would be worth the trouble, if you wanted to sleep over in his quarters for the evening or not…

Those little playful banters are nothing major or serious. They are parts of the relationship you share with Hoseok that makes it so fun, so unexpected, and everything you could have wanted plus a little bit more. It makes you truly realize how well you get along with Hoseok; how perhaps the formation of a romantic connection between the two of you is meant to be and that all those years of being away from each other despite believing neither of you knew each other that well was just a missed opportunity.

But sometimes Hoseok’s kindness really does make you want to strangle yourself. Or him. Or the very new, very attractive female professor who keeps giving him curious side glances and smiles that linger for a second too long—just like right now. And it’s hard not to feel the slightest bit unhinged when Hoseok doesn’t do anything to distance himself from her touches and her giggles.

Maybe you’re just jealous. Jealous over your boyfriend’s relentless good cheer, something that has not faded away or wavered in the slightest even when the pair of you went to school together. Maybe you’re jealous over the fact that Hoseok gets along so well with this new professor in particular—almost the same way that you and Hoseok got along when you first started working at Hogwarts.

The sudden worry that you could be replaceable in Jung Hoseok’s life, the thought that perhaps he would only keep you around until some other prettier, equally doe-eyed individual walked into his life fills your head with immediate doubt. Given that you and Hoseok have only been… somewhat of an item for a few months, it doesn’t fill you with too much confidence in the level of commitment both of you have for the relationship. There’s only so much your nerves will let you talk about before the fear of Hoseok’s expectations not matching with yours keeps you at bay.

It keeps you gritting your teeth together as you hunch over your desk in the empty classroom, attempting to grade the Transfiguration essays your first years have written. However, it’s hard to remain entirely focused on alphabet knowledge when Professor Hoseok and Professor Irene are standing outside the door frame of your class, talking and gushing to one another about god knows what. Normally, you don’t have a problem with Hoseok conversing with coworkers (as with him to you), but something about Hoseok and Irene talking threatens to make your heart drop to your chest and burn up all in a combination that can only be compared to some terrible anxiety.

You’re not too sure—maybe it’s the way Irene laughs a little too loudly and reaches over to oh-so-casually grace her hand down his arm and how Hoseok does absolutely nothing to stop her actions. Even though you don’t know the content of the situation or what they’re even talking about in the first place, that doesn’t stop you from allowing a bitter tang to enter your head, your stomach, your heart. The way Hoseok is smiling down at Irene reminds you a little too much about how Hoseok smiles at you and it brings a fireload of questions down upon you.

You force yourself to remain focused on the task at hand, leaning down in order to keep the pair at your door frame out of your line of sight. It’s still hard to stay preoccupied when the giggling feels as if it’s right next to your face.

You’re about two seconds away from straightening up and hiding away in your own personal office space to get away—not just from the distracting chatter but also from the burning sensation threatening to cloud your better judgement. However, before you can start to make the transition, the footsteps entering distracts you as you look up just in time to see Hoseok making his way towards you.

“Hey you,” He greets, flashing you his typical warm smile that never fails to make butterflies erupt in your stomach but the thought of him smiling at Irene in the same way leaves a more pressing worry that makes it difficult to return his hello.

“Hey,” You manage instead, playing a weak smile in the hopes that Hoseok will simply read it as stress.

It seems to work, because he furrows his eyebrows sympathetically and leans on the desk in the space next to where you’re seated. “Grading kicking your ass right now?”

You hum. “There’s only so many similar versions of the same topic that I can take before my immediate reaction to reading this is to just cross everything out with a giant red marker.” You sigh. Actually voicing the process of your assignments makes you realize that you are stressed out for a number of different reasons and that perhaps Hoseok’s relationship with Irene is the result of the stress. But still, you cannot stop yourself from feeling this way. “But I have to get it done,” You continue to remark, attempting to keep your voice light. “I feel like I’ve been holding back on this for way too long so I have to get them done.”

“Hm,” Hoseok remarks quietly, gaze watching your figure for a moment, as if trying to dephiever the source of your slightly dismissive attitude. Maybe the way you refuse to meet his gaze can be slightly misleading, especially since you’re usually an attentive person during conversations, but the fact that you’ve procrastinated on grading a large collection of assignment probably helps ease the suspicion as he writes off your behavior to stress. “So I guess grabbing a quick lunch in the Great Hall is out of the question?”

“You want to grab lunch?” You ask quietly, pressing your lips together as you sneak a quick glance at the man hovering over your shoulder. “I’m pretty swamped right now—why don’t you ask Professor Irene to go eat with you?” The last part is more of a mumble and is more or less a slip on your behalf and that realization makes your eyes momentarily widen out of fear that Hoseok will get defensive in regards to what that means.

Instead, Hoseok gives you a confused look. “Why would I ask Irene out to lunch? We were just talking a second ago and I’d rather spend my time with you.”

“W-Well,” You start, shrugging in an attempt to feign casualness. “I mean, I’m pretty busy and you guys seem to be getting along really well so it makes sense that the two of you would hang out. It’s not like either of us have many options for friends anyways.”

Your words seem to rid themselves of its dismissive nature because Hoseok actually ponders this thought. “That makes sense,” He reasons with a smile—the type of gesture that reassures you on not alarming Hoseok about the depth of your emotions, but also leaving you to wonder just how much of your sanity will be sacrificed from trying to convince Hoseok about your current state of mind.

As it turns out, it takes your sanity and a little bit more to get through the next few days of the week. Your busy schedule of grading, teaching, lesson planning, and tutoring keeps you away from Hoseok for long periods of time and he seems to use that as a main justification for spending more time with Irene. You catch them in the hallway as you’re trying to dash to the library or to your first class after catching a quick bite in the Great Hall—talking about god-knows-what but always laughing and always lingering closely together that makes the nerves of jealousy and curiosity spike at your heart.

You don’t want to be the controlling girlfriend, the one who tells Hoseok he cannot spend time with certain people even though you’re also the one biting off more than you can chew. You had been the one to say it was okay for Hoseok to hang around other people simply because there were moments where you couldn’t fill that void in his life. But still, seeing him hang around Irene and Irene only brings about far too many questions that should be healthy for a girlfriend to face alone.

Yet the fear of speaking your mind, the fear of Hoseok’s kindness serving as an inability to see where your negative emotions come from, keeps you from speaking but also forces you to stop lingering too closely over the problem. As a result, you unconsciously create distance between you and those problems by burying yourself in your assignments and neglecting your relationship out of fear of saying the wrong thing.

At first, you’re too distracted with grading midterms and answering inquiries from students that it isn’t hard for you to get lost and caught up in the current event of your day-by-day. However, the more time you spend investing in your work, the more time you see Hoseok and Irene in one another’s company, which leads to more conflicted emotions as you attempt to settle your jealousy despite every bone in your body convincing you that Hoseok enjoyed being with Irene more than he enjoyed being with you, which then leads you to bury yourself further and further into your assignments. And the cycle goes on, over and over again.

You’ve never been too good at dealing with specific problems head-on, so your body’s first instinct is to suppress the issue, meaning that you avoid aforementioned issue—meaning that you also avoid him.

“Y/N, I know you’re busy but do you want to grab a quick bite for dinner?”

“Uh—sorry, can’t. I promised a bunch of my fifth years I’d go over their Transfiguration notes before O.W.L’s come up.”

“Y/N, can I walk you to your first class?”

“Aw, that’s really sweet Hoseok but I have to run to the Great Hall super quick just to grab a bagel or something, I’m really hungry.”

“Y/N, do you have time for a little date down at the Three Broomsticks?”

“S-Sorry, a lot of students have told me they’re coming down to my office hours to practice the spells we learned in class…”

Sure, maybe a majority of the excuses you throw in Hoseok’s general direction are entirely truthful, but sometimes you actually go looking for those reasons not to spend too much time with Hoseok. You know it’s a cowardly thing to participate in, but your feelings feel so overpowering and scary that you aren’t entirely sure what would happen or what you would say if they got out of hand. So you resort to saying nothing and hoping that Hoseok would never catch on.

The hope had been stupid and foolish to begin with, and you realize that as soon as you walk out of Great Hall with the remnants of morning toast around your mouth only to find Hoseok waiting for you just outside. He looks disappointed and you can feel that disappointment leaking off his skin like steam and the sight of him after avoiding him for so many weeks aches at your heart. But it also forces images of his time spent with Irene fill your head and it’s just an endless cycle.

“P-Professor Hoseok,” You stammer, unsure why you had to attach formality to his name. After all, it’s not like the whole school doesn’t know that the pair of you are dating—word spreads quickly after people found out he fingered you in his office, but you don’t like to talk about that anymore.

“You’re avoiding me,” Hoseok states, crossing his arms over his chest, going straight to the point and you don’t blame him.

“I’m not,” You retort, but there is a waver in your voice and Hoseok didn’t even need to be your boyfriend to know how badly you lie through your teeth. “I really have been busy Hobi.”

You hope the use of the pet name would help ease the potential argument, but he doesn’t let up. “Okay, but you’ve always been the type of person to take aside a few hours to hang out. I get that you’re busy but you won’t even look at me anymore. What’s up with that? Are you… done with me or something?”

“What? No, no, of course not Hoseok,” You say, letting your own guard down long enough to take a step closer to him. “I didn’t know that’s how you felt—I didn’t even think you would have been missing me…”

The last part of the sentence is an afterthought but Hoseok sees right through it. “Of course I would be missing you, what are you talking about?”

You press your lips together, willing yourself not to say too much but you have a feeling that simply opening your mouth has already unlocked more can of worms than you ever intended. You avert your gaze. “I… I don’t know—you’ve been spending so much time with Professor Irene and you seem to really, really enjoy her company and vice versa…”

“Wait, wait…” Hoseok interrupts, eyebrows furrowing together. “Y/N, do you think I’m cheating on you or something?”

“No!” You interject, waving your hands briefly in front of your face. “No, I don’t think that at all…” You can feel the nervousness etching itself across your face, the adrenaline of nerves and fight or flight streaming through your blood and you wonder how convincing the statement must sound and look to Hoseok. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame you or anything—she’s pretty and smart and funny…” You trail off. The look of absolute disbelief upon Hoseok’s face has told you that you have said too much. “Uh, I have to get going,” You say, blindly taking a look at your wristwatch. You can’t even tell the time with how quickly you glance at it, but you need an excuse to leave the conversation before you could say something you don’t want to hear—or even worse, Hoseok could say something you don’t want to hear. “I have to get ready for my class.”

You turn on your heel and pace as quickly as you can without making it seem like you were trying to escape, but Hoseok calls your name and you know you aren’t as good at hiding your emotions as you thought. But it doesn’t matter, because you are running as quickly as you can to your class. Some students are already piled inside when you get there and hello’s are exchanged as you settle down at the front of the room and begin setting up the equipment for today’s lecture. It’s Draconifor spells with your third years—typically a more difficult spell to learn just because of the overall complexities that come with trying to transform objects into real things; you already have your work cut out for you.

The class starts off smoothly and you think that you can get through the lecture without worrying about Hoseok or Irene or wondering what Hoseok is thinking about—until the door to your class slams open and reveals the man himself standing in your doorframe. Over the course of your relationship, you’ve become accustomed to Hoseok dropping by your classroom during lectures to visit but this is not like his usual visits because he’s wide-eyed with a glint you’ve never seen before.

“Hoseok,” You greet, a touch of hesitancy in your voice and for good reason, given that you had just more or less accused him of cheating on you and so you aren’t entirely sure about what he plans to say. You swallow, wondering if your students can notice the spiking tension in the room. They’re probably use to his presence after having to endure it for so many months. “C-Can I help you with something—?”

“You think I’m cheating on you?” He interrupts loudly, forcing the room into the kind of silence that makes you want to strangle yourself. You clench your teeth together, face burning with the color of humiliation as you stare ahead at Hoseok. You can’t even picture the expressions upon the faces of your students.

“H-Hoseok, this really isn’t a good time…”

“I can’t believe it!” Hoseok carries on, talking as if he had not heard you or had not seen the fact that you are previously occupied at the moment. “I can’t believe you would think that I’m cheating on you. With Professor Irene too!”

“Hoseok!” You retort, cheeks hurting so much that you think you might just die of embarrassment right then and there. The entirety of your face feels so hot that it becomes hard to see clearly but you still manage to make your way down the aisle towards him, attempting to push him without actually having to use physical force. “We can’t do this right now—!”

“No.” Hoseok shrugs away from your touch. “We’re gonna do this right now. We’re gonna talk about this right now because I can’t believe you’d think I’d actually cheat on you!”

“I never said that!” You protest, momentarily forgetting your current setting long enough to fight back and expose your own personal emotions. The room around you suddenly feels empty. “I said I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a crush on her! You’ve been spending so much time with her anyways!”

“Because you said you were busy!” Hoseok points out. “And how could I have a crush on Irene? I have you.”

You press your lips together, having not expected the conversation to go in that direction. “W-Well, I just thought—!” You stammer. “How could you not like Irene? She’s pretty and smart and funny and she’s just so much more put together…”

Hoseok takes in a breath. “Do you think I care about any of that? I mean, those things are fine—but it’s not you. And that makes all the difference because I’m too in love with you to ever, ever look at someone else.”

You freeze for a moment, completely taken aback by his statement, said without an ounce of hesitation or thought—like it’s the only thing he knows better than he knows himself and you are utterly surprised.

Because this is the first time Hoseok has admitted that he loves you.

You are surprised, and it shows in your face. It shows in your widening eyes and parting lips, stolen breathes. Even though you know what he had said, you still find yourself asking: “W-What did you say?”

And Hoseok seems to make this realization as well—the realization that he’s defining his feelings for you with those three dreaded words that could change everything and he freezes. “I, uh… I said…”

“You really love me?” You finish, unable to help yourself and unable to help the way the teasing smile inches itself across your lips.

Hoseok ponders for a second before his eyes meet yours and he takes a step closer. “Of course I am,” He answers. “I’d be stupid not to be in love with you.”

The teasing smile turns into a shy grin; you angle yourself a little to study Hoseok through your lashes. “That’s nice, because I’m in love with you too.”

The corner of Hoseok’s lips quirk up, the beautiful beginnings of a laugh pass between his lips as he steps forward to take you in his arms before—!

“Aw, Professor Hoseok and Professor Y/N are in love!” A shout rings through the third year students in your classroom, causing both of you to jump out of the little world only you belonged to and making you realize that you have just confessed in front of your students.

Given what happened the first time you and Hoseok hit a milestone in your relationship, this shouldn’t surprise you—and you can’t even begin to imagine what will happen once your sixth years find out.

#hoseok scenarios #hoseok scenario #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #eeeeee hope u guys like it! :-)#wrote this back in 2018 omg still can't believe i have no recollection about sharing this?#i might have but honestly? no memory of such an event

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p-artsypants · 4 years

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Longest Night (45) Adjusting

Ao3 | FF.net

The few days they had spent at the Dupain-Cheng bakery so far were like a vacation. Not that their routines were much different…a lot of naps, video games, TV, reading…sometimes, Adrien would sit at the keyboard with headphones and tap out a tune. Whenever Marinette asked what he was playing, he’d just give her a little shrug and admit, “it’s not ready yet.”

The dinners with just Tom and Sabine were a lot more relaxed and warm, and they were usually followed with board games or a movie. At night, Adrien and Marinette would sit out on her balcony under a blanket, just enjoying the view of Paris.

Just in general, the bakery felt more like a home than whatever the mansion was. Marinette’s loft bed was cozy, and provided privacy and comfort. Like a cradle or a cocoon. Many nights, Marinette and Adrien would sit up late, talking about anything and everything, or sometimes nothing at all. Allowing the soothing presence of the other to fill the silence. Yes, the move proved to be for the best. Marinette’s room provided an environment that aided healing, and allowed the two to indulge in old hobbies. Marinette had yet to touch her sewing machine, but she had sketched a little in a sketchbook. It was the start that counted.

“You remember when you asked me to get that constipation medication for you from England?” Adrien asked one night, late.

Marinette had almost been asleep, but she groaned. “Ugh, yeah? Why did you have to remind me?”

“What was that about? I just assumed it was something we couldn’t get in France…but I wanted to do the friendly thing. But honestly, it’s been on my mind for a while now.”

She pushed up, propping up on one arm so she could look down at him. “First of all, that medicine wasn’t for me. It was for Master Fu.”

“Wait what? Why?”

“So here’s the story: He got really sick and asked me to deliver a love letter to his sweetheart. He wanted to connect with her in case it was the end. The doctor gave me the prescription. And because Master Fu was taking the leap to confess, I thought I would too, so I wrote you a letter. So I delivered a piece of paper to Master Fu’s girl, the pharmacist, and to you.”

“Oh no…”

“I gave Fu’s letter to the pharmacist, the prescription to you, and my letter to Fu’s girlfriend, which was so bad that it got her akumatized!”

“Oh my lady…I’m sure it was lovely, just out of context.”

“That was probably my worst attempt.” She groaned, rolling away from him.

“Worse attempt? There were others?”

“Good night, Adrien.”

He snuggled up behind her, whispering into her ear. “Please tell me your failures, my precious lady.”

She groaned again, kicking the blankets off of her legs so that she could sit up and face him. “Fine, you know what? Because of Alya, all of Paris already knows how hopelessly in love with you I was. And because of Lila, you know how much of a stalker I was.”

“A cute stalker.”

“Gee thanks.” She rolled her eyes. “God, where do I even start? Oh…you know that blue scarf that you got for your birthday one year?”

“Yeah?”

“It was actually from me. I don’t know how the mix up happened, but you thought it was from your father. It made you happy, so I let it be.”

Adrien leaned closer to her, his mouth opening in awe. “My lady…”

“That beret that Ladybug hand delivered was also from me. That was my closest attempt, but I had to erase my name on it…”

“Whatever for? I would have cherished it more! It’s collecting dust in my closet somewhere now.”

Marinette looked away, trying to find the words to explain. The beret brought up so many sour memories, and even more trauma that she didn’t need right now.

“My lady?”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned that one. It’s stupid.”

“Don’t shut me out,” he begged. “Please. I can’t stand it when you shut me out. I want to know everything about you, Marinette. You’re my best friend…and my wife. For better or for worse, right?”

She nodded, swallowing the thickness in her throat. “The first time I dropped it off at your house, I was shortly after stopped by Bunnyx. She said she needed my help because something had gone wrong in the future. So she took me into her burrow and dropped me off in Paris…” She shut her eyes, exhaling harshly. She had never gotten to tell anyone about this, and it weighed on her heavily, even after all this time.

“In Paris…?” Adrien urged her on.

“It was flooded. The Eiffel tower was toppled, and I could see the moon in the distance, completely shattered. You were there, all alone, and…akumatized.”

“Into Grimalkin?”

She shook her head. “Chat Blanc. All white suit, hair, even your skin was pale. And your eyes were piercing blue.”

He frowned, imagining that image.

“You knew my name, and you said it was our love that destroyed the world. We fought, and I fell in the water, where I found myself and Hawkmoth frozen in stone. I touched my statue and it turned to dust. I don’t know how long you’d been like that. But you were desperate to get my earrings. You said…you said a lot of terrible things. It was horrible to see you like that…so deranged, so lost and unhinged. A little like Grimalkin, to be honest.”

“I assume you won.”

“Yes, but you still knew my name afterwards. I realized that in that timeline, learning my identity led to you becoming an Akuma. And I figured, you, Adrien-you, must have seen me leaving your room when I left that beret for you. And somehow that led to my identity. So, I erased my name.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of that earlier? That couldn’t have been fun to keep bottled up.”

“It wasn’t. But...I prevented it. So it never happened. It was just a bad dream.”

“But...it wasn’t. Your Miraculous Ladybug undoes all the damage akumas do. It’s like those never happened, but the memories remain. Why is it different if you’re the only one that remembers?”

Marinette shrugged. “I guess I just didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry.”

Adrien leaned forward to bump his head with hers, affectionately. “As long as we’re being honest about erased timelines...there’s something I should have talked to you about too.”

“What’s that?”

“Aspik.”

“Oh…that’s right! You used the Snake and Second Chance for a while.”

“25,913 times.” He answered, his voice portraying the pain the number brought.

“How do you remember?”

“Every time I restarted, the number flashed in front of my eyes. It went up and up…every five minutes. Every time I lost you. Every time you turned to dust. Every time I failed.”

“You tried so hard…”

“You insisted that you needed the snake, and that you didn’t need Chat Noir. Several times.”

“But it was only when you passed the snake onto Luka that we won. I did need you. I always need you, and I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t.”

“Plagg warned me. Over and over, he said I was making a mistake. And I kept shutting him down. I was being selfish. Every time I restarted, I got five more minutes with you, as Adrien, not as Chat Noir. I wanted to do so good you’d fall in love with me. But I just ended up hurting myself, because I kept letting you down. It was so painful…”

“I’m sorry for putting that burden on you. That wasn’t fair.”

“You couldn’t have known.” He sighed, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. There was still plenty of trauma to work through, but getting this out of the way paved the road for clearing his head. “I’m sorry for traumatizing you in another timeline too. I know I’m not at fault for that, but I hate that any version of me hurt you.”

Marinette held his face gently, letting her thumb roll over his cheek bones. Her mother’s cooking had done well to fill in his face, but there was still a sunken look to him. His cheeks and his eyes especially.

“You’re wonderful to me, Adrien. Always have been, in and out of the suit. And even with all the pain, trauma, and sadness…I’d still rather be with you than anyone else.”

“I feel the same. I feel connected to you. It might sound corny, but I feel it right down into my soul. When I was in solitary, there were moments where I would just hold my breath and see if I could feel you. If maybe I could somehow sense if you were still alive or not.” He looked away from her. “That sounds insane. I’m sorry.”

“No. No it doesn’t.” She urged. “I did the same thing. Sometimes during akuma fights, I can tell when something bad happened to you. I’m sure it’s because of the bond of our Miraculous, but I had hoped it had extended beyond that.”

Tikki’s sleepy voice spoke from the bedside table. “You really felt that way?”

“Oh, sorry Tikki, did we wake you?”

“A little. But it’s okay. Are you really able to tell when Chat’s harmed?”

“I…think so? Yeah…even when I don’t see him, I can feel a little pain.”

“That does happen, but not usually so early into a partnership. but…you both have gone through a lot together. It would make sense.”

“So...we are bonded?” Asked Adrien.

“Loosely. It’ll grow stronger the longer you’re together. A pair of holders in their 80’s were able to read each other’s minds!”

“Oh wow! That’s...that’s a little daunting.”

“I’m not crazy then,” Adrien stated, with a hand over his heart. “Pretending like we were connected was just about the only thing that kept me going through solitary. I thought that maybe…maybe as long as my heart was beating, yours was too.”

Marinette fell forward into him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into his chest.

That strong heartbeat beat for her in her ear. “I thought as long as I thought about how much I loved you, you’d feel it.”

“I did, My Lady. Every time you whispered it to yourself, I got a warm feeling inside. Even in my darkest moments, I knew you loved me. Thank you. Thank you for loving me.”

“It wasn’t hard.”

—

Interacting with Gabriel came sooner than they hoped.

Today was a ‘progress day’, as Dr. Zollar had noted. A day that would push boundaries, and challenge them emotionally and maybe physically.

They were going back to school. Just for the day, to find out graduation requirements, but even going on the property was going to hurt.

The last time they were here…well, Marinette was still a ‘perverted stalker’.

They were going in with their parents, while class was in session, so it wasn’t likely that they’d be cornered by anyone.

“You ready, kiddos?” Asked Sabine.

Marinette nodded and slipped her hand into Adrien’s. For the first time since capture, they were both wearing jeans. The wounds on the back of their legs had healed enough to allow it, though it still wasn’t very comfortable. Adrien wore a loose T-Shirt, since his skin graft on his shoulder blades was still healing.

Tom rested a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “It’s okay son. We’ll be right there with you.”

So, they slowly made their way over to the school.

The Agreste’s silver sedan waited at the curb, and the Gorilla greeted them as they approached, opening the door for Emilie and Gabriel to exit.

“So this is your school?” Said Emilie, ever cheerful.

Adrien nodded. He had yet to resolve the tantrum he had over her, now that Gabriel had come clean. But the sting of betrayal still lingered, even if Emilie couldn’t have helped it.

Everything was just tense and no one was willing to talk it out.

For now, they had time, and Emilie was willing to give him space.

“It’s a really nice facility,” Sabine saved. “Adrien was on the fencing team!”

“Oh they have fencing? That’s wonderful! Not many public schools do!”

As the mothers led the group, talking, Marinette squeezed Adrien’s hand. “You doing alright, kitty?”

He tilted his head, and gave her a look, silently asking the same question.

“I’m nervous. I know I should probably…you know, at least see the class.”

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to.” Tom encouraged, patting her back patiently.

They had only been gone for about four months now, only a little longer than summer vacation, but the school just felt so small. It’s like that, when your world isn’t revolving around just one building anymore. In all of the nightmares Marinette had in solitude, the school was just so much bigger, and her classmates were even more vile, nasty, and cruel. Such is the poison of isolation.

Thankfully, class was in session, and no one was loitering in the halls as they made their way upstairs to Mr. Damocles office.

“Good afternoon and welcome back!” He greeted, too loudly.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Damocles,” Sabine shook his hand.

“Oh it’s a pleasure. I would like to do my part to make sure Adrien and Marinette are all set for whatever they have planned next in life. What are we thinking? College? Working with Mr. Agreste?”

Marinette hunched her shoulders while Adrien scuffed his shoe on the floor.

“Let’s just think about getting their GEDs for right now.” Said Gabriel. “This is my wife, Emilie. She’s recently returned from an extended sabbatical.”

Marinette held back a snort. That’s what they were going with?

Mr. Damocles looked skeptical, but managed to smile and shake her hand anyways. “Welcome back, madam.”

Adrien and Marinette found chairs in the back of the room, allowing the parents to lead the conversation.

“So, here we have Marinette and Adrien’s transcripts. Starting in College, they are basically identical, since they took the same classes together. Adrien’s fulfilled his foreign language credit, and Marinette’s completed her arts credit. It appears that this semester, Adrien was planning to take Visual Arts, Physics, Trigonometry, Written Rhetoric, and World History, then he had two free periods for studying, or taking college level courses. Marinette was planned to take Chinese, Anatomy, Economics, Written Rhetoric, World History, and Visual Arts.”

“Well,” began Sabine, “Adrien and I can certainly help Marinette complete her Chinese credit. You know, I’ve been trying to teach her forever, she’s just so stubborn.”

“I’m just not good at it.” Marinette defended. “I haven’t had the proper motivation.”

“I will sign off on Written Rhetoric for both of them. I think they’ve given plenty of speeches as superheroes to count. And I think Anatomy and Physics can be counted as well. So we will just need to get them homeschool work for World History, Trigonometry, and Economics. And Adrien will need a Visual Arts credit.”

“His modeling wouldn’t count?” Gabriel asked.

Mr. Damocles hummed and hawed over it, then finally asked. “Was he getting paid for it?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t think I can count it for a credit. However, if he was allowed to work behind the camera for a little while, learning how to use the camera and the lights and such, I could count that.”

Gabriel turned to look at Adrien. “That’s doable, right?”

Adrien nodded.

“Alright. Then I’ll get the paperwork ready. I will look through my contacts for tutors in those subjects.”

“I wouldn’t mind teaching Marinette Economics.” Gabriel volunteered. “It’s something I’m rather proficient in, as a businessman.”

“Can you handle that?” Sabine asked her daughter.

Marinette wanted to say no, but she didn’t really want to spit in Gabriel’s face. Especially since he was just volunteering for her, and not Adrien. “I think that would be fine.”

“You said you were still interested in fashion design right? Then I can tailor what I teach you based on the industry.”

That was a pretty sweet deal. And old Marinette would have leapt on the chance. But the new Marinette was frightened by change, by stress, by the threat of disappointment.

And with how high Gabriel’s expectations continued to be, failure almost seemed certain.

There must have been a big stamp on her forehead that said ‘I’m not sure’ because Emile came to her rescue. “Let’s just try it out for a little while. If you need something…less intense, we can switch to a tutor.”

“Excellent.” Mr. Damocles stated, not really paying that much attention to the conversation anyway. “Adrien, Marinette…the rest of this meeting is going to be boring for you. Why don’t you both go pop in and say hello to your classmates, hm?”

Neither of them replied right away, as Adrien waited for her lead, and Marinette debated the pros and cons.

“Alya and Nino will be there.” Sabine said calmly. “And your classmates were all very worried about you. It’ll be okay.”

Marinette wrapped an arm around her waist, squeezing the nausea away.

Adrien stood, holding his hand out to her. She took hold, and let him lead her out of the room.

After the door closed, he answered, “I thought I’d at least get you away from prying eyes. We don’t have to go.”

She gnawed at her lip, before finally deciding, “let’s go. Just for a little bit, to prove that we could.”

“We don’t need to prove anything to anyone. They’re the ones that failed us.”

“You’re right…but, I’m tired of being afraid of everything. I’m tired of being set off by every little thing. I shouldn’t let a bunch of stupid high school kids bother me anymore. We have Alya, Nino, and Chloe on our side.” She clenched her fist. “Do you want to say hi to everyone?”

“I don’t care about them.” He shrugged. “I know Alya and Nino said everyone changed their tune after we were revealed on TV, but they failed us when we needed them the most. They couldn’t save us from Salo, but they could have made the days before a lot less painful.”

Marinette clenched her eyes shut, feeling the sting of his words. It was as if he was a mind reader, since that was exactly how she was feeling. He didn’t even need to ask. “They could have made my time in isolation hurt less. I might have been optimistic. If only they had cared when it mattered. If only they trusted me when I was just Marinette.”

Adrien curled his fingers into her palm, brushing against the scar there that bore his name. “Do you think…we should say this to them? Would it help?”

“Dr. Zollar said we should let people apologize to us. That it’ll help more than we think.” She sighed. “But I’m afraid that they’ll sweep it under the rug, and pretend like it didn’t happen.”

“Then, we’ll sweep them under the rug. Cut our losses and forget them. We don’t need anyone anyway, right my lady?”

“You and me against the world,” she nodded. She took a shuddering breath. “Okay. I think…I think I can go. You’ll be right beside me?”

“Of course.”

He never let go of her hand as they made their way down the hall. The classroom appeared far too soon for Marinette’s liking, and they stood just outside, waiting. Adrien would let her take the initiative, whenever she was ready.

She had to prepare for every bad scenario, no matter how unlikely. If she had a plan for each one, she couldn’t be surprised. Right?

Finally, she nodded to Adrien and then knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Called Miss Bustier.

Marinette turned the knob, holding her breath, before pushing it open.

The class was silent, save for a few gasps.

“Well hello you two!” Miss Bustier greeted warmly, tears in her eyes. “I didn’t know you’d be coming back!”

“We’re not. We just…came to visit.” Marinette barely whispered, looking only at the teacher.

“That’s wonderful!”

“Are we interrupting anything? Do you want us to come back later?”

“No no, please come in, we’ll take a little break!”

And then she dared to cast her gaze to her old classmates, her old friends.

Every eye was on her, coupled with trembling lips, tense postures, and vainly restrained tears. It looked like everyone wanted to say something, but no one wanted to be first.

She didn’t know what to say either.

The front desk that her and Adrien had shared for one day was empty.

“What brings you both here?” Miss Bustier asked, rescuing them.

“We’re…we’re uh…looking at graduation requirements. We won’t be…coming back to class.”

“That’s understandable. Well, I’m sure any of your classmates would be willing to study with you anyways if you need help.”

“Alya and Nino have been coming around a lot…keeping us in the loop.”

“Oh that’s good! Well, don’t let me take all of your attention, I’m sure someone has a question for you--”

“Yeah, I have a question!” A voice called from the back of the classroom. She stood, crossing her arms. “How the hell are you allowed to be here?” Lila asked.

Marinette flinched at the sound of her voice.

“Lila, I think you better sit down and be quiet.” Miss Bustier warned. “You’re on probation, you should watch yourself.”

“I am! In fact, I have a restraining order on both of them. They are breaking the law by being here.”

“If them being here is a problem, then why don’t you just leave?” Asked Chloe, also standing.

“Because I belong here! I’m a student in this class and I have a right to be here! They, on the other hand, are monsters!”

Marinette clenched her fists as Adrien turned to hide his face in her shoulder.

“Lila, shut up!” Alya shouted, slamming her fist on the desk behind her. “Admit that you dug yourself into a hole and you’re too proud to apologize! I’m not buying this stupid restraining order fib, just like we haven’t bought a single story out of your mouth in the last three months!”

“I’m not lying about the restraining order!” Lila shouted right back, with real venom in her tone. Her sweet veneer was completely gone, and all that remained was the nasty, snarling beast that had been hiding the whole time. “They came to my house! They cut out my tongue! Ask my mother! Ask the hospital!”

“Oh yeah?” Asked Alix, “If they cut out your tongue, you seem to be talking really well without it.”

“Like they would bother with you…” Someone else muttered.

“It was when they were akumatized!”

“Just save your breath.” Chloe huffed. “You can’t tell the truth even if you wanted to.”

“She’s telling the truth this time.” Said Marinette, tone blank and devoid of emotion.

The class turned to look at her, seeing the look on her face. It spoke volumes of pure wrath, and Adrien’s matched.

“We cut out that bitch’s tongue.” She said, her voice calm, deep, and vacant of regret. “The last thing we did, we went to her house. I had a pair of clamps, and Grimalkin had his claws. We ripped it out. She cried the whole time. She cried and screamed…it was the happiest I felt in a long time. I’d do it again if I could. I’d rip out her tongue, I’d crush her throat…”

The body laid on the ground.

“I’d cut her in half…”

Organs spilling on the floor.

“Make her scream…”

Red hair sprawled across the bloody cement.

“Make her writhe…”

The screams of men and women echoing through the halls, their dying breaths capping them off into silence.

“Make her suffer…just as I suffered.”

“Go ahead, kill me. Let your God punish me.”

“He’ll get his turn…he’ll get his turn…burn in hell. Burn in hell!”

Salo’s body laid right in front of her, turning into dust from Grimalkin’s cataclysm. Marinette kicked in vain, trying to get it to disappear.

“Go away! Leave us alone!” She sobbed. “Die! Die! Die!”

By the time Marinette realized she wasn’t in the catacombs anymore, she was sitting on a bench in the school courtyard, head back with a wet washcloth on her face.

“That’s right, just breathe. You’re alright, Marinette.” Alya held her hand, rubbing comforting circles on the back of it.

A pair of strong hands gently massaged her shoulders, and opening her eyes, she found that they belonged to Kim.

“Hey girly. You back with us now?” He asked softly.

Marinette clenched her eyes shut. “Shit.”

“If I had known you were going to visit, I would have asked Miss Bustier to get rid of her for a while. I’m sorry, girl.”

Marinette sat up, glancing around. Alya, Kim, Alix, and Mylene were around her, just silently watching to make sure she was alright.

“Where is he? Where’s Adrien?” Was her next concern.

Alya simply pointed at the upstairs railing, where he was walking with Nino and Chloe. “He started crying when you started talking about...some violent stuff. We thought it best that we separate you until you calmed down.”

“I’m sorry...I don’t know what got into me...”

“Girl, you do not need to apologize. If Lila has a restraining order on you, she should have kept her mouth shut and left the room. She doesn’t deserve any rights.”

“Did I hear Miss Bustier say she was on Parole?”

“For ‘disrupting police activity’. She couldn’t get jail time just for Libel, but the judge slapped her with that, since what she did wasn’t just mean, it was dangerous.”

“So if she got jail time, why is she here at school?”

“She only got a week in jail,” responded Alix with an eye roll. “But her punishment isn’t over. She has to stay with our class until she graduates, and then she’ll be reevaluated based on performance.”

Alya continued, “The judge wanted her in an environment where everyone knew what she did, and no one would want to be her friend. He wants her to focus on school, and not have an audience. This is according to Miss Bustier, of course, who instructed us not to talk to her.”

“Wow. Go Miss Bustier.”

“Yeah.” Said Kim, “Except Lila makes sure we all know how awful we are and how this is as much our fault as hers. ’This never would have happened if you weren’t all so gullible! Marinette and Adrien wouldn’t be tortured if you weren’t so stupid!’”

“Oh my god, she said that?” Marinette sneered. “Our capture had nothing to do with her. Chat and I still would have fought against Edward Savauge and still made…her go out for revenge. Lila knows this. She was in that room. She saw my mouth—“ Marinette pressed her nails into her lip, feeling the sting of the needle.

Mylene grabbed her arm and pulled it away from her. “We’re not listening to Lila. She’s loud and demanding, but we know the facts. She’s just angry she’s not getting attention. Don’t think about her anymore.”

By this time, Adrien, Nino, and Chloe had reached the bottom of the stairs. He ran to her, scooping her up into a hug with a shudder.

“I’m sorry, Kitty. I’m sorry…”

“It’s all okay now,” Nino assured, patting Adrien on the back. “We calmed him down. I think he’s more concerned about you.”

“I’m…I think I’m okay. Just seeing her face and hearing her accusing me…I just snapped.”

“It was pretty badass,” Alix commented. “Yeah, it sucked, but it probably instilled the fear of Jesus in her for a little while. I think she needed that.”

“Oh my god, you didn’t hear the best part!” Said Chloe, “She got jail time! And now she’s on parole—“

“Yeah, we already told her all that.” Said Alix with a smirk.

“Well, did you mention the lawsuits? Gabriel and the city of Paris both sued her and her family for Libel. Her mother refused to pay it for her, so now as soon as Lila’s of age, she’ll be paying the city police department and both of you thousands of dollars. Most likely for the rest of her life!”

“I don’t want her money,” Marinette scoffed. “Especially if I have to interact with her.”

“You won’t.” Chloe assured her. “Gabriel will be taking care of it for you.”

“And you don’t have to accept her money,” suggested Alix. “You could put it in a fund or a grant. Give it to other people who have been slandered against! Or people that what’s-her-face hurt! The possibilities are endless!”

“I don’t know if I have the will to run a charity right now guys…” Marinette shrunk on herself.

“Then let someone else do it.”

“I volunteer!” Shouted Chloe. “After all, I’m the one with all the real contacts. You all can help, of course.”

Tom and Sabine hurried down from the Principal’s office. “There you are! Miss Bustier said you had an episode, Marinette. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine now, Maman. Just…had a run in with an old enemy.”

“Well, Gabriel’s wrapping everything up now. So let’s get you kiddos home, okay?”

“Can we come visit you?” Asked Mylene. “We, as a class, wanted to so many times, but we weren’t sure if you wanted to even see us. Alya, Nino, and Chloe said you’d might not be up to discuss it.”

Marinette breathed slowly, considering the question. She turned to Adrien, asking him silently. He gave a little nod.

“I suppose, that would be okay. Is that okay with you, maman?”

“Of course, baby. I’m always happy when you’re willing to have guests.”

“Awesome!” Said Alya with a little clap. “We’ll come over after school! We won’t stay too long, just long enough to say hi and bye!”

Marinette stood, holding out her hand to Adrien. “Can’t wait.”

—

After they returned home and closed the trap door to her room, Adrien embraced her, squeezing her tightly. “You worried me,” he whispered. “What happened?”

“I…don’t know. I just vividly remembered the night we cut out her tongue…and then I got lost. Salo was there, the last time we saw her. What did I do?”

“Just a lot of screaming. Over and over, you just shouted ‘die’ and ‘burn in hell’. It was…really scary.”

“I’m sorry, Kitty. You were right, we shouldn’t have gone.”

“Well…I don’t know about that. Chloe and Nino seemed to be really proud of us for stopping by. I like it when they say they’re proud of our decisions. Makes the pain worth it.”

“I suppose.”

There was a knock at the trap door before Gabriel opened it. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you both know you’re all set to start homeschooling whenever you’re ready. Mr. Damocles said even if you don’t finish your credits in time, you can still walk with your class, if you’d like.”

“That’s nice,” Marinette said quietly.

“Are you alright? Your teacher said there was an…incident.”

She turned to look him right in the eye. “Why do we remember being akumatized? No one else ever has. Is it because we had Miraculous for so long?”

Gabriel shook his head. “I’m not completely sure, but I have a hunch. Since I made two akumas at the same time, I split the tether I had on you. That’s why you overpowered my control. Nooroo warned me it would happen, but I thought it would be worth the risk. I didn’t know you’d keep your memories of that, however. I never wanted to add to your trauma.”

“Well. If it wasn’t on purpose, I suppose we can’t be mad at you.”

Gabriel shrugged helplessly. “You can be as mad at me as you want. I’m expecting it.”

Adrien left Marinette’s arms and went over to lay down on the chaise.

“At any rate, thank you for the explanation.”

“Of course. Any answers you want, you deserve.” He swallowed. “Your outfits for the Mayor’s ball are coming around lovely. If it’s alright, let me know when I can bring them over for a fitting. It’s still several weeks away.”

“Thank you, Gabriel. Whenever my mother is free for her fitting should be fine.”

“Alright. I’ll leave you alone now.” He took a step down, partially closing the door. Then at the last second he added, “bye son, I love you.”

—

Only a few hours later, after Marinette and Adrien had changed into more comfortable clothes, there was another knock at the trap door.

“Come in,” said Marinette, as she spread cushions out on the floor.

“Um…” Said Rose from below. “Could you…open the door and then stand back?”

Curious, Marinette did as instructed.

A bunch of balloons floated up into the room, followed by a huge bouquet of flowers, and then a giant stuffed black cat.

Both Marinette and Adrien stared in shock.

“Too much or not enough?” Asked Rose, poking her head in.

“What is all this?” She asked, beckoning her classmates into the room.

“Offerings of apologies and gratitude, of course,” said Max. “Everyone in our class was akumatized at least once, and we all agreed we owed both of you a huge thank you for rescuing us. And of course, we all owe you an apology, Marinette.”

“O-oh…thank you.”

“We sort of thought you’d never want to see us again…but you took the initiative to come see us at school…the least we could do was follow up.” Said Nathaniel. He handed her a handmade card. “I hope you can forgive us for ever doubting you.”

Marinette took the card, admiring the artwork. The outside showed Ladybug and Chat Noir standing proudly over the city. Inside, a cartoon-ish Ladybug, bandaged up, was putting bandaids on an equally cartoony Chat Noir. The caption read, “you’re still Purr-Fect to us!”

It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. “I…I will forgive you. I have a lot of bad feelings, but my therapist is helping me work through them.”

“Do you do hugs?” Asked Kim.

“Gentle. Especially with Adrien, he still has some stitches on his shoulder blades.”

Getting hugged by each and every person who had doubted her did wonders. With each kiss to the cheek and pat on the head, she could feel some of the bitterness fading. It wouldn’t leave fully for a long time, but to see genuine remorse was like a soothing balm on an inflamed wound.

It felt nice to have friends again. Adrien had worked so hard to get them in the first place. Losing respect for everyone he had known had really solidified his decision to stop speaking.

But for them to come around and humble themselves and apologize really took the fight out of him. Maybe cutting them off wasn’t necessary. Maybe there was more to these traitors. Maybe people were capable of change.

Maybe it wasn’t just teenagers that changed either. Maybe adults too. Adults like his father and Salo.

“Oh Adrien,” asked Nino, sitting on the chaise lounge. “Is that the keyboard the Couffaine’s let you borrow?”

Adrien nodded.

“Are you practicing anything right now?”

“Adrien’s been working on something. A song he had in his head in the catacombs. It’s in the works.”

“Cool! Bro, you gotta let me hear!”

Adrien shook his head.

“Sorry Nino, I can’t get it out of him either. He says it’s not ready yet.”

“Aw bummer!” Nino groaned. “But let me hear it the moment it’s done, okay?”

Adrien gave a twitch of a smile.

The girls had already settled on the cushions on the floor, and beckoned the boys to join them.

“Now,” began Alya, as she took a binder out of her backpack, “we have some very important business to discuss.”

Marinette frowned at her. “Hey wait a minute…that’s my—“

“Your dream wedding planner? Yes, I held onto it when we hid all of your personal belongings when you were first captured.” She cracked it open and set it on the floor.

Adrien peered around, trying to get a look.

Marinette covered his eyes. “Alya, put that away! That’s private!”

“Is it not accurate anymore?”

“I mean…I still would like to use it…”

“Great! We’re going to start planning now! And don’t worry Sunshine, this book is tailored to you as the groom.”

Adrien smiled, despite Marinette’s hand over his eyes.

“Must you humiliate me this way?” Marinette asked, blushing.

The class shared giggles at that.

“Don’t even sweat it Marinette,” said Chloe, waving her hand around. “We’re going to make sure you and Adrikins have the bestest, most glamorous wedding since William and Kate!”

Still blushing, “well, I don’t want big and glamorous…I want small and intimate.”

“Small and glamorous it is!”

—

This chapter was fun because I had to recall the classes I took in my senior year of high school. I felt like I was leaving a subject out, but Adrien and Marinette have no reason to be taking Bible classes lol (I went to a pre-seminary Christian School)

A friend who wishes to stay anonymous wrote this for me. She said she was inspired, and in turn, she inspired me! This bonus scene is canon to the story:

A creaking moan gently woke him. His eyes opened—once, then twice. He took a moment to realize that the cloud caressing his body, which still stung with every pulse, was not a cloud, but a down-alternative comforter.

He was in Marinette’s—his bed, in their room, in their house. And there was sound coming from his left—warmth and sound. A whimper. A cry. And, again, a moan—quiet anguish. He rolled over to face the source.

“Marinette,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”

The dark figure of his wife’s frail form didn’t stir. He asked again. “My lady? Are you awake?”

Still nothing.

He brought his face closer to hers. The light pollution filtering through the skylight served as the only source of illumination. As his eyes adjusted and focused on hers, his stomach churned. Her face was a scrunched display of pitiful agony, and her hands were at her throat. She whimpered once more—her lips pressed together in a hard line, unmoving as her sad cries escaped them. The light reflected from her cheeks in dribbles of tears.

He sat up, electrified. “My lady! My lady!” His voice cracked. He grabbed at the hold she had on her own neck.

Her eyes shot open as she gasped awake. She saw his silhouette and was instantly sitting up to meet his gaze.

“Adrien! Adrien! What’s wrong? Talk to me! It’s okay! I’m here! You’re not alone! You’re not locked in!” She was panting.

“Nothing is wrong. I’m okay. I am worried about you. You’re crying in your sleep.”

She wiped at her face with bony fingers. “Did I wake you? I am so sorry, mon chaton.”

“Don’t apologize. I was just worried. Are you alright?” He was whispering now.

“Yeah, I am okay. Just another nightmare. Happens all the time. Go back to sleep.”

“Nightmares?” It hit him as the words left his lips. She was back there. All the time. The burns at her neck, the blood and the thread at her lips. The sounds and the smells and the cold and the—he choked as he took a deep breath; there was seemingly no air to take in.

“Adrien, breathe,” Marinette pleaded. Everything is okay.

He tried again, more slowly, through his nose. It worked.

“Good kitty,” she praised.

Her sweet praise, like a narcotic through his veins, made his muscles relax and his pain momentarily vanish.

He reached out and brought her closer to him. They embraced in silence. He squinted his eyes tightly so that his tears would not betray his resolve to finally become strong once more.

Like a divine epiphany, the sight of her suffering in slumber awoke something in him that he thought was long dead. It growled past the shadows of his worst repressed instincts. It brought a burning feeling back to his core—his soul.

How could he continue to let himself drown in self pity, when she was so strong a life preserver to him? Was he so preoccupied with his own suffering that he didn’t think to ask if she, too, was drowning?

Why? Why did she swim so strongly when he was watching, only for her head to go under as soon as he turned away? The bravery she displayed for him was full of cracks he couldn’t see.

And she was dragged back to Hell, every night, alone.

Never again. He would get strong. No—he would become even stronger than he was before—his armor, bulletproof and fireproof; his claws, devastatingly destructive; his senses, heightened to an atmospheric level. He would grow powerful enough to protect her and capable enough to rescue her from any evil. His magic would evolve into a force strong enough to infiltrate her dreams and deliver her from suffering. Silent was this promise as he held his life preserver tighter to his chest.

He let out a low, menacing growl. “I’ve come back, My Lady.”

#ml #miraculous ladybug #longest night #ladybug #chat noir #fanfiction #adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #lila rossi is exposed #chat blanc

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

Text

RWBY Recaps: “Gravity”

Good lord, folks. Buckle your seat-belts because we’ve got a lot to get through this episode. I think this is my longest recap to date, so settle in.

Episode Eleven’s “Gravity” starts out simple enough, focusing on the two fights we’d set up during “Out in the Open.” First up, Ironwood vs. Watts. Overall this fight does a really excellent job of showcasing their different fighting styles. Right from the start Watts is pointing his gun forward to take a clear shot at Ironwood, whereas Ironwood points his backwards to use as a surge of momentum.

He’s going to do this frequently throughout the battle, constantly using his gun to maneuver in the air, slow falls, regain his balance, and change directions, a much more complicated series of choices than the one-off shots we see Ruby use with her sniper rifle. This is partly because Ironwood seems to have a much larger supply of bullets---some sort of energy/dust ammo---than Watts does. His steampunk-esque gun holds only nineteen bullets, requiring him to keep track throughout the fight. Which is always a fun trope but sorry, Watts, you can’t compare to the king.

Thus, with limited weaponry available to him, Watts is forced to get creative with the arena itself. We see him manipulating gravity, shooting up columns of water and fire, and making use of his own pathways between platforms, all in an effort to throw Ironwood off and catch up unawares. However, Ironwood is, frankly, the much better fighter. He was right last week to assume he could handle Watts even though he sent three off to tackle Tyrian. He’s able to recover much more quickly and learns from any mistakes, as evidenced by his ability to hit Watts dead on while in the air the second time he takes out the gravity. When they come together in hand-to-hand Ironwood easily dominates, no doubt thanks not just to his military training and huntsmen lifestyle, but also in large part to his prosthetics which I would assume grant him more speed and power. Throughout the course of the fight we see Watts consistently take more damage to his aura and he’s unable to sense when Ironwood is sneaking up on him. After that little maneuver, Watts (presumably) grows reckless and lets off his last three or four shots in a random barrage. All of them miss.

This emphasis on emotion continues when they land back onto the main stage with Watts shouting, “You never appreciated my genius, James! You just stood atop it and called yourself a giant.” Oh, did Ironwood actually do something horrendous in the past? Is there something juicy that would explain---though not excuse---Watts’ turn towards villainy? Nah. He quickly follows that up with, “You chose that fat imbecile over me!” referring to Pietro. So... nice one, Watts. Crazy arrogance, willful ignorance of Pietro’s own, clear genius (anyone who can create Penny is no slouch), as well as a bit of fat-shamming on top of it all. No sympathy from me.

This moment emphasizes how unhinged Watts is becoming though as the fight turns against him. Even when he manages to setup a head shot Ironwood reveals, “You’re smart, but you’re not the only one who can count,” referencing that Watt’s emotions got the better of him, leading to him wasting his last bullet before it could be of real use.

...except not. I’ve got to admit, I was very pleased when all of this---or at least this particular moment---was merely a plan to get Ironwood to let his guard down. Watts is way too smart a character to be done in by the “You got too emotional and that made you sloppy” trope. So kudos there (even if it remains to be seen whether that Pietro comment was really his motivation, or just another part of the plan). Instead, he uses Ironwood’s confidence in his victory to trap him with the rings that control the arena, essentially pinning Ironwood’s non-prosthetic arm through the energy shields he’s been using. We can immediately see that the parts that have touched Ironwood already have horribly burned the skin.

And that ends up being Watt’s downfall. Not stupidity on his own part, but his lack of understanding of Ironwood himself. He assumes that this truly is a trap for him, rather than another sacrifice. After all, what fool would ruin their one remaining arm to stop him? Watts himself wouldn’t. Don’t pull, he cautions Ironwood, not “unless you’re hoping to add more metal to that body of yours.” Watts goes so far as to turn his back on Ironwood who then makes the sacrifice we all knew he would. One burned, useless arm later and he’s free.

I would like everyone to keep this moment in mind. Namely the utter devastation of it. I’d go so far as to say it’s as bad at Yang losing her arm in Volume 3. Despite seeing it bandaged later, Watts at least thinks it will be a complete loss if Ironwood sacrifices it. He’ll need to “add more metal,” AKA replace his arm, so though he obviously still has it in the following scenes, we don’t know if it will ever be functional again. Just as important, Ironwood had to choose to do that to himself. That wasn’t a horrific, but ultimately clean cut done in a moment of surprise. That was a conscious decision, a slow pull through all that pain, and then having to finish your fight immediately afterward. It’s a very different kind of psychological trauma, no better or worse than having someone take your arm from you by force. Throughout this volume I’ve seen a lot of fans being critical not only of Ironwood’s main decisions, but just his overall attitude as well. Too strict, too stern, doesn’t smile enough, yells sometimes, etc. basically associating someone who isn’t all sunshine and smiles with someone who is “bad.” Ignoring for the moment that we can say the same thing about many of our group---notably Yang---I have little doubt that I’ll see similar posts after this episode. Writings in the vein of, “Ironwood is unhinged! I can’t believe he yelled and hit his desk like that!” So everyone just keep this moment in mind and ask yourself how calm you’d be if you’d sacrificed your arm like that all of half an hour ago. And then found Salem’s calling card on your desk. And then came to the realization that the allies you trusted have been lying to you from the start. And then Salem herself appears to mock you. And then your city is about to be overrun. Basic summary of the rest of the episode: holy shit. So yeah. If Yang is allowed to be angry and upset after losing her arm, or just angry in general like she is in the later half of “Gravity,” I think we owe it to Ironwood to let him be angry too. I have a lot of feelings about the utter insanity he’s been forced through with little to no support and if he wants to take all that out by hitting his desk once, by god I’d say that’s a good coping strategy given the circumstances. Both the writing and the fans tend to erase trauma once you’ve passed age 25. The girls have every right to be upset, to break, to not trust people because they’ve been through a few months of hardship, but Ozpin isn’t allowed the same after a couple thousand years of that. We’re going to see the same hypocrisy later in this episode---the group can be upset about lies but Ironwood is not---and I’m hoping (against hope) that the fandom doesn’t make that worse by sweeping this injury under the rug. It’s horrific and absolutely has a bearing on his inability to keep his cool with the group immediately afterwards. We’ve long passed Ironwood owing them endless reassurances and calm responses.

Anyway, Ironwood still manages to finish the fight because his remaining arm is his robotic one, giving him the strength to easily drag and raise Watts into the air one-handed. He dangles him over the edge of the arena, announcing that he will “sacrifice whatever it takes to stop [Salem].” A clear bit of foreshadowing for his decision at the end of the episode. Watts responds that he hopes he does.

We then move to the Tyrian fight which, on the whole, I don’t think was done quite as well. Granted, there are a lot of enjoyable and badass moments. I like that Clover’s first act is to announce that Tyrian is under arrest, maintaining the law that Atlas (and Ironwood) works to uphold. It doesn’t matter that Tyrian is a crazy serial killer in league with an immortal sorceress hell-bent on destroying the world. Even crazy serial killers have rights and are given the option of surrendering, even when everyone present knows there’s exactly zero chance of that happening. It’s the principal of the thing and the ability to say, “We gave him a chance.” In a world overrun with inequality, this is a small but important attempt to level the field. If you do something wrong you face legal action and those rights are announced to you. Same for Tyrian. Same for Team RWBY. But we’ll get to that.

For now, we see Qrow attack first and like back in Volume Four he and Tyrian are pretty evenly matched. The tide doesn’t turn until Robyn and Clover come into play. Throughout this exchange we see a lot of cool combos among the three of them. Tyrian will block an incoming arrow with his tail only for Clover to snag it with his hook. Robyn can get another arrow to perfectly bounce off the walls and then Qrow’s scythe, hitting Tyrian dead on. Clover can dive between Tyrian’s legs, giving Qrow the opening he needs to attack. It is, as said, pretty badass... almost a little too badass. Personally, I would have appreciated them messing up once or twice. They’re all professionals, yes, but Qrow and Clover have only had one fight together. Robyn, meanwhile, wasn’t even allied with them until an hour ago. This is a situation where skills shouldn’t really trump, “We’re three very distinct people who don’t know each other’s fighting styles well, trying to attack one guy in very close quarters.” There should have been some screw-ups. Especially when we take semblances into account. What, are we supposed to assume here that Clover’s semblance just conveniently overrides Qrow’s? That no mistakes---let alone anything bad---will happen in this fight despite the fact that it’s an extreme parallel to Volume Four? That whole battle emphasized, “Don’t come closer!” because when people fight near Qrow bad shit happens. Now, he fights with two other people in a narrow alleyway and there’s not a single repercussion. Based on their travels looking for the geist, I don’t buy that Qrow’s semblance is just conveniently inactive while near Clover. Even if I did... that’s not a very good writing decision. To me, it’s just more evidence that Rooster Teeth doesn’t understand its own rules/doesn’t know what to do with an ability like Qrow’s. It causes problems only when they explicitly want it to. Then, miraculously, it’s no longer in effect.

Still, we’ll acknowledge that RWBY had a lot else it wanted to accomplish in this episode, so the need to power through this fight is somewhat justified. I personally would have had the entirety of this episode be the two battles---I was shocked when both ended just eight minutes in---but I’m obviously not the one writing the show. Thus, instead of an episode devoted to both the action and the emotion of confronting our two main villains this volume, Tyrian loses his cool after getting punched in the gut, manages to catch Robyn’s arrow in his teeth...

But it’s a bomb.

Down he goes. Fight’s done.

Which leads us into the second half of the episode. I want to preface this with a short acknowledgment before we go any further.

Did these last ten minutes give me what I’ve been looking for since the beginning of Volume Six? No. It’s easy to assume it did because all the pieces are there. Ironwood is finally angry about the secret keeping. The Ace Ops are criticizing the group left and right. Surely this is the “The group is capable of making mistakes and they should be called out for it!” that I wanted, right? Not really. For the simple reason that there is a massive difference between:

A story that acknowledges mistakes as mistakes. The characters either grow from this lesson or dig in their heels and are painted as being in the wrong for that decision.

and

A story that takes what the audience (me) perceives as mistakes and frames them as justified choices. The characters do not grow because they’re 100% sure they’re in the right and those who would criticize them are painted as in the wrong.

“Gravity” is so far into that second option I don’t think the series can come back from it. Does the group face criticism? Yes, but every single time the writing insists that it’s undeserved criticism. It paints the group as the underdogs facing unfair odds, rather than equals---with all the responsibility that comes with that---facing criticism that they need to own up to. Absolutely nothing in this second half implies that the group is going to learn from their mistakes because they, and the writing, still insists that they weren’t mistakes. Which is precisely what we’ve gotten before. Cordovin might criticism them, but Cordovin is in the wrong. Winter might criticism them, but Winter is in the wrong. Every time a character goes, “Hey, you shouldn’t have done this” the group responds with, “Yes we should have!” and the story backs them up. Yes, you should have attacked Argus. Yes, you should have stolen an airship. Yes, you should have lied to Ironwood and spilled the secret to Robyn. Yes, yes, yes. That’s the takeaway every single time. The group is never in the wrong. Others just think they are and those others are painted as cruel, militaristic, unhinged characters.

It’s not at all what I was looking for. Just more of the same.

So that’s the preface. In terms of what we actually get, Ironwood returns to his office with his arm bandaged and in a sling, carrying Watts’ bag, only to drop it when he sees the queen piece on his desk. He calls Winter asking, “Was anyone caught entering the school grounds while I was away?” and when she says no Ironwood has her race off to the Winter Maiden, unknowingly leading Cinder there in the process. “Now show me where you’ve been hiding her.”

We then cut to the group where the trouble begins. They’re not just curious about why Ironwood is recalling them with Mantle still in need of evacuation, they’re actively questioning it. This is the attitude I simply don’t understand. The group acts as if Ironwood is deliberately screwing everyone over when they know better. This is no longer the beginning of the volume where they thought he was some horrific dictator hell bent on destroying his own Kingdom. This is just an hour or so after, “We should tell Ironwood!” and the happy-go-lucky ‘We trust him now’ moment. Even less time after Ruby stared up at him in awe with, “He’s doing it.” They had reason to trust him before they even made it to Atlas. They were given even more reasons in the form of Ironwood sharing his secrets, early licenses, and being allowed to work on the tower. They then still waited until Ironwood was doing everything they wanted before giving him some of that trust back... but the moment he stops doing precisely what they want---we want to keep evacuating Mantle---he’s deemed suspicious again.

I mean seriously, is the group that dense? Are they incapable of thinking to themselves, “Wow, something must have happened if Ironwood is recalling us before evacuations are complete,” which is precisely the case. The scene tries to frame it as “Group Good�� and “Ace Ops Blinding Obeying Orders Bad” but that aspect doesn’t even come into play. There’s nothing blind about it. It simply takes two seconds of critical thinking skills to realize that something really awful must have happened back at the Academy that trumps what you’re doing in Mantle. This is what I mean by the writing being biased. Before we even reach the fight in Ironwood’s office it’s trying to paint him as potentially cruel, potentially suspicious, potentially abandoning his people, look how worried our heroes are about this secret decision he’s made... when all that requires ignoring some really basic deduction in order to reach those assumptions. Remember that intelligence is a plot device in RWBY. If they want Ironwood forced to spill his secrets, he’ll randomly start talking about them in front of his enemies. If they want Ironwood painted as the villain, the group will randomly be incapable of realizing that maybe, just maybe, something went wrong on the home front and you’re needed there.

Things just get so much worse from then on. The group splits with JNR going off to find Oscar and, admittedly, I was shocked we got that at all. I mean yeah, it’s setup for the final reveal at the end of the episode, but the fact that anyone remembered Oscar was missing---let alone happily went off to find him---was still a surprise. So only Team RWBY heads back to Ironwood’s office where they find him (rightfully) panicking over the queen on his desk. Weiss tries to baby him, acting like he’s freaking out over nothing, when all these characters should recall precisely what Ironwood himself points out: the last time we saw this symbol it was a message that Beacon had fallen. He’s not paranoid here. He’s entirely justified in his panic. Ironwood likewise points out that they may have been duped into bringing thousands of people into Atlas as easy targets and Vine agrees, setting up that the Ace Ops are on Team Ironwood throughout the course of this conversation. Not out of blind loyalty, but because he’s right. That is a concern. That may be the plan. We do need to try and do something about that. Team RWBY, however, isn’t convinced.

That is, until Ruby realizes that the chess piece is made of black glass. Which means Cinder left it. Normally I’d congratulate her on that deduction---it is the one smart move we see Ruby pull this whole episode---but I just hate what follows. Namely that Ruby and Ruby alone controls her team’s opinions on a situation. Again. We saw it back in the snow, then again when Blake announced in the elevator that they’d do whatever she wanted. Team RWBY is the one who blindly follows their leader, not the Ace Ops, the only exception being Blake and Yang going rogue in regards to Robyn, but we see that hive-mind mindset here again. Ironwood brings up a good point? Nothing. Ace Ops support that point with more logic? Nothing. Ruby supports it? Oh, suddenly Weiss and Blake are taking this seriously. Suddenly Yang is fired up and ready to do whatever is necessary. Ruby controls the room. It’s only when she’s on board that her teammates decide this is worth getting riled up about.

Which, as I’ve said before, is a horrible way to write a diverse group. Especially when the writing is trying to paint the Ace Ops as mindless soldiers. For all their claims that they just have to follow orders, they’re the only ones parsing through this situation and coming to their own conclusions. It’s just that their conclusions do end up aligning with Ironwood’s which is the “bad” take in this scene. Team RWBY, however, waits until their leader makes a decision and then simply rides her cloak tails. The day that Blake, Yang, or Weiss legitimately disagree with Ruby---not a token “Are you sure we should keep secrets from Ironwood? We’re not actually challenging this. Just checking in”---is the day the writing will disagree with her. AKA, no time soon.

Blake tries to give some bland reassurance about them all being with Ironwood to which he responds, “Are you with me? How did Robyn know about the global communications tower?” Thank you! Thank you for giving us Ironwood’s characterization back and acknowledging that he has no reason to buy their generic ‘Got your back’ statements when everything they’ve done this volume has proven otherwise. They don’t support Ironwood, only themselves and their own teams. The minute he does something they don’t like he’s chucked under the bus. Too bad the writing doesn’t acknowledge any of this and instead continually paints the group as being justified in their decisions. It’s that hypocrisy again. When the group yells at Ozpin for keeping secrets we’re supposed to be on their side. When the Ace Ops yell at the group for keeping secrets we’re... still supposed to be on their side.

Weiss tries to diffuse the situation with “None of this matters right now!” which is real rich when they were just complaining about Ironwood not telling them why they were called back. They get to worry over that, but Ironwood isn’t allowed to worry about them outright betraying him? “Loyalty always matters!” he shouts back and he’s right. Why should Ironwood trust them to have his back in this crucial moment when they’ve never had it before? I’m already seeing more of this hypocrisy among the fandom. When Ozpin kept secrets and told lies the group was given a whole volume to be pissed about that and fans still, to this very day, insist that it hasn’t been enough time for them to get over it, to regain even a portion of that trust. But now that Ironwood has been lied to and betrayed in the same manner? People are annoyed that he’s not just shrugging it off. How dare you not get over in thirty seconds what our heroes got weeks to work through. His inability to just suck it up, as it were, is used to make him seem irrational here. I don’t see anyone, characters or fans alike, acknowledging that his anger is as righteous as the group’s was out in the snow. That there is the disconnect.

Of course, something has to break the tension. Drawn by all the fury and fear, a grimm pops out of Watts’ bag. A fail-safe for if he was defeated and captured. Salem immediately takes control of the grimm and kills it, using its form to appear before them. She reveals that it doesn’t matter that her men were captured. They were just there to “set the stage,” which they’ve done. Still doesn’t explain the random Penny side plot to my mind (seriously, why did the story bother to resurrect her when she has done nothing plot-wise or emotionally?), but whatever. Much more importantly, the stage is set for Salem herself. She’s approaching with the grimm army we saw her amassing which is... iffy.

First off, why? Why after a thousand years has she suddenly changed her MO from keeping to the sidelines to a full-on attack? Again, what’s the catalyst for that massive change? We don’t know. Meanwhile, from a writing perspective, I’m hesitant about having our Big Bad thrown into the mix before the finale. We know there are plenty of volumes left in this series, which automatically undermines any battle they might have with Salem. Will they win?? Of course not! Because RWBY isn’t over yet. Granted, this could all just be a ruse of some sort. Maybe Salem just wants them to think she’s approaching with an army, which would be much more up her alley in terms of long-distance manipulation. But if not... seriously, what’s the point of that?

Here’s hoping it’s a bluff.

Speaking of manipulation, we get a fantastically creepy moment where Salem tells Ironwood to “simply accept the futility of your situation” while smiling like a kind mother. That’s the Salem who is truly dangerous. Ironwood reaffirms that he won’t give up the relics and Ruby pips up with, “We don’t have to kill you to stop you.”

Hey wait. I’m gonna give you all another graphic.

This is Ozpin’s stance! This is his plan! His version of hope! We spent all of Volume Six having the cast beat on him for, “Omg Salem is immortal?!” and with the exception of Nora’s comment, no discussion of this in Volume Seven... but now suddenly Ruby is making this announcement? The group came to this revelation sometime off screen which we a) don’t get to see and b) once again created no scenario in the form of, “Wow! Ozpin was right all along! Maybe we should go talk to him...”

I’m just... wow. The number of times the writing takes what the group and the adults do, the exact same perspectives and decisions, and twists it so that the group comes out looking like heroes and the adults look like misguided, unhinged fools who need to be put in their place... I’m really over it at this point. And by extension the group themselves. Their characterizations have been so badly mangled at this point I legitimately don’t like them as people. I don’t care if they say they want to protect Mantle, or if they say they’ll support Ironwood, or if they say they’re unsure about their choices. All their actions claim otherwise.

Rather than grappling with the huge revelation that the group is apparently no longer obsessed with Salem’s immortality (or rather that Ruby isn’t. The rest of the group doesn’t actually matter. As established, they sync up with her beliefs the second she announces them), we return to Summer Rose. Salem goes, “Your mother said those words to me” and Ruby... loses it? What? I would have been 100% on board with this if we’d gotten it last Volume because then we saw Ruby losing her cool periodically. The smashed alcohol bottles. Chucking her scroll. Screaming at Qrow. That was all building to something. But then we had a year and roughly twelve episodes of normality. Ruby jumps into her fight with Cordovin and has been fine ever since. Hell, she’s been bubbly and confident, goofing off with Penny in one episode, then giving strong orders to her team in another. The one time we see her falter was in her conversation with Qrow and he reassured her completely that she was both doing the right thing and in no way comparable to Ozpin. Now, suddenly, one line from Salem and Ruby collapses? Full on incapacitated? I could buy the crying while still standing strong, I could buy a collapse if we’d kept her characterization going from Volume Six, but this kind of reaction in this context just felt so extreme. Doesn’t help that I really wasn’t sold on the voice acting here. Those cries sound less like devastated sobs and more like weird hiccups. Not to rag on Lindsay. On the whole I think she does a really excellent job as Ruby, it’s just this particular moment didn’t read right to me. I didn’t feel Ruby’s supposed grief here.

So that was... a lot for one line from Salem in a volume of otherwise confident and cool-headed Ruby. We also don’t see it amounting to anything, as per usual with RWBY’s writing. Ruby isn’t out of commission for the rest of the conversation or anything. She pops right back up after a second in Yang’s lap, just as confident and go-getting as before. There was no lead up to this and there are no consequences for the breakdown. Rooster Teeth honestly seems to think they can just chuck random things into the story---Ruby needs to show emotion at some point!---and then just leave it at that, entirely disconnected from everything else around it. Would we have known that Ruby just had her first breakdown of the series a minute later while once again betraying Ironwood? Nope.

Finally, this scene shows us again that the Argus battle was a bunch of nonsense. Ruby’s eyes nearly activate when she’s grieving for her mother, imagining---or perhaps seeing via Salem?---a sad Summer, not a smiling one. Just like her eyes activated while seeing Pyrrha die. Just like they activated when Blake was nearly killed by the Apathy. They activate now while thinking about her mother’s death. The montage of happy moments in lieu of the sad ones not working last volume was entirely out of place.

Salem finally leaves. Now everyone is panicking about this army. Elm points out that they’ll know if anything approaches. Vine checks and realizes that Watts took out their perimeter. Either that or Salem has already destroyed everyone and everything out there. It’s impossible to know. During all this Blake asks if the Amity tower is actually finished and we get more nonsense about how Ironwood is evil for telling a lie, but the group is always justified in telling theirs. The writing really tried to compare Ironwood telling Mantle---who I guarantee 100% does not care about whether a communications tower is finished while they’re getting attacked by grimm---a lie to lure out one of their biggest threats to Blake and Yang going behind Ironwood’s back to tell a potentially non-trustworthy outlaw about said tower, risking that the information would fall into the wrong hands and doom the project before it could be completed either way. Those are not in any way comparable situations, yet the writing really has Weiss going, “General Ironwood?” in a ‘How could you betray us like that?’ tone while Yang continues to look pissed.

And as if they didn’t know! How is this a personal betrayal? They were all helping to build that tower. Surely they’d know it it was that close to being done. Again, critical thinking skills, people. Anyone with two brain cells and their insider information should have looked at Ironwood’s announcement and gone, “Oh, that must be a bluff. Just a few days ago we were arguing about whether to continue taking resources from Mantle. No way is Amity ready. He’s going after Watts. Who is indeed the much bigger threat. Considering that he has control over the entirety of our technology and there’s literally no downside to telling Mantle about a finished tower when they’re getting devoured by grimm.” This is another, “But lying is wrong!” in the face of “But lying kept us alive...?”

Does everyone get what I’m saying here? How RWBY takes these situations and tries to paint them in an absolutely ridiculous light, expecting the audience to blindly accept this perspective despite everything else they’ve seen for themselves? Like, two episodes ago? I swear I’ve never encountered writing that treats its audience this badly. Scene after scene relies heavily on the viewer having no ability to think for themselves. Just accept that Ironwood is a horrible person for lying about the tower even though there are no repercussions for that and we JUST watched him defeating Watts as a result. Like, five minutes ago. That just happened. In this episode.

Ironwood then drops the bomb that Winter has gone off to claim the Maiden power. Interesting development. I wonder what that means exactly. Is she just going to lock herself away until the Maiden dies naturally? Do they have her on some sort of life support and is there an agreement to pull the plug if necessary? Are they going to use a machine similar to the one Pyrrha was in and try to force the change early? Or is this just a misleading comment and Winter is merely off to protect the Maiden, no intention of taking the power now? Who knows. We’ll have to wait until next episode to find out.

Ironwood likewise announces that the staff and the lamp need to be locked away now that they’re compromised, even though they’ve been compromised since they first saw Tyrian in Mantle. Insert another [this scenario is so stupid and contrived] explanation here. It’s made worse by Ruby’s childish “You said we could keep it.” Excuse me? What, did you think the lamp was your personal property now forever and always? Is Ruby really sitting there arguing that something Ironwood told her weeks ago trumps the obvious logic of putting the relic where it’s somewhere safe? That’s the characterization we’re going for, a leader who cares more about, ‘But you said we could have it!’ over the fate of the world? What even is this? The fact that Ironwood has to explain to them that the situation has changed just reinforces the group’s overall attitude. That is, one of arrogance and importance. They literally need to be told why putting the relic in a nearly impenetrable vault is better than letting them have it just because they want it. Plus, you know, they lied about the lamp from the start. So there’s that too.

Finally, Ironwood reveals that Amity was originally a plan of Ozpin’s but he didn’t push it far enough. Instead, he intends to use the staff to lift all of Atlas instead, hopefully taking two relics and a Maiden far out of Salem’s reach. Ruby wants to use the tower for its designed purpose instead, which is only a valid option in her mind because the writing was stupid last week. If there had actually been any logic there---if people had been allowed to react naturally and in a variety of ways to the Salem announcement, rather than a super convenient “Yeah! Let’s all work together!” across an entire, panicking city---she wouldn’t be quite so eager to tell the whole world. But we all know at this point that logic bends to the protagonists’ whims, so Ruby wants that same perfect ending across all of Remnant. She stands her ground, as does her team. Obviously.

Meanwhile, the Ace Ops aren’t just following Ironwood’s orders like the writing wants us to think via Harriet’s earlier comment. Rather, they’re each thinking through the situation for themselves and making very good points. If Salem has taken out our perimeter than we know our tech and people don’t stand a chance against this army. We just finished up the fight in Mantle and none of us are in a position to start another. Notably, Harriet brings this up, the one whose aura took a massive hit while nearly getting crushed underfoot. Vine points out that sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war, but Team RWBY, to be blunt, simply doesn’t care.

I’ll be blunt myself here too: I don’t have an easy solution to this particular scenario. I don’t know what the “right” or the “wrong” choice is. Weighing starting a fight with VERY high stakes you’ll lose against abandoning the people of Mantle is just a straight up horrific decision. Like so much of what Ozpin faced, there is no clear-cut, good answer here. Do you stand by the people and risk the world, or work to save the world and doom the people? I don’t know and I do commend Rooster Teeth for writing a difficult choice... just not in giving each side the weight it deserves. Because as said, we’re meant to root for Team RWBY, always. Theirs is presented as the “right” choice every time, despite the fact that, as established, this is far from a black and white decision.

What frustrates me the most is when faced with all of these logical and very important considerations (we might not have backup, we’re in no position to fight, if Salem gets the relics and another Maiden the world is screwed) the group won’t even acknowledge these things. They’re so set in their own perspective they won’t even give these HUGE concerns the time of day. Rather, Yang shoots back, “You can’t just back down from a fight!”

That’s it. That’s the group’s problem in a single line.

This is what got Pyrrha killed.

It’s something the group should remember. She also insisted on fighting when she should have retreated and, since this was back during the days when characters actually faced consequences for their actions, it cost Pyrrha her life. Granted, going after Cinder was a truly useless endeavor. Pyrrha achieved nothing with her sacrifice. Here, Team RWBY hopes to save the people of Mantle, adding a clear justification for their insistence on fighting... but this is nevertheless indicative of that larger “punch it until it stops moving” mindset. It’s not that they decide to fight instead of retreating that’s the problem, it’s that to their mind fighting is the only option. Ever. This is what led to them attacking Cordovin and destroying Argus’ mech, drawing a massive grimm in the process. When faced with the option of backing down, Team RWBY doesn’t consider that an option at all. Which is heroic when up against an actual enemy, far less so when you’re facing an ally and the choice to fight has serious repercussions attached to it. Hell, the group doesn’t even consider compromises. They could have easily acknowledged that collecting the relics, the Maiden, and getting the staff to work on Atlas will take time. You do that while we focus on evacuating the rest of Mantle to the city. But no, even the concept of a compromise simply isn’t possible. You just always fight. Straight up. Anyone who suggests anything less isn’t a true huntsmen. “We’re loyal to the people!” Ruby shouts, as if “the people” doesn’t also include the rest of the world that Ironwood is trying to save and that they’re endangering by keeping the relics and Maiden within Salem’s reach.

That is one messed up perspective to tout in a story infused with the complex and the morally gray.

The real kicker though? Ruby’s ‘My way or the highway’ attitude obliterates a solution that fell straight into her lap. Jaune calls and says straight out that they have another situation. If Ruby had listened to her teammate for just three seconds they all would have learned about Oscar, thereby undermining Ironwood’s plan. He can’t keep the lamp safe if he doesn’t know where it is. You look for it while, again, we evacuate Mantle. Then we take everything out of Salem’s reach. Win-win. Instead, Ruby blasts her way through the situation. Literally, dodging Ironwood and hiding behind his desk shouting a highly bias version of his plan in the hopes of getting everyone on her side. And it works.

Because those like Clover don’t get to hear any of that context. Like how the perimeter is gone, there’s an army potentially coming, no one is in a position to fight, we’ve already lost a relic... they just here a Ruby’s version of events that paints Ironwood as the callous man Robyn thought he was---oh my god he’s abandoning Mantle for no good reason!---and people will react accordingly. Ruby likewise doesn’t care that shouting such information over all channels does things like, say, clue Tyrian into their plan. She just wants to do things her way, right now. Pausing to think (because thinking isn’t fighting) simply doesn’t happen.

I used to adore Ruby as a hero. Someone who was intrinsically good, hopeful, and wickedly clever in her ability to come out on top. Now she’s stubborn, arrogant, at times cruel, and charges in headfirst like her sister, refusing to consider any perspective other than her own. And her team endlessly supports that. The writing endlessly supports that. This isn’t our hero working through her flaws, but rather a flawed character that the writing refuses to acknowledge is flawed. When Ruby flies behind Ironwood’s desk the music rises triumphantly, just like it did when she attacked Cordovin’s mech. When Ironwood announces that they’re under arrest, Ruby spits back, “We won’t just let you take us” and we’re supposed to cheer.

Which brings us back to the question of whether the group really faced consequences here. Let me give you all a random, non-RWBY example of two scenes. Scenario One:

Parent: You punched her?

Teen: She insulted me!

Parent: I understand that, but that doesn’t mean you were justified in attacking her.

Teen: Oh, I was.

Parent: Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t, but you can’t solve all your problems that way.

Teen: I... I know that, okay. Back off. I just get so angry...

Parent: I know. We’re going to work on that. You’re grounded this weekend. We can discuss this more then.

Teen: [sighs] Fine.

vs. Scenario Two:

Parent: You punched her?

Teen: She insulted me!

Parent: I understand that, but that doesn’t mean you were justified in attacking her.

Teen: Oh, I was.

Parent: Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t, but you can’t solve all your problems that way.

Teen: Screw you! It worked didn’t it? I think a good punch goes a long way.

Parent: That’s not... okay look. You’re grounded this weekend so---

Teen: Like hell I am. [Proceeds to run off]

Teen: [Later to friend] ---and then she tried to ground me? Can you believe that?

Friend: Holy shit what an asshole.

If we put aside my own iffy dialogue for the moment, Scenario One acknowledges the complexity of the situation while likewise pointing out that the teen didn’t handle herself well. RWBY has achieved that here: the ethics of this scenario are acknowledged as complicated, but the group did things they shouldn’t have, as evidence by Ironwood’s anger and the Ace Ops’ criticism. However, Scenario One goes on to let the teen acknowledge that mistake, thereby validating it in the first place. A consequence is set, grounding, and they accept that, thereby further validating that their behavior needs work. They accept the consequence because both they and the writing acknowledge that the consequence is deserved. It takes what was previously two subjective stances---they say I’m wrong, I say I’m right---and encourages the audience to find the middle ground. Neither was totally wrong or right. The teen might be justified in some respects, but still made mistakes in others. She needs to improve.

RWBY, however, steers firmly into Scenario Two wherein the teen (Team RWBY) insists points blank that they never made mistakes in the first place, thereby encouraging the audience to question whether Ironwood and the Ace Ops (the parent) is right to be calling them out at all. We see no humility or guilt, only confidence. Ruby shouting “No!” at Cordovin when she’s told to surrender. Yang keeping silent after admitting that she and Blake told Robyn, not bothering to apologize or admit that this might have been a breech of trust. They challenge the validity of the claim that mistakes were made and by virtue of being protagonists encourage the audience to challenge it too. Finally, we see them reject the consequence because they will not admit that it’s deserved. The teen will not accept a grounding. Ruby: “We won’t just let you take us.” We’re then told by others that this rejection was warranted. The friend reinforces the view that the teen was right to run because that punishment is undeserved. The message is, “You never did anything wrong in the first place.” The plot of RWBY likewise reinforces the view that resisting Cordovin’s arrest was right by having her randomly let the group go. The consequence is replaced with a reward and, presumably, we’ll have a similar situation wherein the group either defeats the Ace Ops or is released by them. The consequences never take hold because the writing doesn’t think there should be consequences in the first place. Team RWBY isn’t going to be arrested here. They’re certainly not acknowledging that on some level they deserve to be. We didn’t see that humility while they were cuffed on the airship---that most basic acknowledgement of, “Did we make some mistakes? Could we have done something better? Is Ironwood right to be this mad?”---and there’s none of it now here, either. The tone is pure, “How dare you try and arrest us? We’re the good guys here!”

This remains as pro-protagonist as it has been the last two volumes. There are no consequences, only another hurdle for the group to overcome, painted as heroes for doing so. It’s Team RWBY vs. The Ace Ops and there’s no confusion about who we’re supposed to be rooting for. The Ace Ops because the group should rightly be stopped from hindering Ironwood’s attempts to keep the relics and a Maiden out of Salem’s hands, for their own lies and secret keeping that endangered them all this volume? Nope. It’s Team RWBY as the presumed heroes, facing off against soldiers who (supposedly) prioritize orders over what’s “right.”

And yeah, Oscar is gone. There are a number of dismantled robots and blaster fire in the room where Neo presumably took him. So unless they do a flashback we don’t get to see if/how Ozpin reacted to this initial attack. I hope they do provide a flashback because otherwise that’s another crucial scene of Oscar’s that happened off screen...

Can’t wait to see what else we’ll end up with next week! Until then, 💜

#rwby #rwby volume 7 #rwby volume 7 spoilers #rwby recaps #mymetas

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bookishbarnowl · 3 years

Text

Two Kinds of Snapping

They’d been saying the same things to each other for a week, the argument running in maddening circles as Dream spouted his usual insane drivel and Tommy shouted abuse back. He kept going on and on about the revival book, and Tommy wished he would just shut up about the stupid thing. It probably wasn’t even real.

Tommy is stuck. Losing it. Trapped with the person he hates the most on the entire server, and no one's getting him out. Conflict is the natural result.

Or, I write the dsmp prison scene ’cause angst go brrrrrrr

No I did not have the teletubbie kill him with a potato. Thought about it though.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, Major character death, very much not a happy fic

Relationships: Canon compliant Dream and Tommy (aka: ENEMIES)

Word Count: 1,501

Ao3 Link: Here

Tommy was done. He was so sick and tired and stuck and hurting and he wanted out so badly that he was ready to fly apart at the seams. The prison cell was infuriatingly small, and Dream’s presence in the corner was unignorably large. His fresh bruises were smarting from their short-lived scuffles and he had a long scratch on one arm sluggishly leaking blood from their most recent fight.

It hadn’t taken them long to switch from furious and resentful words to physical violence. Tommy had lashed out first, with a wild roundhouse punch thrown in desperation on his second day trapped, but Dream had shown no hesitation when he swept his feet out from under him in retaliation. Almost every argument they had ended with Tommy sprawled on the floor in an incandescent state of boiling rage, and he always came out worse in their exchanges. His body was littered with marks, but Dream was only sporting a swollen cheekbone from a lucky blow and a couple scrapes.

Tommy didn’t know why he kept trying. He’d never be able to beat Dream one on one, but there was so much seething anger bubbling up inside him that he felt like he couldn’t help it. They’d been saying the same things to each other for a week, the argument running in maddening circles as Dream spouted his usual insane drivel and Tommy shouted abuse back. He kept going on and on about the revival book, and Tommy wished he would just shut up about the stupid thing. It probably wasn’t even real, just a bluff to make him let down his guard.

He got up from his spot at the edge of the room and started pacing, tracing his now-habitual route back and forth along the netherite strip. His thoughts were running in loops again, repeatedly telling him that the only thing he wanted right now was to leave. He knew that already, he didn’t need his brain freaking out about it. He was pretty sure he’d had at least one panic attack. He didn’t want to spiral into another.

He’d asked the question a thousand times before, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking again. “How long’s it been,” he snapped.

“Close to a week now,” Dream replied evenly.

“What’d you mean close to a week? Either it’s been one or it hasn’t! I want out of here now!”

The other man shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it. Sam must still be dealing with the security issue.”

“That you’ve caused, stupid idiot. I’m done with you. When I get out of here, I’m never coming back.”

“Aw, wouldn’t you miss me?” he crooned.

“No. Hell no. I’d rather die.”

Dream’s eyes flashed. “Would you, now?”

He shuddered. “Not literally. You’re sick in the head.”

A grin tugged at the corner of the prisoner’s mouth and he stood up, moving a step closer. “But think of all the fun times we had together. I want to be your friend, Tommy. I’d certainly miss you.”

Tommy angrily rounded on him. “I want nothing to do with you,” he snarled, stabbing an accusatory finger towards his chest. “You can rot in here for the rest of your life for all I care. I’m getting out, and I’m leaving you behind forever. I’m gonna forget I ever knew you. There are people out there who care about me more than you ever will.”

Dream took another step. “But I do care about you, Tommy. And here’s the thing,” he leaned in, “are you sure the others are your friends? After all, you’re still stuck in here, aren’t you?” He smiled, an expression too wide for his face. Tommy hated how it looked.

“Shut up,” he growled, turning back towards the lava. “Of course they are.”

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he batted it roughly away.

“So irritable,” Dream mused. “You have the shortest fuse of anyone I know.”

“Gee, do I?” he muttered sullenly. The hand returned, and he slapped it off. “I never want to see your idiotic face again for the rest of my life.”

“But if you stayed with me, think about how much longer that would be. I could give you another life. Heck, I could give you as many as you wanted. I want to help you, Tommy.” He reached for the teen’s shoulder a third time.

Tommy ducked out of the way, pushing the larger man back. “Not back to this thing again. I don’t believe it. That stupid book isn’t real. You’re just trying to get me to buy into your lies, but I won’t do it.”

Dream’s eyes glittered darkly as he closed the distance between them. “Oh, it’s real, alright. I don’t think even Schlatt knew the extent of the power this book gives. I don’t know what I can do to make you believe me.”

“Nothing,” he blustered, disliking the closeness. “I’ll never side with you.” He planted his palms in Dream’s chest and shoved him away, feeling the start of another fight brewing in the air. His enemy stepped neatly backwards and kept his balance, smiling his creepy leering grin.

“Oh, come on. Do you really want to do this again? We both know how it ends.” He spread his stance into a more stable boxing pose.

“I hate you. You’ve made my life hell for months. I hate you!”

He rushed at Dream and attempted to drive his shoulder into his stomach, but his opponent side-stepped and tried to shove him to the ground. He barely kept his footing, tripping forwards for a few steps before whirling around to face him again. He yelled in rage and charged a second time, aiming for his feet instead. Once again Dream dodged and grabbed Tommy’s elbow as he tried to run past, hauling him around and throwing him to the ground.

He scrambled back to his feet in time to avoid the kick heading for his gut and stumbled away from the swinging fist that swiftly followed. He tried to get in a counter punch but was blocked by Dream’s other arm. A sharp pain burst in his knee as Dream sent a sudden kick flying into it, and the hit distracted him enough for the other man to shoot a rapid jab straight into his nose.

His head snapped back and he cried out, automatically bringing his hands up to his face as his vision blurred with reflexive tears. That was all the opportunity Dream needed to kick him squarely in the stomach and send him crashing to the floor. His head cracked painfully against the obsidian, stunning him as more pain blossomed in his skull.

This is where he’ll back off, something in his brain told him. Their fights always ended quickly.

But Dream drove his foot into Tommy’s gut a second time, putting his full weight into the crushing stomp. Tommy yelled in agony as he drew his foot back up for another blow, trying to roll to the side and get out of the way. Dream followed the movement easily and the second stomp landed on his ribs. He heard something crack and the pain multiplied, another scream tearing itself from his mouth.

He tried to get away, pulling himself towards the far end of the room, but he couldn’t drag himself more than a few inches before another devastating hit slammed into his sternum. He couldn’t stop screaming, he was in so much pain. It was the worst pain he’d ever felt, being shot by an arrow was paling in comparison to his organs being pulverized by a heavy boot. Dream wouldn’t stop, laughing maniacally as his foot pounded into his torso over and over again.

“How about this to convince you?” he screeched, unhinged. “You can go ask him yourself!”

Tommy tried to say something, but Dream kicked him in the jaw and the words were choked back in another cry of agony. His insides felt scrambled and wrong and painful and he’d never felt anything so bad in his entire life. He tried to curl up around his ruptured and bleeding stomach, tears streaming down his face, but moving felt worse so he stopped.

Dream was still hitting, crunching his fingers into the ground and grinding his arms against the obsidian floor. He knew things were breaking but he wasn’t thinking about what, brain consumed by the indescribable torture pulsing through him in time with his heartbeat.

He knew he was still screaming but it was past voluntary, a primal, animalistic noise that should never come from a person’s throat.

He knew Dream was still laughing. The raucous noise was psychotic and terrifying and how the hell did this happen he was supposed to get out. But now Dream was drawing back his foot for another stomp, higher than the others, and Tommy’s last thought was I’m not ready to die.

The boot came down on his neck with a sickening snap, and the pain stopped.

#dsmp #dsmp tommy #dsmp dream #angst #mcyt #fanfic #prison arc #tommy trauma #get this man to puffy for therapy

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hopesilverheart · 4 years

Text

Title: I loved your colours (before I loved you) Artist: @calliartss Rating: Explicit (Chapter 10 only) Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Alec Lightwood & Clary Fray, Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood Word Count: ~95k Summary: Magnus Bane is a journalist who's always dreamed of modelling for Lightwood Fashions. When the CEO Alec Lightwood starts looking for new models for their spring collection, he jumps on the occasion.

In the meantime, Alec Lightwood is struggling with the idea of finally announcing his role as co-designer. When Magnus Bane strolls into his life, Alec is torn between keeping his secret or throwing all caution to the wind.

This fic was created for the Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020.

Chapter 15: Blinded by the colours

Magnus couldn’t breathe.

Isabelle was at his side, rubbing soothing circles into his back and reminding him that he couldn’t back out now, and he couldn’t breathe. The only reason he was still standing was because he couldn’t ruin his outfit, not when he knew how much the show meant to Alexander and Clary.

Magnus would have to be walking down the runway in twenty minutes, but he wasn’t even sure he remembered how to walk. Isabelle had assured him that Andrew and Emily were going through a similar nervous breakdown in their own corner of the changing rooms, but Magnus wasn’t sure she understood how big this event was for him.

He was modelling for the first time in front of hundreds of important people – including some of his ex-corkers – and he was doing so for Alexander’s collection. The collection the man he loved had designed with Magnus in mind. On top of that, this was the night Magnus finally gathered the courage to apologise to Alexander and tell him that he loved him without getting interrupted.

He wasn’t sure an event had ever mattered as much to him as this fashion show did.

“Magnus, I understand why you’re freaking out, but you need to pull it together sooner rather than later,” Isabelle urged him, tightening her hold on him when he stumbled slightly in an attempt to move. “Why don’t we go see the other models, huh? The night is going to be stressful enough as it is, so maybe a bit of time spent with our colleagues will help you relax before the show. Just… forget about the things you’ll have to do in a little while.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, even though Magnus wasn’t sure he could get his mind off the show or Alexander. He had been incapable of thinking about anything else for days, and he didn’t see that changing anytime soon. However, he wasn’t going to deny Isabelle such a simple favour. If she wanted him to talk to the other models, that was exactly what he would do.

“See! I told you Magnus would be just as nervous!” Magnus narrowed his eyes at Aline as he reached the group. He knew he looked like hell, but he really didn’t need another reminder. “No offence, Magnus. I’m sure you’re going to do wonderful out there tonight, but you’re not the only one who needs support and reassurance.”

“You already know people love you,” Andrew nodded, looking panicked and wild and slightly unhinged. “The first issue you released was a success and you’re the only thing anyone can talk about. We, on the other hand, are just some unknown models who can’t afford to screw this up.”

Emily nodded agreeably from her seat on the floor, looking up at Magnus with anxiety written all over her features.

“We had to send someone to get their significant others,” Maia whispered to Magnus and Isabelle as the other models fussed over their two nervous colleagues. “They seem determined to go through with the show so we’re not worried about that, but the last thing we want is someone passing out from sheer anxiety. Do you want us to find someone for you, too?”

“I should already have-”

Before he could finish his sentence, a ball of energy and brown hair came hurtling into his legs, rustling the fabric and almost knocking him over in the process. As much as Magnus wanted to be annoyed at his goddaughter for disregarding his ‘don’t mess with the outfit’ rules, he was far too relieved by her appearance to say anything.

“Madzie,” Catarina tutted, shaking her head at her daughter as she leaned in to kiss Magnus’ cheek. “You’d better hope those pants are still spotless, because I’m pretty sure Magnus’ team isn’t going to accept anything less than perfection.”

Behind Magnus, Maia and Isabelle made matching noises of agreement. If the giggles Madzie let out was anything to go by, they were also pulling faces at the little girl to get on her good side. Ever since Magnus had introduced Madzie to the models and the rest of the fashion team, they had all started harassing him with questions about his goddaughter. He knew she was cute, but she was also not theirs, for heaven’s sake.

“How are you feeling?” Catarina asked him once Madzie had detached herself from him and ran off with one of the girls.

“Not great,” Magnus laughed nervously. “I mean, I know I’ve got the modelling part down since Lydia and Raphael have been coaching me non-stop for months, but- I don’t know, I’m starting to wonder if I should just call everything else off. What if he hates it, Cat?”

“He won’t hate it,” his best friend huffed, shaking Magnus’ shoulders gently. “You pulled off this plan in less than two weeks, and it’s one of the sappiest, most romantic things I have ever had the pleasure of participating in. Is it slightly embarrassing? Yes, but all the best grand gestures are, especially when the recipient is as big a romantic as your man apparently is.”

Magnus knew that. He had thought about that every step of the way, every time he had started doubting himself. Isabelle had assured him that Alec would love the gesture, and he had believed in her. Had believed in himself and his knowledge of what Alexander did and didn’t like. Now, though, he couldn’t help but feel like he had gone completely overboard.

What if Alec didn’t want him back? What if he thought Magnus was trying too hard? What if he wrote him off as desperate? No matter how kind and compassionate Alec was, even he had to have his limits, right?

“Magnus?”

Oh no. No, absolutely not.

Magnus was stressed enough as it was; the last thing he needed was Lorenzo fucking Rey to show up at his work place looking smarmy. How on earth had the man even gotten in?

“Hey, babe,” Andrew cut through Magnus’ thoughts, pecking Lorenzo’s cheek and smiling dopily at the man, looking far less worried than he had seconds earlier. “Thank you for coming here, especially considering- Just… thank you. So, do you and Magnus know each other?”

“We used to work together,” Lorenzo answered easily, looking Magnus up and down confusedly. “At Fade Medias. I thought you had moved to Lightwood Enterprises for a job as Head Editor, Magnus, not as a model. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a model, but it’s a little out of character for you.”

“Is it?” Magnus raised his eyebrows, finally snapping out of his daze. “I think it suits me rather well. And I’m more than capable of handling two jobs at once, Lorenzo. My position as Head Editor is secure even when I’m on another floor, and I’m far from the only person in the department to work as a model.”

“Magnus is great at what he does,” Andrew nodded along to Magnus’ words, earning himself an irritated look from Lorenzo – his date? Boyfriend? “We all just wish he would take a little more time for himself on the side, since he’s always so busy working.”

“That’s me,” Magnus chuckled, smirking slightly at Lorenzo’s guilty look. “Always working harder than anyone else. Maybe that’s why I missed the fact that the two of you are dating. How long has this been going on?”

“A few weeks?” Andrew shrugged. “It’s still pretty recent, but I’d like to think it’ll last a while longer.”

As soon as Lorenzo turned to stare down smittenly at his boyfriend, Magnus knew it was time for him to leave. There were a lot of things he could handle in life, but his ex-boss who had always treated him like crap acting like a love-sick fool wasn’t one of them. Instead, he turned back to the rest of the fashion team and smiled as he spotted a familiar figure embracing Emily.

“Julie!” He greeted the writer, his smile widening when the woman waved at him without turning away from her girlfriend. “I see that the comforting crew has entered the building. Feeling better about the show now, Em?”

“She’d better be feeling better about the show,” Julie huffed, twisting herself around so she was leaning back against Emily, her head resting on the brunette’s shoulder and Emily’s arms wrapped around her waist. “Because she knows she’s beautiful, isn’t that right? And you’re going to do so well, baby; you could just stand there and people would cheer for you. You’ve all been getting ready for months, and there’s no reason for any of you to fail.”

She looked straight at Magnus during that last part, raising her eyebrows at him knowingly, as if she had been aware of just how much he needed to hear something like that. In the meantime, Emily had turned a bright red and had buried her face in her girlfriend’s hair, which Magnus took as his cue to leave the loving couple alone.

“You’re going to be great out there, Em,” he said as he left, patting the brunette’s shoulder reassuringly before grinning widely at Julie. “And you, keep her out of trouble for the next ten minutes or so, alright? Go talk to the other gays in the room – yes, I’m aware that’s just about everyone – and distract her for as long as possible. Thank you for coming.”

“Anything for my baby,” Julie smiled softly, kissing Emily’s temple. “But you’re welcome. Don’t worry about her, I’ll make sure she’s fine, and I’ll see you at work on Monday. Good talking to you, boss.”

Magnus rolled his eyes at the appellation but didn’t bother correcting the blonde woman. He had learned very early on during his time at Lightwood Media that most of his employees would call him whatever they wanted to, whenever they wanted to. Unfortunately for him, he liked Julie enough to let her get away with it.

“And he’s smiling! What a miracle!” Isabelle exclaimed, beaming as Magnus joined her and Clary’s side again. The redhead looked stunning in her emerald and gold dress, and she seemed to be well aware of it. Magnus had never seen her look so confident before.

“I have to be out soon, Magnus, but I just wanted you to know that I think your plan is going to work just fine,” Clary said impassively, even though Magnus could see a sparkle of excitement and eagerness in her eyes. “And of course, I’ll do my best not to screw it up. Isabelle gave me instructions and I intend to follow them, if that makes you feel any better.”

It did, and Magnus didn’t hesitate to express his gratefulness to the redhead. A part of him had worried that she would mess things up for him out of pure spite or pettiness, but he should have known that the woman Isabelle loved wouldn’t do something like that.

“Well then,” Clary continued, grinning widely. “Showtime.”

***

The lights dimmed, and Alec’s heart rate sped up considerably. The ambiant music was turned off, and he tried to remember how to breathe. The audience quieted, a spotlight was aimed at Clary, and a veil of anxiety draped over his skin.

His best friend looked beautiful, dressed in greens and golds and – unknown to the attendees – reds, although those were hidden underneath layers and layers of fabric. Even though Clary had taken care of dozens of fashion shows in the past, Alec thought she had never looked so radiant.

The final reveal was always a moment of joy for the team, and doubly so for the designers, but this was… this was something else. This was the collection that had granted Clary love, and it was the collection that would lead to Alec’s first step into the limelight. They had practised this exact moment hundreds of times, and yet Alec still wasn’t sure he was ready for the chaos that would ensue.

“You’re going to be wonderful out there tonight,” his mother murmured, her eyes never straying from Clary’s graceful figure.

They were both hidden behind two thick curtains at the back of the runway, waiting for Alec’s turn to shine – or to fail, depending on how things went. Alec couldn’t have been more thankful for his mother’s presence; as fragile as their relationship was, he had to admit it was nice to have someone at his side whilst he waited to do the single most terrifying thing he’d ever done in his life.

“You can’t know that,” Alec whispered back, almost bouncing on his toes as he waited for Clary to start speaking. He knew timing was of the greatest importance, but he also just wanted this to be over with already. The sooner they could get the show started, the sooner they could get it finished, and the sooner he could reveal himself and get rid of the horrible anxiety clawing at his chest. “You can’t know how I’ll be. There’s a good chance I’ll freeze on the spot and forget everything I wanted to say. The only speeches I’ve held in the past few years have been business-related, and this is- This is different.”

“It matters more,” his mother hummed, smiling at him softly when he turned to her with wide eyes. “I’m not stupid, Alec. I know you care far more about these clothes you design than you do about the company itself. You’re a great CEO, but you’re an extraordinary designer.”

Alec’s heart stuttered at his mother’s words, still unfamiliar no matter how many times she’d said them in the past two weeks. Despite all his worries, he couldn’t help but perk up slightly at the praise. It reminded him of what Clary had told him once, when they were still young designers who had no idea how successful they were going to be.

Everyone had been pushing Alec to give up, to stick to business and forget about his art, but his best friend had taken him aside and asked him one, very important question.

If you had to choose, if you had to pick one thing you wanted to do forever, could you honestly tell me you would pick business? You’ll be a good CEO once you’ve fixed your father’s messes, Alec, but you could be a spectacular designer.

After that, he had never thought about quitting the job of his dreams ever again. He loved his colours, his partnership with Clary, and the support of the fashion team far too much for that. Now, he was going to get to share all of that with the rest of the world. He would be able to tell them that the only reason he was still a designer was because of the people around him.

That thought was enough to have him cracking a smile despite the stress he was currently under. He had chosen this life and he refused to be ashamed of it.

Clary reached the front of the runway, curtsied with a light giggle, and opened her mouth to speak just as the thunder of applause died down. A golden hue illuminated her from behind, and Alec could see various members of the audience gaping at his best friend.

“Good evening, everyone,” the redhead started, the smile evident in her voice even though Alec couldn’t see it from his position. “Thank you all for coming tonight and thank you for showing support for our latest collection even before its release. We at Lightwood Fashions are delighted to finally be able to present what we view as our greatest accomplishment to date. We hope for this spring collection to be the beginning of a new leaf for our brand and couldn’t be prouder of the pieces we will be showcasing today.”

Her speech sounded scripted – her speech was scripted – but Alec could hear the pride and joy in Clary’s voice as she spoke. She may have been working on her words for weeks, but Alec knew they still meant as much to her now as they did when she first put them down on paper.

“In honour of this new leaf, my co-designer and myself have decided to rename our own personal brand, or more specifically to correct your assumptions about our brand,” Clary continued seamlessly, glancing behind her and smiling when their brand’s logo – a simple L intertwined with an F – appeared behind her. Everyone had always assumed the letters stood for Lightwood Fashions, but Alec could have never done his best friend so dirty; “We present to you today, after a brief note from my co-designer, the Lightwood-Fray 2021 spring collection.”

There was a moment of silence as the audience members turned towards each other with considering and calculating eyes, but enthusiastic clapping broke out as Clary grinned brightly before moving towards the runway’s entrance, heading straight for Alec and Maryse.

As she approached them, Alec realised what her exit meant and almost broke into a bout of hysteria right then and there. He wouldn’t be appearing on stage for another hour or so at least, since he had decided to wait until the end of the show to actually step out, but he had also…

“Good evening,” his recorded voice rang out in the show room, startling a few attendees as they looked around for the source of the sound. “By now, I’m sure Clary has told you all about what the collection means for our company and for our brand. However, before the show can start, I thought it would be important for all of you to understand what it means to us, as individuals.”

Alec could have heard a needle drop in the complete silence that followed the start of his speech, and only Clary’s hand squeezing his fingers tightly stopped him from panicking about the entire plan. She had promised him it would go fine; the silence was just a result of the audience’s shock, not of their horror. It was just shock, and he couldn’t even blame them. After all, he had been trying to shock them.

“It’s no secret that, at times, designers and artists find a muse,” recorded-Alec continued, sounding far more smooth than real-Alec could have managed at that moment. Thank god for Clary and her wonderful idea to let him work up to an on-stage speech. “For the first time in our lives, Clary and I have both found that person who inspires us to try more things, to expand our horizons, to be more. The spring collection is an ode to a new page in our careers, but it’s also the physical demonstration of the love we have been given.”

In the end, it had been impossible for Alec to cut Magnus out of the picture, no matter how afraid he was of rejection and mockery. He hadn’t been lying when he had told Magnus that he was his muse, and he would be damned if he didn’t give the other man the credit he deserved.

Besides, just because the two of them were no longer together didn’t mean Alec couldn’t still love him. Angel, did he love him.

“The first time Clary met her muse, she hated her,” the recording went on, sounding amused and light as Alec always did when he thought about Clary and his sister. “But through it all, the two of them have always meant something to each other, and now they mean more to each other than ever. It was all too easy for her to design half a collection solely for the woman she loves, be it through magnificent designs or shapes or fabrics or colour suggestions.”

Next to him, Clary smiled shakily, looking towards the models’ changing room doors with tears of joy in her eyes. Alec knew that, had she been given the choice, Isabelle would have been right there with them, probably crying over the words Alec had spoken for Clary. Before he could so much as hug his best friend, however, his voice rose again and he scrunched his eyes closed as tightly as he could manage.

“The first time I met my muse, I thought he was the most beautiful person I had ever seen,” Alec’s voice said softly. Alec wondered if his love for Magnus was as obvious to everyone else as it was to him. “Hell, I still do. He shines brighter than anyone I’ve ever met, and I painted him onto every outfit we created, even though nothing could match his magnificence. He’s the reason behind all the colours I added to this collection; he’s the person who gave me the courage to truly step out of my comfort zone.”

He wondered how Magnus would take the entire speech. Would he disregard it and follow Alec’s earlier instructions of leaving him alone? Or would he understand that this was the only way Alec could express his feelings without feeling like he was drowning? This was the closest thing to a love confession Magnus would get, and if he still didn’t want to talk to Alec after this… Well, Alec wasn’t going to fight forever.

Next to him, Clary smiled gently and knocked their shoulders together in a silent show of support. Alec had never loved her more.

“This collection is as much a matter of fashion as it is a matter of the heart, and I hope it’ll show in the final product,” recording-Alec concluded, sounding as nervous and excited as Alec currently felt. “Thank you for coming on this journey with us tonight, and I hope you enjoy the view.”

The audio cut off, and the room burst into a wave of whispers as the audience connected the voice to Alec’s. He wondered if they knew what it meant or if some of them were still fooling themselves into believing Alec was nothing more than a substitute speaker.

The dim lights turned off completely, and Alec completely forgot about the attendees’ reactions to his little speech. He would have plenty of time to worry about that later, when he was fielding off questions and handsy reporters. For now, his newly found fame and identity were the least of his worries.

He hadn’t been kidding when he had announced that this collection was as much about fashion as it was about the heart – about love. He may not have designed all the clothes in it, and he may have had Clary’s help and council on every single piece, but it didn’t make it any less valuable. He and his best friend had poured their entire souls into the final show, and he would be damned if he didn’t watch every single second of it.

“I have to go,” Clary whispered as the models moved around to their left, getting ready to step onto the runway and do the one thing they had been preparing to do for months. “I know you wanted us to watch the show together, but the models needed my help with something and I promised I wouldn’t disappoint them.”

Alec frowned, wondering what on earth could justify his best friend’s sudden disappearing act, but he knew better than to ask. If Clary had wanted him to know more than the basic facts, she would have told him. Besides, there was a good chance that when she said models, she meant Magnus, and Alec really wasn’t ready to face the man quite yet.

“You’ll be back for the end of the show, right?” Alec frowned, thinking about the plan they had put in place. “Because there’s no way I’m going out there without my co-designer. We’re in this together, Fray, and I will fight you if you try to run away.”

“Why run away?” Clary smiled. “I have nothing to be afraid of. But yes, I promise I’ll be back for the end of the show. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, and my deal with the models should end before we make our grand entrance. Or is it a grand exit? Either way, I’ll be there.”

“Perfect,” Alec nodded. “Then off you go. I’ll be joining the fashion team in a second, I just want to make sure the beginning of the show goes off without a hitch.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Clary waved his statement away. “Seriously, they have it under control. We didn’t want to say anything in case we needed you last minute, but everyone agreed that you should enjoy the show instead of having to work again. I know a part of you wants to join the team to make sure everything is going off without a hitch but trust me on this. You’ll want to see what comes next.”

Once again, Alec didn’t question his best friend’s words. He did want to join the rest of the team, but he wanted to see what Clary was helping them with even more. So as she walked away, he dutifully stayed in his ideal viewing spot and shuffled nervously from foot to foot, wondering what on earth was about to happen.

Before he could worry or wonder too much, a single spotlight was pointed straight at Clary, who had somehow made it to the side of the runway and was grinning brightly at the crowd. Clearly, whatever the models had needed wasn’t a bad thing. Clary was many things, but able to cover up her emotions wasn’t one of them.

Then she spoke, and Alec’s mind went blank.

***

In front of Magnus, Emily and Andrew took a deep breath, letting their remaining tension melt from their shoulders. Next to him, Isabelle smiled reassuringly and smoothed her clothes over one last time.

She looked beautiful in her almost-sheer flowery blouse and ripped jeans, and although Magnus knew the audience was mostly there for the high-end part of the collection, he was certain the general public would love the more casual side of the collection. Clary and Alec had truly outdone themselves, creating something affordable for people to enjoy, and Magnus couldn’t have been prouder to represent their brand.

“So these are the colours you think of when you think about the beginning of yours and Alec’s relationship, huh?” Isabelle asked him quietly, gesturing at their little group of models. The ten of them were dressed in warm hues, from oranges to dark yellows to burnt pinks, and Magnus wondered if Alec’s colours resonated as deeply with everyone else as they did with him.

Probably not, but perhaps that was the point.

“I think about every colour when I think of Alec,” Magnus shrugged, the rainbow and white outfit flashing in his mind, “but these ones do remind me of first meetings and longing and all those wonderful things one feels at the beginning of a relationship.”

“Can’t relate,” Isabelle chuckled, winking at Magnus as she gestured towards Clary.

The redhead had made it to the side of the runway, and Magnus could barely contain his impatience. She knew what she had to do, and he had complete faith in her ability to make sure everything went off without a hitch, but a part of him still itched to check up with her one more time.

Before he could so much as move, however, a spotlight was directed towards the back of the runway, right where Kaelie and Meliorn were waiting, and Magnus knew it was too late. The show was about to begin, and the most he could do now was wait and be the perfect model the fashion team had trained him to be.

“Naming collections has never been me and my partner’s strong suit,” Clary started, chuckling along with the crowd. It was no secret that the designers’ one and only attempt at naming their creations hadn’t gone well, hence why they had stuck to nameless collections up until that point. “Thankfully, a good friend of mine has incredible insight on this collection’s meaning and was able to name these outfits to perfection.”

Magnus’ breath hitched as he looked around at his fellow models. His colleagues and friends were looking at him proudly, expectantly, and Magnus let their confidence fill his heart and mind. They believed in him, so there was no reason for this to go wrong.

“This spring collection is, in many ways, a story,” Clary continued, her scripted words sounding more genuine than anything Magnus could have achieved. “And as many stories are, this one is about love. I won’t go into detail with all of you, but I’m sure you’ll understand what I mean once you see these designs. For now, please enjoy the beginning of our show with our first series of casual-wear designs, Quite Magical.”

Isabelle smiled approvingly and nudged Magnus’ side before schooling her features and straightening up, her gaze never straying from Emily’s back. Magnus quickly copied her and let the model mentality his friends had taught him about take over his movements.

By the time it was his and Isabelle’s turn to step out – they were the last of the group – Magnus felt sure enough that he wouldn’t collapse as soon as he walked into the light. The audience seemed to be enjoying the first round of outfits, Clary was biting down on her bottom lip to keep in a grin, and Magnus couldn’t mess any of this up.

He couldn’t remember a single second of his first walk down the runway. He knew he had done a good job, since that was the only thing Isabelle had told him before racing to get her second outfit on, but his mind had seemingly decided to black the entire experience out when he tried to recall the walk.

Thankfully, he really didn’t have the time to over-analyse what had just happened, since he was already stripping out of his clothes and stepping into his next pant-shirt combo. He had to walk out in casual, flowery outfits three times before moving onto the part of the show he was most looking forward to, and he couldn’t help but hope that time could move slightly faster.

No matter how eager he was, however, he made sure that his performance remained impeccable and professional every time he stepped onto the runway. He didn’t falter, didn’t let his eyes stray to where they definitely wanted to go, and kept a polite and charming smile plastered on his face every time the cameras went off.

By the time the haute couture outfits were up, Magnus didn’t even have to fake his smile. He loved his job as an editor and wouldn’t give it up for the world, but he had to admit there was a certain thrill about going on stage and showing off outfit after outfit to the audience. Now he understood why Isabelle kept up her hectic schedule year-round; for an experience like that, Magnus would easily give up on a proper night’s sleep.

He slipped into his peacock-like outfit with a grin splitting his features. This was one of his favourite outfits, the greens and blues and golds clearly meant for him, and he had been dying to see the audience’s reactions to it – as well as to Isabelle’s peacock dress.

Clary announced the beginning of their Cryptic and Coy outfits, and Magnus got back in position behind Andrew again. Beside him, Isabelle looked radiant and confident in her long, sleeveless gown, and Magnus had to bite back a burst of delighted laughter as they stepped onto the stage.

The attendees turned to stare at Isabelle and him appreciatively, and Magnus wondered if they had any idea what they were looking at. He wondered if they understood how many meaningful glances Alec and he had exchanged, wondered if they saw them in the colours Magnus was draped in, wondered if any of them could see the memories of their first date Alec had hidden in the shirt’s layers.

They probably couldn’t, just as they probably couldn’t recognise their first kiss in the purples and golds Magnus wore when Clary announced the Lose Control series. There was no way any of the audience members could tell how much desire and longing were represented in those colours, but Magnus didn’t care. He didn’t care, because they were smiling and clapping, and he knew what the colours meant.

“Magnus!” Madzie called out as he stepped off the runway for his third-to-last outfit.

She looked beautiful, dressed in a miniature version of the dress Clary had designed for Isabelle. The blues and golds made her skin and eyes stand out, and Magnus couldn’t help but hope she would be allowed to keep it after the show. He was sure she would love nothing more than to wear such a pretty dress to costume parties.

“Mom says I look like a princess,” she giggled, taking his hand and bouncing on her heels excitedly. Magnus let go of her hand and went behind the curtain reserved for his quick changes. He took off his previous outfit – a mostly-open shirt painted in silvers and blues – and quickly changed into the much more formal blue and gold suit Alec had designed after their date at the pier. “But I told her I wasn’t a princess at all. Do you think she should get her eyes checked? That’s what she always tells me when I say something stupid.”

Magnus chuckled at his goddaughter’s antics and shook his head fondly at her as one of the hairstylists fidgeted with his hair before shooing both him and Madzie back towards the runway.

“I think your mother just needs to learn more about the difference between princesses and other magical, beautiful ladies,” Magnus whispered as he nodded at Isabelle. She would be stepping out a little before them so they didn’t risk anything with Madzie on stage, but she still took the time to coo at Madzie’s dress. “And I’m sure that the Sorcery theme tipped her off as to what you really are.”

“Alec’s favourite sorceress!” The little girl grinned, obediently settling down when Magnus shushed her and tightened his grip on her hand before leading them out and onto the stage.

The crowd went utterly silent for a second before bursting into ‘aw’s and ‘ooh’s at Madzie’s appearance. The little girl looked around shyly for a few moments before catching up to Magnus’ quicker strides and smiling prettily at the audience members. She even started waving at someone to their left as they made their way to the end of the runway, which Magnus found odd for all of thirty seconds before he noticed who she had been gesturing at.

As he walked back to the back on the runway, his gaze crossed Alec’s. The man had been standing behind the curtains when the show had started, of that Magnus was sure, but now… Now he was sitting in the front row with his mother to his left and Jace to his right. He looked like he couldn’t remember how to breathe, staring at Madzie and Magnus with wide, impressed eyes, and Magnus felt weak in the knees.

He barely made it back to the changing rooms, and he was almost convinced Madzie had had to drag him for the last few feet. The only reason he snapped out of his daze was because he knew the next two outfits were the most important ones, both for the show and for him. He couldn’t mess it up when he was so close to the finish line.

“Alec gave me a thumb’s up, Magnus!” Madzie giggled happily as Magnus took off his suit and exchanged it for another, this one red and black and decorated in a thousand little jewels. “That means I did good, right?”

“It means you did great, little sorceress,” Magnus grinned back at her, swallowing down his nervousness as he remembered what, exactly, he had named this particular series of red and pink clothes. Perhaps he should have thought it over some more before giving the list to Clary for approval. “I’m sure Alec will find you and congratulate you for your performance later. You could be a great model someday.”

“I don’t want to be a model,” the little girl shrugged. “But you’re an amazing model, Uncle Magnus. Mom thinks so, and I think so, and I think Alec thinks so too. He was looking at you the same way you always look at him, which means he must love you, right?”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Magnus answered diplomatically, not wanting to get in an argument with Madzie about love when he needed to be back on the runway in less than five minutes.

Clary was already announcing Aku Cinta Kamu, technically the last series of outfits in the collection, which meant Kaelie and Meliorn were about to step on stage. It also meant Magnus had to get the hell back to Isabelle before the brunette tore him a new one.

“I’m trusting you with her,” he told his hairstylist, pointing at Madzie. “Her mother should be around in less than three minutes, but I need to get going now. I love you, sweet pea, and you were wonderful out there. I’ll see you later, alright?”

“Alright!” Madzie smiled, waving at him as he rushed back to the runway and took his rightful spot next to Isabelle, who raised his eyebrows at him, looking decidedly unimpressed.

“Cutting it short for the ones that matter, I see,” she snarked, snapping her mouth shut as Lydia gestured for Emily and Andrew to step out. “But for the record, who even knows what Aku Cinta Kamu means?”

Lydia shushed them before Magnus could answer, so he ignored his friend’s question and focused on the runway instead, wondering if Alec had ever gone through and found out more about Magnus’ language. He had said he would, but they hadn’t been together very long and there was a good chance the designer had been joking around to begin with.

However, as he walked down the runway with Isabelle a few steps ahead of him and let his gaze stray to Alexander, he knew the man had done exactly what he said he would. There were tears in his eyes and he was looking at Magnus like he couldn’t quite believe that he was real.

As though Magnus had been the one to design an entire collection after him and publicly call him his muse. As though Magnus telling him he loved him mattered even more than that. Magnus still couldn’t quite believe he had someone as extraordinary as Alec in his life, and he was finding it even harder to believe that Alec thought he was the extraordinary one.

He couldn’t remember anything from his walk down the runway other than Alec’s eyes on him, steady and warm and as beautiful as when Magnus had first seen them. He wasn’t sure how he had managed to tear his gaze away from the designer long enough to smile for the cameras, but he was pretty sure he deserved an award for that.

By the time he made it back to his changing room to put on his final – and most important outfit – he was shaking with nerves. Alec’s awed smile and teary-eyed gaze seemed to point at a happy ending for the both of them, but he couldn’t be sure yet. He couldn’t get his hopes up before he got a clear answer, so he would go through with the end of his plan and pray.

Isabelle appeared behind him, dressed in her magnificent white dress covered in a rainbow of sparkling reflections, and Magnus breathed in deeply.

He could do this.

***

Alec was frozen in his seat, unable to do more than stare dumbly at the runway as his sister stepped out in the beautiful dress Clary had designed for her – with minimal help from Alec.

He was still reeling from the previous outfits, a whisper Aku Cinta Kamu looping in his mind and making his heart beat faster than ever. He had known, of course, that Magnus loved him. He had known that the other man wouldn’t change his mind in less than a month, just as Alec hadn’t been able to change his. Love had never been the issue, not for Alec.

He realised now that love should have been the only issue. He shouldn’t have cared about the secrets or the white lies or the mistakes, because he loved Magnus and Magnus – for some inconceivable reason – loved him back. That should have been enough from the very start.

If watching Magnus walk down that runway in that outfit had taught Alec anything, it was that Magnus had always been enough. After all, why else would Alec have designed that outfit as soon as he had realised he was falling for the other man? Why else would he have missed the journalist so much over the past few weeks? Why else would he have found it impossible to look away from Magnus?

Even now, as his sister smiled for the cameras and displayed one of his favourite dresses for the world to see, he couldn’t think of anything but Magnus. He wondered if he had given this last outfit a name too, or if he – just like Alec – thought the white ensemble couldn’t be translated into words. And more than anything, he wondered if this entire affair meant what Alec thought it did.

Maybe he hadn’t been the only one with a plan for the night. Good thing for Magnus, it seemed like their plans aligned quite well with one another.

His thoughts came to a screeching halt as Isabelle stepped off the runway and a single spotlight appeared right where the models came out. Even knowing what was going to come next, even having seen Magnus in the outfit before, Alec still lost his breath when the man he loved walked onto the runway looking more beautiful than ever.

The last time Alec had seen Magnus in the white outfit, he had been too busy with Clary and Izzy’s love life as well as his own heartbreak to focus on how well it suited Magnus. Now, though… Magnus swayed down the runway, a small smile curling at his lips as he glanced over at Alec, and the designer wondered if it was possible to fall in love with someone twice.

Magnus glistened in the spotlight, his white shirt gleaming brightly in a rainbow of colours as he twirled around for the audience. Alec had always thought of Magnus as the sun, all golden skin and golden eyes and golden heart. Staring at him now, though, he couldn’t help but wonder if Magnus had been an angel in disguise all along.

He looked stunning in white, and Alec vowed to design him a hundred other outfits like this one. He wanted to admire Magnus under every light, in every room of their studio and from every angle of his bed. He wanted to see the sparkling shirt torn open and exposing Magnus’ bare chest. He wasn’t sure why he had chosen to design this outfit, couldn’t remember when he had decided to make it the final and central piece of the collection, but he knew he couldn’t have made a better choice.

Magnus reached the end of the runway and stopped completely, wringing his hands behind his back in a way that made Alec sit up in anticipation. He knew Magnus, and he knew the other man only ever fidgeted when he was about to do something out of the ordinary.

Rattling Magnus’ nerves wasn’t an easy feat, which meant that whatever he had in mind went against all of his instincts. Alec could relate. After all, he was almost certain Magnus was about to give a speech that would bring Alec to tears, and the designer had a similar one planned as soon as the models were done with their part of the show.

The reminder of what Alec was going to have to do threatened to choke him with a wave of anxiety, but he pushed it back down and focused on Magnus instead. If Magnus could do this – whatever this was – then so could Alec.

The music stopped, Clary left her spot besides the runway to disappear in the background, and Magnus opened his mouth. The crowd held its collective breath, and Alec shifted in his seat.

“Good evening, everyone,” Magnus started, echoing Clary’s and Alec’s words from earlier. He sounded sure of himself, although Alec could see the way his fingertips trembled slightly. “I know it isn’t conventional for a model to take centre stage and steal the limelight from the wonderful designers who created the collection, but I’m afraid you’re all going to have to bear with me for a few minutes.”

A few chuckles echoed around the room, and Alec was pleased to find that no one tried to complain about Magnus’ little interruption. He would have quickly shut them down as the fashion show’s organiser if it had happened, but he was glad that everyone was behaving – for now.

“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Magnus Bane,” the model continued, looking surer of himself by the second. “I’m the Head Editor over at Lightwood Media, but I currently work as a model for what I believe is the greatest collection this country has seen all year, if not more than that. The Lightwood-Fray fashion team is one of the best teams I have ever worked for, and I have never been more grateful to be a part of something.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alec could spot the fashion team – Clary included – peeking around the corner of the runway with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. Even Isabelle, who Alec assumed had helped Magnus organise his plan, seemed to be biting back a sob.

“I’m also the one who helped the lovely Clarissa Fray come up with names for this wonderful collection. They might have been a little bit sappy, but I won’t apologise for the reason behind all these names,” Magnus said, his voice wobbling as his gaze briefly skipped to Alec. “Because no matter how great working with the team has been, nothing could ever compare to what I feel for Alexander Lightwood. You may only know him as the company’s CEO, may think he’s a little bit dull or arrogant or self-centred, but the truth is…”

He cut himself off then, fully angling his body towards Alec and abandoning all pretence of speaking to the rest of the crowd. Hopefully, they would take the grand gesture for what it was and not interrupt Magnus, because Alec really wanted to know where this was going.

He had an idea, of course, but he needed to hear Magnus say it, and he needed to hear him say it now, preferably.

“The truth is, Alexander is one of the most amazing people I have ever met,” Magnus murmured, his voice crystal clear in contrast to the rest of the room’s complete silence. “He may be a little rough on the outside, but aren’t we all? He’s far from perfect, but I have never met anyone who cares as much as Alec does about the people around him. I’ve never met anyone who can command a room without coming off as rude or selfish as well as he can. I’ve never met anyone so talented, beautiful, and worthy of love.”

Alec could feel tears rolling down his cheeks, but he didn’t even try to wipe them away. He had been dreaming of someone loving him enough to announce it to the rest of the world ever since he was a child and there Magnus was, fulfilling his dreams once again. Alec felt his heart swell more and more by the second, overwhelmed by his feelings for Magnus and the feelings Magnus seemed to have for him.

God, he loved this man. And he was going to make sure Magnus knew exactly how much Alec loved him as soon as he was given the chance to speak. He wouldn’t stand to see Magnus cry because of him for a single second more.

“So Alexander, know this,” Magnus added, seemingly fighting back tears of his own. “I may have loved your colours far before I loved you, darling, but I love you more than anything in the world. You are the most incredible man I have ever met, and I will never be able to properly express how sorry I am for ever hurting you. You deserve the world and, since I couldn’t give you that, I settled for second best. This show is a piece of your world, Alexander, and I hope you know how much I cherish it. How much I cherish you.”

As far as love confessions went, Alec wasn’t sure he had ever heard anything that could rival Magnus’ words. He knew he was biased and that his best friend would probably argue that Isabelle’s declaration had been just as beautiful, but Alec would have to politely disagree.

Magnus was still staring at him intently, his eyes shining brighter than his glimmering outfit, and Alec smiled through his tears. He knew it wasn’t nearly enough to make Magnus understand how much his words meant to Alec, but it was a start. The rest would have to wait a few minutes.

Thankfully, it seemed like Magnus got the message, because he nodded minutely before turning back towards the rest of the audience and executing an elegant and shallow bow.

“Thank you,” he said, before grinning mischievously and winking at the group of photographs. “Hopefully that was enough time for you to get the pictures you needed. Unsurprisingly, this is by far my favourite outfit of the bunch. And now I’ll let our wonderful designers finish their show the way they had planned.”

He sauntered away to a thunder of applause and confused murmurs, and Alec could feel more than a few stares aimed in his direction. He knew they were probably expecting him to run to Magnus but, as much as Alec wanted to do that, he did have a show to finish.

So instead of doing what he so desperately wanted to, he hurried to find Clary in the staff area, fumbling with his suit jacket as he walked. He had told himself he would get ready for his first official appearance as a co-designer during Isabelle and Magnus’ last performance, but he had been too transfixed to even remember that he had to go through an outfit change.

He got ready in record time, putting on the clothes Clary had designed for him and hoping the dress he had designed for her would match his outfit as perfectly as he’d hoped.

“Alec! There you are!” Clary exclaimed, looking Alec up and down a few times before nodding approvingly. “We need to be on stage in less than three minutes. Lydia managed to stall for us by answering a few exclusive questions, but we need to get on there as soon as possible. Are you ready to blow Magnus’ speech out of the water by making our own perfect confession?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Alec swallowed nervously. His hands felt sweaty and he knew he was trembling all over, but he refused to back out of this. “Let’s get this over with.”

“And remember,” Clary said softly, placing her hands on his shoulders and fixing him with a piercing glance. “This isn’t about Magnus. This isn’t about the audience. This isn’t about me. It’s about…”

“Me,” he completed for her. “I know.”

He hadn’t been sure, at first, but he knew Clary was right. He wasn’t revealing his secret to the world because he felt like he had to, or because he thought it would make Magnus love him more. He was doing it because he had been hiding for far too long, and he was sick of lying about his life.

He was proud of what he had accomplished, and he wouldn’t let fear get in the way of that. His mother believed in him, Clary believed in him, the fashion team believed in him… Hell, even Magnus believed in him. And more importantly, Alec was starting to believe in himself. He should have stopped letting other people’s expectations get in the way of his happiness years earlier, but better late than never.

With one more nod aimed mostly at himself, he took Clary’s hand in his and smiled at his best friend, feeling stronger now that she was next to him. They had been working on this for months, it would be fine.

Lydia stepped behind the curtain, and Alec led Clary out to a thunderous round of applause.

***

If there was one thing Magnus thought he had known about Alexander, it was that the man was the perfect epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He had always had that look about him that had made Magnus swoon and honestly, the model hadn’t thought it could get any better.

Although Alec was still tall and handsome as he stepped onto the runway, fingers linked with Clary’s, Magnus was suddenly hit with the thought that he had been missing out on a big part of his boyfriend’s – ex-boyfriend’s – life. Dressed in clothes clearly designed by Clary and Alec themselves, light seemed to seep from Alexander’s very being.

His outfit was nowhere near as bright or flashy as Magnus’, and yet Magnus was almost certain he had never seen anyone shine so beautifully. His Alexander was draped in a thousand shades of blue sown together in a way that shouldn’t have worked but did, and threads of gold glimmered in the room’s artificial light, the perfect glimmering match to Magnus’ ensemble.

He knew that, were he to step onto that stage, Alec and he would clash horribly, and yet… yet he thought that in a way, they would look stunning. He hadn’t been lying when he had said that he loved Alexander for more than his colours, and he would ruin his own image a hundred times over if it meant he got to stand next to the man he loved.

He barely had the time to notice Clary’s emerald and gold dress before the pair of designers reached the end of the runway and visibly breathed in deeply, smiling as the crowd continued cheering them on. Magnus wondered, right then, how many people had already understood the significance behind Alec’s opening speech. He wondered how many of them had caught the clues in his own words. He wondered if they knew who they were clapping for.

And if so, he wondered why they weren’t clapping harder. Magnus wasn’t sure any amount of praise or recognition would ever live up to what Clary and Alec had created, but they could damn well try to give them at least a fragment of what they deserved.

“Thank you,” Clary started, grinning at the audience and catching Magnus’ gaze momentarily, seemingly unsurprised to find him in the crowd rather than backstage. “Thank you for coming and thank you for being patient and respectful throughout this evening. I know our show has had some… unconventional elements added to it, and I’m sure you’ll be glad to know it isn’t over yet.”

She glanced at Alec then, letting go of her best friend’s hand and taking a step to the side, leaving Alec alone in the limelight. She looked so proud, and Magnus wondered how hard it had been for her to have to hide her best friend from the public eye all along. Isabelle had seemed to think that Clary didn’t understand why it was important for Alec to reveal himself, but Magnus thought the brunette had it all wrong.

Clary stared at her best friend like her dreams were finally all coming true, like she had never been happier in her life. Her hands were loose at her sides, there was a small smile curling at her lips, and Magnus knew she had been waiting for this moment to arrive all along.

As confused as he had been at first, he now understood that Alec and his colours just… made sense. They worked in a way that Magnus couldn’t quite explain, and he couldn’t be happier that the man he loved had people at his side every step of the way.

“Good evening, everyone,” Alec started, cringing as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Magnus chuckled lightly, biting down on his bottom lip when the woman next to him sent him a sharp and reprimanding look. “I suppose I should say good evening again. I hope you all had a wonderful time tonight, and that you’ll consider investing in a few Lightwood-Fray pieces once they are released to the general public.”

He sounded nervous, and Magnus wanted nothing more than to wrap Alec up in his arms and never let him go. He wanted to tell him it would be alright, that he didn’t have to worry, that Magnus would be there no matter what everyone else thought.

Unfortunately, he knew going up on stage wasn’t an option, especially not given how much time he had already spent there, pouring his feelings for Alexander out into the world. But Alec was strong; if he had made it this far, Magnus knew he wouldn’t break. He would get everything off his chest and Magnus couldn’t wait to see it happen, couldn’t wait to take in everyone else’s reactions.

“Most of you know me as Lightwood Fashions’ CEO,” Alec said quietly, his voice ringing clearer than ever in the completely silent room. “And I am. I was always meant to take over one of my parents’ companies and, although most people expected me to take after my mother, here we are today. I know what the rumours are, you know? I’ve heard it all. I know I’m too dull for a fashion company, that it would have been better for Isabelle to take over, or that I’ll never be the icon everyone wants me to be. But I also know- I know that’s not all I am.”

Finally, finally, his eyes drifted to Magnus’, almost as though he couldn’t quite help himself. He looked lost and confused but so, so determined, and Magnus had never loved him more. Whatever Alexander had been looking for when his gaze had strayed to Magnus, he found it in less than ten seconds, breathing in deeply before speaking again.

The whole room was holding their breath, and the inner journalist in Magnus wanted nothing more than to be taking notes like the other reporters in attendance. But Alexander didn’t need Magnus the Head Editor at the moment; he needed Magnus, the man who was madly in love with him.

So, Magnus shoved his hands into his pockets and didn’t let his eyes leave Alec’s beautiful silhouette for a single second.

“When I took over for my father, no one thought I would last the week,” Alec continued, his eyes glazing over as he lost himself in memories. “I hadn’t even graduated from college, I didn’t have any interest in fashion, and I was too inexperienced. I heard the same questions over and over again; you’re too young, you don’t know what you’re doing, why would you even choose fashion? Frankly, I don’t blame any of you. If I had been in your place, I would have wondered the same things.”

But he hadn’t been in their place. He had always known fashion was where he belonged, and Magnus marvelled at the strength it must have taken the CEO to ignore everyone’s opinions and focus on himself instead. In his place, Magnus wasn’t sure he would have lasted a week.

“What you didn’t know back then, what no one knew – not even my own mother – was that I had already started studying fashion,” Alec added.

Magnus sat up in his seat as he realised what Alec was doing, what he was giving them. This wasn’t just him announcing his position to the world; this was him telling them about all the moments in his life that had made him into the man he was today.

“Clary and I met in college when both of us were struggling to find a connection to the courses we had picked. She was studying art but didn’t think it was exactly right for her, and I felt like my business plans weren’t what I had always dreamed of having. We found each other in the middle of madness and haven’t let go of each other since. I’m the one who signed us up to take a basic fashion class, but she’s the one who pushed me to keep going. Even back then, we were a team.”

Magnus wasn’t sure when he had started crying, but he supposed it was around the same time Clary had let out a quiet sob before stepping off stage, clearly struggling to keep her emotions in check. She had run straight into Isabelle’s arms, and Magnus felt another pang of longing shoot through his chest as he thought about doing the same thing for Alec.

“We’ve never stopped being a team since then,” Alec went on, his voice trembling and tears shining in his eyes as his words stumbled past his lips. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, I was Clary’s co-designer all along. We’ve been working on designs together since long before we joined the company, and I’m sure we’ll be doing it even once we’re old and grey and barely able to speak. So to all the people who thought I was too closed off or not honest enough, know that I’ve been sharing my colours with you for half a decade, and those colours mean the world to me.”

For a second, Magnus wondered if his speech had come to an end. He raised his hands to start clapping but stopped when Alec shook his head minutely, opening and closing his mouth a few times as though he were struggling to find the right words. Magnus wasn’t sure what Alexander wanted to add to his beautiful declaration, but he had a feeling it was even more important to the designer than his big reveal.

Alec’s eyes pierced through his soul, and Magnus held his breath.

“This part wasn’t planned, so bear with me,” Alec smiled crookedly, getting a few chuckles out of the audience. “However, I would be a fool not to say anything to the man who stood up here and gave me the romantic gesture of a lifetime. Magnus Bane is the most incredible man I have ever met and, no matter how many mistakes he’s made, I will never – never – cease to love him.”

Honestly, Magnus should have known better than to expect Alec to respond to his love declaration in private. He had known, going into this, that Alexander was the biggest romantic he had ever met, and he should have expected the designer to do something just as grand as what Magnus had done for him. Damned Lightwoods and their perfect minds.

“Magnus is the only muse I have ever had and, if I have it my way, he’ll be my muse forever,” Alec breathed out.

Magnus wasn’t even sure how he was hearing him above all the frantic whispers of the other audience members. Maybe he had just grown attuned to his boyfriend’s voice, or maybe he had just learned how to forget about everyone else when Alexander was nearby.

“He has made me the luckiest man alive by being part of my life, and I will never regret hiring him as our model. He has shown me that the world can be so much more than an office and an apartment, and I hope he knows that without him… Without him, this moment would have never happened. You give me courage, Magnus. You make me brave and bold and for that I will be forever grateful. Maybe dedicating an entire collection to you so early on in our relationship was a reckless idea, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

Magnus knew they were making a spectacle of themselves, declaring their feelings for each other in front of an entire crowd, but he thought maybe that was what love was really about. Maybe love was about pushing their own boundaries and letting go of their fears just to prove that they cared for each other. It was terrifying – and Magnus would know, since he had been in Alec’s place less than twenty minutes earlier – but it was also mind-blowingly easy.

Because if there was one thing Magnus knew about his relationship with Alexander, it was that it mattered more than anything anyone might have to say about them.

“So, Magnus Bane, you may cherish me, but I…” Alec stumbled on his words, staring straight at Magnus and shaking his head slowly, as though he couldn’t quite pinpoint what he was trying to say. “I treasure you, because you are the most precious thing in my life. So thank you for loving my colours and thank you for loving me. I just hope I can give you even a morsel of what you’ve given me.”

Magnus let out a sob, and the crowd seemed to take it as a sign to start clapping. They cheered and whistled and patted Magnus on the back as though they knew exactly what he was going through, but Magnus only had eyes for his Alexander.

“Thank you for listening, and thank you again for coming to the show,” Alec concluded his little speech. “I know this isn’t exactly the conclusion you were all imagining, but I hope it didn’t ruin the experience for any of you. All questions about the collection should be directed to Lydia Branwell and Clary Fray for the rest of the night. I hope you all enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As soon as he stepped off the runway, the audience dissolved into a true ocean of chaos, and Magnus knew there was no chance he and Alec were going to have a real conversation in the midst of all the noise. He nodded at Isabelle and Clary briefly, tilting his head towards the staff area, and waited for a sign of their acknowledgement before slipping away from the rest of the crowd.

He was sure the after-show would be nice, but he had a man to find and kiss until neither of them could breathe. The rest of the world could wait.

***

“I’m sorry.”

Alec spun around faster than ever, letting his trembling fingers fall from his suit jacket as his gaze met Magnus’. The other man was still dressed in his white outfit, looking unfairly beautiful, and Alec shuffled uncomfortably as he tried - and failed - to resist the urge to reach out for Magnus.

He had his lips on Magnus’ less than a second later, sighing contentedly at the familiar feeling. He couldn’t believe he had survived two weeks without it. He kissed Magnus like a starving man, sucking at the other man’s bottom lip in a silent gesture for him to open up, and he was ready, so ready to taste Magnus again, but-

“Hey, Alec, hey,” Magnus pushed him away gently and raised his hand to cover Alec’s mouth. “We can’t do this right now, not yet. I need to… I need to apologise first, alright?”

“You don’t have to-” he started, only to be interrupted by a sharp gesture from Magnus. He snapped his mouth shut and waited for the model to get whatever he needed to off his chest.

“I’m sorry for lying to you,” Magnus continued, stepping closer to Alec and clenching his hands at his side, almost as though staying away was just as hard for him as for Alec. “I’m sorry for keeping things from you, I’m sorry for thinking I couldn’t trust you with my past, and I’m sorry for throwing your own hidden truths back in your face. I know now- I mean- What you did tonight was amazing, and I’m sorry that I took part of it away from you. You deserved to have your moment.”

“And I did,” Alec cut in, hoping his words sounded as genuine as he had meant them to. “I got my moment, Magnus, and I would have gotten it whether you knew about my position earlier or not. The thing is, I was… I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. Clary helped me realise that I couldn’t rely on you all the time, especially not for things that matter as much as this. I wasn’t lying when I said that you pushed me in the right direction, but I did this for myself more than anyone else.”

It had taken him a few days to come to peace with that, but as he stared at Magnus’ lips curl into a proud smile, he knew Clary had been right. He knew getting rid of the reveal just because things between him and Magnus hadn’t worked out would have been a ridiculous idea. Although, on that note…

“That was quite something you did out there,” Alec murmured, biting at his bottom lip as a dark blush overtook Magnus’ features. Alec wasn’t sure he had ever seen the other man so flustered, and he had to admit he didn’t dislike it in the slightest. “I know you’re not exactly a grand gesture kind of person when it comes to romance, so that must have been quite the experience.”

“In a way,” Magnus shrugged, staring intently at Alec. “But you’re a grand gesture kind of guy, so it was all worth the effort. You’re worth the effort, Alexander, no matter how big that effort may be.”

“Magnus…” Alec breathed out, glancing away from the model’s intense gaze and wondering what the protocol was for two people who still loved each other but were no longer together. Was there a proper method to getting back together? Were they supposed to say something? Was Alec supposed to…? “I’m sorry too.”

He blurted the words out before he could overthink his apology. He had worried about finding the right thing to say, but he knew Magnus would be perfectly content with the truth. They were done lying to each other, done changing themselves for the other. If they wanted this to work out, Alec’s apology needed to be completely sincere. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he huffed when Magnus frowned at him confusedly. “Don’t act like you’re the only one to blame here. I know you think you’re the only one who messed up that night, but I was just as wrong as you were, Magnus. I should never have made you feel like you had to tell me everything. Your lie was… it wasn’t the best idea, but it wasn’t as big of a deal as I made it out to be. So I’m sorry for pushing you away at the first sign of trouble.”

“I went behind your back to ask about Clary’s co-designer,” Magnus pointed out, as though he needed to remind Alec of all the things he had done wrong. As though Alec hadn’t thought about them repeatedly over the past few weeks. “To ask about you.”

“You regretted it almost immediately,” Alec countered, knowing both from Isabelle and Magnus himself that the man would have done anything to take his questions back. “Izzy wasn’t the only drunk one that night, and you… You regretted it as soon as she gave you the answer you’d been looking for. I’m not saying what you did was right, but I forgive you. I forgave her, after all. I was never going to stay mad at you, Magnus, I just needed…”

“Time?” Magnus finished for him, smiling knowingly at Alec. “Yeah, I get that. And thank you, for not holding this against me. I mean, I had a feeling that you weren’t angry with me anymore, given what just happened out there, but it’s nice to get confirmation.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, neither of them moving and both of them waiting for the other to do something first. Alec had a feeling they could have stayed like that for hours if it weren’t for his lingering anxiety. He just needed to be certain; he needed to make sure that Magnus had been telling the truth earlier. He needed the man he loved back in his arms.

“I still love you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving Magnus’. “I don’t think I could have stopped loving you even if I had wanted to. Look, I know we screwed up, alright? I know we proved we’re just like any other couple, capable of fighting and arguing and getting mad at each other, but… But that can’t be reason enough to give up completely, right? I love you, Magnus, and shouldn’t that be enough to try again?”

“We’d have to communicate better,” Magnus started, closing the remaining distance between Alec and him easily.

This time, Alec didn’t hesitate before taking the journalist’s hands in his own, rubbing soothing circles into Magnus’ soft flesh. He let his fingers run up and down Magnus’ arms, let himself enjoy the feeling of Magnus so close to him again, let himself breathe for the first time in weeks.

“No more secrets,” Alec added. “None that matter, at least. If something’s bothering us, we need to talk about it instead of shutting it behind layers and layers of anxious feelings.”

“And most importantly,” Magnus continued, the smirk on his lips tipping Alec off as to the nature of his next request. “You need to keep dedicating entire collections to me. I may have gotten a little bit used to this lifestyle and amount of attention to detail, so I’m not sure I could go back to how things used to be before. If you want to keep me in your life, I’m going to need a lot more clothes.”

“Is that so?” Alec raised his eyebrows, tapping at his chin as though he were truly thinking Magnus’ demand over. “I’m not sure… You see, collections take a lot of work, and I don’t think I could create that many clothes in your honour. Besides, you’d probably just get bored of it all after a while.”

“Objection!” Magnus scoffed, gesturing down at himself with an incredulous stare. “How on earth could I get bored of this, Alexander? This is the proof that you love me enough to use me as your muse, and I’m honestly not sure I could do any better than you after this. You’ve ruined love for me, darling. From now on, I’m going to accept nothing less than grand gestures and artistic declarations of feelings.”

“Thankfully for you, I don’t intend on letting you go any time soon,” Alec hummed softly, letting go of Magnus’ hands and looping his arms around the model’s waist instead, pulling him in until their bodies were pressed together. “You’re going to be stuck with me and my ridiculous gestures of romance for quite a while, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that front.”

“You seem awfully sure of yourself,” Magnus breathed out, his words ghosting against Alec’s lips as he leaned in closer, their noses bumping together at the movement. “Who’s to say I want to be stuck with you? A man who paints our love into colours and lets go of his fears to make me happy? How dull.”

Alec pinched the other man’s side and shook his head fondly before giving in to the urge to kiss Magnus again. He covered Magnus’ mouth with his own and swallowed the model’s pleased gasp as their lips slotted together perfectly. God, Alec had missed this. He had missed curling his hands around Magnus and drawing tiny sounds out of the man he loved. He had missed feeling Magnus’ tongue slide against his slowly, turning the both of them into puddles of heat. And more than anything, he had missed Magnus.

Magnus and his perfect eyes, his golden skin that stood out starkly against Alec’s white sheets – or in this case, his sparkling outfit – and his hair’s brightly coloured tips. Magnus and his heart of gold, his sharp mind, and the endless compassion he seemed to have for the people around him. Magnus and the way he looked at Alec like he was the single most important thing in the world.

“I missed you so much,” Magnus whispered against Alec’s lips as they pulled away from each other, panting for air. “God, Alexander, I missed you more than I’ve ever missed anything in my life, and we were only apart for two weeks. How on earth am I going to survive when you have to go abroad for work?”

“We’ll call each other,” Alec answered immediately, not even embarrassed to prove that he had been thinking about their relationship at length, both before and during their break-up. “Just because we’re not always next to each other doesn’t mean we’re not always together, Magnus. If lies weren’t enough to keep us apart, I doubt a country or two will be what ruins things for us. Besides, I only leave a few times a year and I could always take you with me.”

“I certainly wouldn’t say no to taking advantage of the perks having a CEO boyfriend could bring me,” Magnus smirked. Before Alec could say anything else, however, Magnus’ features fell slightly and his eyes filled with uncertainty. “You- You are my boyfriend again, right? I didn’t completely misread this situation, did I?”

“No, Magnus, you didn’t misread the situation,” Alec huffed, pressing a soft kiss to Magnus’ lips again. “Two weeks of being single were more than enough for me. I would be an idiot not to jump on the opportunity to be with you again. I wasn’t kidding when I said that I still love you, Magnus.”

“And I still love you too,” Magnus answered softly, resting his forehead against Alec’s and breathing in deeply. “Now, you should go out there and give the crowd what they really want. It would be bad publicity for the CEO and recently-revealed co-designer of the collection to hide away all night.”

“But I’d much rather be here with you,” Alec pouted, tightening his hold on Magnus when the model tried to step out of his arms. “Can’t they wait a day longer? I’ll still be around tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that…”

“So will I,” Magnus pointed out, snorting when Alec narrowed his eyes at him in the most betrayed manner he could manage. “Seriously, at least go spend time with the team. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to congratulate everyone on a job well done, and I can’t do that if we’re over here declaring our love for each other all over again. Don’t you think we’ve had enough romantic gestures for one evening?”

“There are never enough romantic gestures in the world,” Alec scoffed, but he didn’t protest when Magnus dragged him back out into the crowd, never letting go of the designer’s hand. “I’m still not talking to any journalists, though.”

“Oh, really?” Magnus chuckled, glancing down pointedly at himself. “I was under the impression you didn’t mind talking to me. Or Isabelle, for that matter.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Alec rolled his eyes. “You know exactly what I meant, so please take me to the rest of the team and keep the vultures away from me. I’m not in the mood to deal with interviews, especially not from people who are still reeling from my latest revelation.”

“So… everyone in this room?” Magnus asked slowly, snorting when Alec nodded. “Alright, darling, I will keep you away from everyone who doesn’t work for you. We’re only a few feet away anyways, so I doubt anyone will try to steal you away from me no- Hey, you! I’m sorry, but Alexander isn’t taking any questions or interviews tonight. No, he won’t make an exception for you. Not for you either, ma’am, I’m sorry.”

Alec laughed softly as Magnus sent him a helpless glance, desperately trying to get them through the thick crowd of people even as people tried to grab him left, right, and centre, all too eager to get a piece of Alec. Through it all, Magnus didn’t flinch or cave once, keeping a tight grip on Alec and glaring at anyone who dared touch him. Really, Alec couldn’t have asked for a better bodyguard.

By the time they made it to the rest of the fashion team, everyone had noticed their struggle to get across the room and snickered as they congratulated Magnus on his success.

“Well, that was a night,” Clary grinned, sidling up next to Alec and looping her arm into the crook of his elbow, shooing Magnus away when the journalist sent her a surprised glance. “I need some time with my best friend, lover boy, go talk to Cat and Madzie or something, I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see you again.”

“Very well,” Magnus laughed. “I can tell when I’m unwanted. You should catch up with Madzie once you and Clary are done with your best friend talk, alright? I think she missed you even more than I did, which I didn’t think was possible. And please, for the love of god, stay away from Andrew and his leech of a boyfriend.”

Alec stared at his boyfriend amusedly as he waited for Magnus to finish his little rant, nodding occasionally when the man mentioned a name Alec recognised. Finally, Clary glared at Magnus and physically shoved him away from them, barely giving Alec the time to kiss him softly, whispering a promise that he would see him again later.

“I forgot how annoying the two of you could get,” she curled her lip in distaste as Magnus walked away from them. No matter how disgusted she sounded, Alec knew she was genuinely happy for him – could see it in the way her eyes had lit up when she had first seen Magnus and him walk into the room. “Seriously, there should be a limit of how much PDA two people are allowed to partake in when their friends are around.”

“Sure, Red. We’ll see how Izzy and you do with those limits,” he answered, chuckling when Clary blushed a bright red. “But seriously, who in this team cares about PDA? Aline, Helen, Meliorn, and even Andrew and Emily certainly don’t seem to mind being able to kiss their partners whenever they want to. Besides, we should just be glad we have people to love in our lives. We’re happy, Red, isn’t that enough?”

“Yeah,” Clary breathed out, glancing over at Magnus and Isabelle where the two journalists were discussing something enthusiastically, smiling widely at each other. “It might even be more than enough. How did we get so lucky, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Alec answered honestly, his smile softening when Magnus and Izzy turned to glance at them, both of them waving seductively as they caught Alec and Clary staring. “But who cares? She loves you, Clary, more than she’s ever loved anyone. And you love her too. Maybe that has nothing to do with luck; maybe love is bigger than all of that.”

“Maybe,” Clary hummed. “He loves you too, you know? I’m not sure I’ll ever think he’s good enough for you, but he loves you more than anything in the world. I suppose that’ll have to be enough for me.”

“Good,” Alec laughed fondly. “Because it’s enough for me. Now, was there a reason why you stole me away from my boyfriend, or should we put them out of their misery and join them?”

“I just- I’m proud of you, Alec,” Clary said seriously, turning towards him and staring at him with a small, private smile tugging at her lips. “And I wanted to thank you for being the best partner I could have ever asked for. Thank you for giving me a place to thrive, for believing in me every step of the way, and for loving me all along. Out of everyone I know, you are the one most deserving of love, and I am so glad you found that with Magnus.”

“So am I. And for the record, you’re also the best partner I could have asked for,” Alec said, blinking back tears at his best friend’s words. “Now come on, enough with the sappiness. Izzy and Magnus are waiting for us, and the rest of the team will probably want to take a few pictures of the four of us in all our fabulousness.”

“Undoubtedly,” Clary grinned, eagerly skipping towards her girlfriend and letting Alec trail behind her.

He took his time reaching the rest of the group, looking them all over and feeling his heart speed up at their obvious happiness. He had contributed to that, even if just a little bit, by keeping the promise he had made them months earlier. The spring collection had turned out to be even more memorable than what Alec had planned, and it showed on all of his colleague’s faces.

Even though he knew he would still have to deal with the consequences of his speech, and he was well aware that he and Magnus would have to work on fixing their relationship for a while longer, Alec was happy. He would even go as far as to say he was happier than he had ever been.

The world now knew who he truly was, and he would be a fool not to take advantage of that. No more lies, no more secrets, no more hiding behind other people.

His colours were finally out in the open, and it was time for Alec to shine.

#malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #fanfic #my writing

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luxexhomines · 5 years

Note

DR2 boys reactions to S/O who is staring at them with a goofy smile and when they ask what’s up, S/O shrugs and says “I’m just wondering how I got so lucky to call you my boyfriend.”

Hi, I love this prompt! Although it’s not word for word (I also changed the phrase a bit for each time because I got tired of writing the same thing), it’s still a super sweet thought and it was fun to write. I cranked out Hajime & Nagito at a different time from the rest, which I did today. Lengths kind of vary because I was trying really hard to get this done and do at a quality I can still be proud of.

Also, an announcement! I will no longer be taking requests with character counts of 8 or above. I would like to recommend you maximize your requests from 4-6 characters in the future; current requests with 8 characters will remain at 8, however. It’s because I can’t handle so many characters with one prompt when I use the style I do to write, and because this is my personal side blog, I don’t want to compromise my writing style.

Here you are, under the cut! It’s kind of long altogether.

SDR2 Boys x S/O “I’m just wondering how I got so lucky to have you as my boyfriend.”

Hajime Hinata

Your arms resting on the white island table as you sat on the bar stool, you watched him come in from the door and put down an armful of bags.

“Phew, it sure is cold outside,” he commented. And upon seeing you sitting there, he laughs. “But you’ve been nice and toasty in here, huh?”

You nod as you watch him take off his winter coat, hanging it up and putting it in the closet carefully along with a long, green scarf that was previously wrapped around his neck. He was a rather organized and careful person, after all. He rarely just left things sitting around, even if you might be more prone to just throwing the coat on the couch and running off to do something else.

“Are you hungry, s/o?” he asked, turning toward you and walking to the island table, leaning down and resting his arms on the countertop in a similar fashion as you, folded across each other.

His face came surprisingly close when he did so, and you blushed slightly before replying.

“A bit. What should we make for lunch?”

He smiles.

“Of course. Well, why don’t you leave it up to me for today? I have an idea in mind that I’d like to try out,” he says. “But don’t blame me if it goes wrong.”

You tilt your head slightly, smiling right back at him.

“Never. I’ll be glad to eat whatever you make, even if it turns out to be a plate of black ashes,” you chuckle. As he walks to the refrigerator and starts pulling out ingredients, he answers you, sounding mock-offended.

“Please have more faith in me than that. I can cook at a fairly mediocre level,” he responds.

He starts cooking, chopping up vegetables and putting the white rice in to cook, with a green-brown apron tied around his waist. The two of you chat for a bit as you watch him cook earnestly, sometimes looking online to check if he’s doing things right, and then he sets down the dishes on the table along with two bowls of white, steaming rice.

You grab two pairs of chopsticks and place them at each of your spots, sitting down as he does.

He claps his hands together.

“Well then, let’s eat!”

He starts digging into his meal rather vigorously, and dazed, you watch him, a silly smile stretching wide across your face. He looks up, bewildered.

“Aren’t you going to eat, s/o? If you stare at me like that, I’m going to lose my appetite,” he jokes, but he does look slightly flustered.

You shake your head dreamily, looking him straight in the eye.

“No, I will… I was just wondering how I got so lucky to be able to call you my boyfriend.”

He abruptly swallows whatever was in his mouth and almost starts choking, coughing intensely and sputtering. You bring him a glass of water and rub his back in concern.

“Are you okay, Hajime?”

His coughing finally ceases, and he looks up at you with a red face and embarrassed smile. “I’m fine. At least, I think I will be. Being around you isn’t good for my heart,” he laughs.

You smirk.

“Well, best get used to it. I’m going to stick around you for the rest of our lives, or as long as you let me,” you smile, placing a kiss on his cheek, which rapidly deepens in hue as you do so.

Nagito Komaeda

When you got to the subway station where the two of you had agreed to meet up, Nagito was already there, sitting on a bench and calmly awaiting your arrival.

You waved as you jogged over, huffing slightly.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! I had to bring this kid to the police station because he was lost.”

Nagito smiles, standing up and stretching his long limbs.

“Oh, that’s perfectly fine. I haven’t been waiting long. Shall we go?”

You nod before linking your arm around his, ready to traverse below and take a subway to the mall.

“Mhm! Let’s go,” you cheer, throwing your other arm up as he chuckles at your giddiness.

The subway was extremely packed, but having Nagito around was pretty lucky because even though he’s thin, he’s rather tall and can act as a bit of a guard between you and other passengers. The two of you exchanged amiable looks in silence since it wouldn’t do to disturb the other passengers.

Then the subway lurched, and you fell forward, face-planting into Nagito’s chest. You somehow manage to peel yourself off of him in a timely manner, blushing.

“S-Sorry, Nagito… The subway’s a bit shakier than usual today, huh?”

He nods, and although he appears rather calm, you spot a red tint on his ears.

“Oh, it’s fine. It sure is.”

Nagito doesn’t get easily flustered, so seeing him be flustered is only making you more flustered as your cheeks warm further, and you avert your gaze toward the ground shyly.

When you arrive at the mall, the two of you spend the entire day window-shopping, trying on clothes and have lunch together as well. It felt like time went by in a flurry, as it usually did when you spent time with him.

At the end of the day, the subway was comparatively empty as the two of you sat side by side. Across from you, the seats were empty, and you could see Nagito’s reflection. His fluffy, creamy white hair was slightly bouncing with the motion of the subway, and his lips were spread in a casual smile. You turned to look at him directly. After all, the real thing was infinitely better than a reflection in darkness.

You trailed your gaze over his handsome features, his pale skin…and then he turned to look at you.

“Something wrong? Is there perhaps something on my face?” he wondered, his green eyes meeting yours.

You shake your head, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips uncontrollably.

“No… I was thinking about how I possibly got this lucky, to have you as my boyfriend.”

He stares at you in utter shock for a moment, before his face relaxes into the same charismatic smile, and he chuckles.

“My, you always manage to surprise me with the unbelievably sweet things you say… I’m the one who’s lucky to have you, after all,” he says adoringly, putting a hand to your cheek gently. “You can’t even begin to imagine how lucky I am.”

You laugh and lean in give him a light kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, I think I could… After all, I have you.”

Kazuichi Souda

You peek in the doorway, and you spot Kazuichi in his garage, fiddling with a large object of which most of it is under wraps.

“Kazuichi?” you call.

He stands up quickly, almost falling over from the dizziness resulting from the adjustment in height.

“Whoa! Oh, s/o, you’re here!” he waves happily.

You nod and jog over carefully, making sure not to step on anything important, and give him a hug.

“I sure am. Are you ready?”

He adopts a pensive look and then glances back.

“Well… Almost, to say the least.”

Well, it wasn’t like the two of you had made some kind of dinner appointment out.

“Okay, you can finish that up first, then,” you beam.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I don’t want to keep you waiting,” he says, but as he does so, he throws another worried look at whatever it was he was working on.

“Nah. All I ask is that you let me sit here and watch you work.”

He lights up.

“That’s all? Sure thing! You can watch anytime,” he says, giving you a thumbs up before returning to work.

To his credit, he finishes relatively fast, and you find yourself enamored as he takes a rag and wipes the sweat and grease from his face, letting out his breath, and then turns toward you with a sharp smile.

“Okay, I think I’m all done! Shall we go out?”

When you don’t respond after a couple of seconds have passed by, he trots over.

“S/O?”

You feel yourself wake from zoning out into his face.

“Oh! Sorry,” you reply sheepishly.

“What were you thinking about?” he asks curiously.

You reply rather automatically.

“You.”

His cheeks are looking a little pink now.

“W-What about me?” he laughs awkwardly. “Is it unattractive, me being covered in sweat and grease like this from work? I can go shower.”

He starts toward the door, but you’re quick to shake your head.

“No, that’s not it,” you object fiercely. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am to call you my boyfriend.”

He stops mid-step, and his jaw unhinges and then closes. The process repeats many times as you watch him overheat like one of his machines once did. Only he visibly turns red.

“I-I,” he stutters. “I’m just as lucky to have you,” he finally replies, looking bashful and smiling back shyly. You liked this side of him, too, and you pecked his cheek lightly.

“Thanks, Kazuichi.”

He’s unable to leave the garage for some time longer since he’s overheated and malfunctioned.

Gundham Tanaka

It was time for your weekly session with Gundham, grooming and caring for the animals you had grown to love almost as much as Gundham. After all, there was nothing that could possibly surpass your love for your boyfriend.

You combed through the bunny’s soft fur gently, carefully. Gundham was beside you, handling his four Dark Devas and cleaning their fur.

“Be still, Cham-P!” he declares.

You look up for a moment to see Cham-P plop his furry little tush on the sink obediently, and stifle a giggle. Gundham’s relationship with his animals was as peachy as ever.

For a moment, you let yourself just look at your boyfriend for a bit. One of the benefits of caring for the animals with him was that you got to spend extra time with him and looking after him, whether he knew it or not. You also got to see more sides of him. A tender smile sometimes comes to his face as he cares for the animals, one that you wish you could save your brain infinitely. But perhaps it’s how fleeting it is that contributes to its beauty.

All of sudden, he turns, and you notice that he’s blushing a bit.

“Is something the matter? I have been feeling your gaze resting upon my bodily incarnation for some time now.”

You shake your head, trying not to laugh. The way he talked, too, was simply too adorable.

“No, nothing’s the matter,” you say, grinning widely. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have you as my boyfriend.”

You swear you don’t see him breathe or move for a moment, and Cham-P fidgets under his unmoving hands. Then, like the red of a thermometer rises, Gundham’s face colors a deep shade of red, and he pulls his scarf up, turning away.

“Y-You flatter me… Although I admit that I am above mortals, your words are too good, even for someone as great as I,” he states, stammering nervously.

You move a step closer, and then slowly wrap your arms around him from behind.

“Nothing is too good for you, Gundham,” you say sweetly, and feel his body temperature rise in kind.

Nekomaru Nidai

“Alright! We’re done for today,” Nekomaru bellows. “Time for a break! And then we can head home for dinner.” He takes a towel from the bench and offers it to you, which you gratefully take to wipe away your excess sweat.

“Thanks, Nekomaru,” you smile, and he chuckles.

“No problem! You did well in training today,” he remarks, looking pleased–with himself or with you, you’re not sure. Perhaps both.

You hang the towel around your neck.

“Thanks again,” you say, and tilt your head as you look at his stature. Sometimes you wondered if you were really making progress, but if Nekomaru was saying so as your coach, you knew you could trust his words. Of course, he was your boyfriend too, so you knew he wouldn’t lie to you either way. Not that he would condone lying in other situations, though. You rambled on and on in your head, thinking about Nekomaru and the training that just ensued.

Then you snapped back to attention and watched him down at least half a water bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. The rest of it, he capped and put into his training bag.

Noticing your stare, he met your gaze.

“What’s up? Is something on my face?” he pats his face, appearing concerned.

A smile forms on your lips.

“Nope, not at all. I was just wondering how I got so lucky as to have you as my boyfriend,” you admit innocently.

He’s still for a moment, and although it makes absolutely no logical sense, you fear that he might be mad. And then he leans over and sweeps you into a huge bear hug, guffawing, and you feel his chest shaking with laughter against your own.

“What a wonderful thing to say! I’m just as–no, more lucky to have you with me,” he announces, squeezing you tightly.

Let’s just say that it’s a while before you’re put back down on solid ground.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu

You’re sitting in a restaurant, face-to-face with Fuyuhiko, and the two of you have just finished ordering.

“Fuyuhiko, should we get dessert afterward?” you wonder, putting a finger to your chin thoughtfully.

He shrugs, looking apathetic, but you surely know better.

“Up to you. I don’t really care,” he replies, looking away.

You clap your hands together.

“Okay, then dessert it is!”

He sighs, resting his chin in his hand as he leans against the table.

“You’re almost obnoxiously cheerful today. Should I even ask?”

You simply laugh.

“Ah, maybe you’re just in an abnormally bad mood?” you joke.

For a moment, you think you see a faint smile, and then it dissolves into the lines of his face.

“Seriously, though. What’s got you so happy today?” he asks, his gold eyes piercing yours.

You can’t stop yourself from smiling.

“You wanna know? Guess, guess!” you sing, wiggling in your seat a little, to which he lets out a combination of a groan and a sigh.

“Now I’m wondering if I really want to know. Are you going to harp on about it forever to me once I find out?”

You shake your head.

“No, because it’s self-explanatory!”

Now he looks slightly curious, and his chin raises slightly in the palm of his hand.

“Okay, just tell me already, then.”

A silly, toothy smile appears on your face, and your eyes narrow in affection.

“I was just wondering how I got this lucky, to be able to call you my boyfriend.”

Fuyuhiko looks taken aback, more so than you’ve ever seen him. His eyebrows have raised to almost a comical point, and he’s silent for a couple seconds. Then, you hear him answer quietly–so you can barely hear.

“Not as lucky as I am, being able to have you with me.”

But, in classic Fuyuhiko style, he doesn’t repeat those words, and your orders arrive, interrupting your interrogation. It was too bad, but you figured once was already an unexpected gift, as was spending time with him like usual. You really were lucky.

Teruteru Hanamura

You woke up to the sunlight filtering in the cracks of the blinds, and you rolled out of bed, smelling something sweet and savory from the kitchen.

Following the scent, you came to the kitchen to see your boyfriend serving a plate of pancakes and a plate of omelets filled with spinach, cheese, tomatoes, and other delicious toppings.

“Teruteru?” you say. “You made breakfast?”

He turns toward you, putting down the plates and pan, smiling.

“Yup! Come have some before it gets cold.”

You walk over, still slightly sleepy, and plop down in your seat, slouching. Somehow, you manage a spoonful of omelet, and you suddenly feel incredibly energized, straightening up and continuing to finish your serving.

“That was just as good as usual,” you comment. “Although, I think you did something different. Did you change some of the spices again?”

You sniff.

And he confirms your suspicions.

“Mhm! You’re as sharp as usual, s/o.”

You nod proudly. Even if you couldn’t cook like him, at least you had the taste buds to appreciate and discern in cooking.

“I’m lucky to be able to sample all your cooking and various experiments,” you reply happily. “I wouldn’t have half as much to think about when I eat without you, and your influence actually makes me think more inquisitively about all kinds of things–not just cooking.”

He strolls over and places a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m glad you think so,” he smiles, and you can see his genuine joy on his round face. Your boyfriend is pretty cute–when he wants to be, at least, and isn’t trying too hard. He starts eating his portion at the table too, but when he realizes you’ve been staring at him for a while, he stops and looks up at you.

“What’s up? Are you too enchanted by me to look away?” he jokes.

You smile back.

“Kind of. Just wondering how I got so lucky to have you as my boyfriend,” you say as you offer him an appreciative look.

He almost chokes on his food, but downs a glass of water and doesn’t appear to be suffering afterward.

“I did not expect that answer,” he says, looking almost worn-out. But he appears equal parts thankful. “I’m lucky to have you, though, s/o. Never forget that,” he proclaims, blushing slightly and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Byakuya Twogami (The Ultimate Imposter)

The two of you are walking back to your house, and the sun is setting rapidly, weaving a quilt of warm colors across the sky; orange, pink, and purple are its main colors of choice.

He moves relatively quick but you notice that whenever the two of you are walking together, he tends to slow down for you, which you greatly appreciate. It’s little things like that that always make you realize how considerate he truly is, despite his prideful and aloof demeanor.

You reach out and grab his hand, which is soft and warm, and he looks at you. He’s known you were watching him for a while now but didn’t feel the need to address it until you had acted on it.

“Something the matter?” he asks, pushing his glasses up with the other hand stoically.

You shake your head, smiling contentedly

“Nope. Just thinking about how lucky I am to be able to call you my boyfriend,” you reply, gently squeezing his hand.

He turns his gaze back to the road, and you spot a bit of pink on his plump cheeks as his grip on your hand tightens ever-so-slightly.

“…That’s a nice thought,” he states.

He says nothing more, but you hear what he doesn’t say. He’s just as grateful to have you by his side as you are to have him with you.

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lonestarbabe · 4 years

Text

Holding Out for a Hero

Chapter 5: Drag Me Down (AO3)

Carlos

Carlos’ stomach had been in knots for a week, tight knots that pulled and tightened every time he moved. The kind of knots that didn’t go away with a new day or a good night’s sleep. Carlos really wasn’t the anxious type. He was calm under pressure, and knew how to keep his emotions in check, but ever since he started working with T.K., he’d been different. Michelle, when she called, always said he seemed so different, and he was. This job had changed him in ways that no other job had. Even as a police officer, he hadn’t ever felt disarmed.

It wasn’t so much the fear that he couldn’t handle the job. He was pretty confident about his skills, and he had gotten used to his daily tasks. He was always adaptable, so it made it easy to learn what T.K. needed. From the beginning, he knew to carefully learn T.K.’s routine because even though T.K.’s life was fast-paced and chaotic, there was still a rhythm to it that Carlos had gotten in step with. He’s a creature of habits, even if his habits cause more chaos than order. He likes things a certain way just like we all do. When he acts out, it doesn’t come out of nowhere. His eyes sparkle whenever he sees Marjan, Judd, or Grace. Carlos tried to piece together what made T.K. tick, the delicate intricacies of what made the popstar human. He absorbed whatever he could about T.K. in hopes that knowledge would make it easier to keep T.K. safe, and for the most part, it was working. T.K. is still a mystery, but I know more now, and he doesn’t overwhelm me like he used to. I’ve figure out enough not to feel like I’m drowning in two inches of water, but if I’m not careful, I’ll drown in twenty feet.

So, what worried Carlos most was not whether or not he was a good enough bodyguard. He knew he was good, but good or not, things could go terribly wrong with a client like T.K., who was impulsive and self-destructive, the worst combination for a bodyguard. Carlos feared the coming changes in T.K’s routine, which would throw everything he’d studied off course. He’d have to reanalyze. He’s not good with change. T.K. thinks he thrives in chaos, but the more chaotic his life gets, the more unhinged T.K. gets. T.K. was starting the next leg of his tour soon, and Carlos wasn’t sure what to expect, but he guessed that T.K. wasn’t going to cope well. Screaming fans, long days, and little sleep were the perfect ingredients for a disaster stew, thick and mushed together. Maybe he’d be wrong, and the fast-paced lifestyle would do T.K. good rather than harm.

In addition to concerns about T.K. himself, Carlos also had some apprehensions about his place in T.K.’s world. In his short career as a bodyguard, starting with a series of brief assignments, Carlos mostly bodyguarded for rich businessmen or their heirs. There’d been some movie stars, mostly B-list, and even an A-list singer for a few weeks, but no one he’d ever worked for had as many dedicated fans, and haters, as T.K. did. The whole experience took some getting used to, and based on what he’d seen, Carlos was getting a small following of his own.

Over the few months he’d been working with T.K., fans had actually begun to recognize Carlos as T.K.’s bodyguard, which had left him panicked and heading straight to Judd’s office. When he’d told Judd about this, Judd had just laughed saying, “Yeah, they know about all the people hangin’ ‘round, T.K. Even Grace once got a fan letter. It was a nice one, Thank God. I get not so nice ones myself. They think I’m taking advantage of T.K. or mishandling his career. I even got one saying I was trying to put him back in the closet.”

“That’s crazy,” Carlos had said, eyes wide. He didn’t closely follow any celebrities (other than the ones he had to protect, so seeing T.K.’s fans being so dedicated felt like a bucket of icy water being dumped on his head.

In response, Judd had shrugged, “That’s the life. You can’t let it get to you. They know your name now, Carlos, and you can’t run away from that. They know anyone who gets close to T.K. Most of them are harmless. They just love T.K. a lot. Like I love football.” Sounds like the perfect culture for stalkers.

“Doesn’t that impede my ability to protect him?” Carlos had asked, half wanting a chance to run away from the insanity that had become his life. But I couldn’t do that to T.K. He needs me, and I need this job to prove that I’m more than police force reject. I need redemption just as much as T.K. needs protection. This is the biggest chance I’m going to get, and if I blow it, it’s going to end badly for everyone. Especially T.K.

“Nah, you just have to keep doing what you’ve been doing. Protect T.K. as best as you can. Don’t start signing autographs.” Why would I ever do that? “One of his bodyguards got a little fame hungry and did that, and T.K. nearly got mobbed by a group of fans. I fired that idiot the second T.K. was safely home, no thanks to his bodyguard.” Carlos didn’t think it was necessary to mention that he’d feel too stupid signing autographs to even consider doing something so careless. With that stunning bit of advice, Judd had sent Carlos back into the world of screaming fans, and Carlos did the best he could with the situation he’d been given.

It was mortifying each time a fan seemed to know something about Carlos that they shouldn’t have known. Like when one had first called Carlos by his name. That had been a shock. Thankfully, his social media was already private, but he’d already gotten a bunch of requests on Instagram from a deluge of obsessed fans. Carlos’ brother-in-law had even sent him a fanfic in which he’d been written into a hot bodyguard romance. Carlos had clicked out before it had gotten to the steamy bits, feeling embarrassed and exposed. I didn’t sign up to be known.

On his way over to T.K.’s house, he swung by to his favorite bakery and picked up a box of doughnuts. As he held them in his hand, walking up to T.K.’s door, he felt a little stupid. He didn’t even know if T.K. liked doughnuts or if T.K. had already had breakfast, but knowing T.K., the popstar had probably just rolled out of bed ten minutes ago.

T.K. immediately saw the box and his face lit up. “Are those doughnuts?” he asked as if he’d just spotted a unicorn.

“Oh my god, you’re the best. I haven’t had doughnuts since… I don’t even know when.” Carlos had them most Saturdays. They were his big weekend treat. He worked out enough and ate a balanced diet, so he didn’t feel bad about splurging on some treats every once in a while.

“Because you don’t get up early enough for breakfast?” Carlos guessed.

“That and my old manager was a bitch about me eating junk food. She also wanted me to wear skinny jeans so tiny that I’m still trying to figure out how I got them past my ankles. Judd’s let me loosen them up a bit.” T.K. laughed. “I could wear overalls and Judd wouldn’t care. Or a pirate costume.” Carlos couldn’t imagine T.K.’s jeans being any tighter. I can’t let my mind go there. They already looked like they were painted on, the dark fabric stretched over muscled thighs. How could I not notice the black fabric clinging to those lean, long legs?

Carlos opened the box to show T.K. the array of treats, offering him first dibs, and, of course, T.K. chose the most colorful doughnut in the box with pink icing and sprinkles. Carlos smirked at him. “You didn’t even ask what flavor it is.”

T.K. shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The prettier the doughnut, the better the taste. This one has the most sprinkles. It has to be good.”

“Is that so?” Carlos hoped the sparkle in his eyes wasn’t too obvious. T.K. had a way of making Carlos feel good, and in the time they’d known each other, Carlos had learned that while T.K. was miserable, moody, and maudlin when he was under the influence, he was impish, witty, and sweet when he was sober. It was no wonder he had so many fans because he possessed that infectiousness that so few people had. When he was present, he could make the night seem like it was day. Carlos wanted to be around that T.K., the one who made Carlos’ job easier and who treated Carlos as a friend. It was the other T.K., the spoiled, selfish, suffering superstar who troubled Carlos. Because T.K. was none of those things. Those were just the qualities that popped out when he war running scared.

“I don’t make the rules.” Carlos tried to avert his eyes as T.K. poked his tongue out, licking at the doughnut in practiced swirls. For the love of god, T.K., just eat the doughnut. Something mischievous flickered in T.K.’s emerald eyes as his eyes met Carlos’ and he took an exaggerated bite into the doughnut, moaning as dough and cream oozed into his mouth and past the corner of his lips. He licked the filling off as he chewed, giggling a bit in a way that Carlos couldn’t help but be endeared by. Who gave him the right to be so cute? “Oh, yeah. That’s good. So good. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Carlos shook his head. “Hurry up. We’re going to be late for your rehearsals.”

“How am I supposed to polish off that box of doughnuts when you’re rushing me?”

Carlos picked out a doughnut for himself. “You don’t get the whole box to yourself,” Carlos warned, but he let T.K. have another one. I’d let him have them all if he asked. This one had maple icing and fewer sprinkles, but it looked just as good. “Hey, I thought you liked sprinkles,” Carlos teased.

T.K. stuffed the doughnut in his mouth and said between chews, “I’m versatile.” I’ll bet he is.

“You’re gross, that’s what you are.” A glob of filling sat on T.K.’s face next to his lips, and it nagged at Carlos. Carlos pointed to his own face in the same spot. “You’ve got a little something…” T.K. tried to get it but couldn’t quite pinpoint the right spot. “Here let me,” Carlos picked up a napkin, and dabbed the spot off T.K.’s face. T.K.’s eyes widened at the touch and Carlos felt a jolt of electricity between them. T.K. quickly neutralized his expression, but as Carlos pulled the napkin away, Carlos immediately regretted his actions. He crossed a boundary that he shouldn’t have crossed, and the stirring in Carlos’ stomach made him revert to awkwardness when he’d finally grown comfortable around T.K., sober T.K. at least. Addicted T.K. would always be hard to see.

Being the superstar that he was, T.K. didn’t miss a beat and seemed unaffected by the moment between them. He was used to people blurring his boundaries. He let them have their way too often, Carlos had noticed. T.K. too often allowed other people to push him past his comfort zone, especially when he has a substance running through his body. Hookups tried to get their way with him. Fans tried to get to know intimate details about him. The media pried into anything they could build a story around. Carlos wondered if T.K. forgot that people needed boundaries to feel safe and happy. Carlos sure did, and T.K.’s world had made those boundaries feel like they were shrinking in on him at times.

T.K. brushed the crumbs from his hands. “Come on, big guy, I have rehearsal.” T.K. wasn’t a timely person, but he took rehearsals seriously, Carlos knew. He didn’t want to let fans down, so he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize his performance.

Carlos nodded, “Let’s go.” Before I blur any more boundaries. Focus on your job, Carlos. Keep T.K. safe.

To Carlos’ relief, rehearsal was calm, the kind of pre-tour monotony he’d grown to appreciate in its levelness. In his line of work, those repetitive, predictable days were the ones to be cherished. Carlos could breathe easily on such days. Those days fueled him. T.K. smiling his way through rehearsal and chatting with the crew never failed to make Carlos feel sunny. Those days energized him for the ones ahead, the ones he knew wouldn’t be so easy.

The best days were when Carlos could report to Michelle that absolutely nothing had happened because those were the days when Carlos didn’t stay up at night wondering if T.K. was okay. When you spend so much time with someone, it’s hard not to get attached. Especially when they’ve got the ebullience and complexity of T.K. Strand. He’s not the kind of guy who you can look away from. Even if sometimes you feel like you’re staring straight into the sun.

T.K.

After rehearsal, T.K. had an interview with a radio show, and as he sat down for the eponymous Peter Jenkins show, everything started off smoothly, but T.K. was careful with what he said because Jenkins was notoriously as asshole who stuck his head where he had no business sticking it. The interview started off smoothly, most of them do, and while T.K. was guarded, he answered the basic questions about his new single, his coming tour dates, and whether he’d thought of the next album yet (he was always thinking about the next album). He’d also gotten the basic personal questions that everyone wanted to know. Love life stuff, which T.K. didn’t have much to report back on. Jenkins seemed displeased about T.K.’s lack of a meaty answer, so he doubled down. “Word around town is that you’re pretty into the club scene.” It wasn’t exactly a secret that T.K. liked to party, but he stiffened at the question. This is not what I’m here for. Why can’t they just let me stick to talking about the music.

Answering questions was a delicate procedure. Celebrities didn’t get enough credit for the art of interviewing. The issue was that there was no way to please everyone. Some fans would support him while others would type call-out posts about how he had became a shitty person since he became famous. The truth is that I was always a shitty person. I just have more means to be shitty now. Others would hate on him, no matter what he said or did, just for the sake of hating on him. Answer too much, and he’d get hate for the things he said, and answer too little and he’d get hate for “trying to be mysterious” and “being too close-off.”

“Is there a question in there?” T.K. replied, and it sounded a little too harsh and confrontational, so forced a laugh to make it look like he was just fooling around. I’m just a popstar who makes jokes about everything. I never take anything too seriously. I just go with the flow and try to make my bodyguard, manager, and best friend as cranky as possible in the process. T.K. looks over to Judd, who is standing nearby with Carlos, and Judd looks as though he’s ready to step in and end the interview if he needs, but T.K. gives a small head shake. The last thing I need is to look like a diva who storms out of interviews.

“You’re just like other celebrities who get famous young. You did well for a while, and now you’re spinning out.” There still wasn’t a question there, and T.K. didn’t think he wanted one. I will not punch Jenkins’ smug face…I will not punch Jenkins’ smug face… I will not punch Jenkins’ smug face… Self-control wasn’t one of T.K.’s specialties, but he’d dealt with many old, white men who didn’t take him seriously and thought his sexuality was somehow wrong. Why did I ever agree to this interview? Judd said he didn’t think I should do it. But I’d wanted to expand my demographic.

I’m not spinning out, he wanted to protest, but that wasn’t true. He’d been spinning out since 2001. That’s how he ended up in the music business in the first place. He’s been a little kid, angry and wasting his anxious energy on delinquencies that set his mom on edge— stealing candy from the store, scribbling angry words on the walls, drawing disturbing pictures of his dead dad. Fearing that he might get violent, his mom had introduced him to music, and music had calmed the madness in his mind. It distracted him from it, at least, but nothing had ever made that madness go away.

T.K. wanted to set Jenkins straight. He wanted to say, Yeah, I’m spinning out, but not because I’m famous, but because I feel like an exposed nerve all the time and I hate what my life has become. I didn’t ask to be famous. I didn’t want everyone to scream my name. I just wanted to get some of my pain off my chest. Sometimes, I wish my mom never got me a guitar because that guitar. The fame. My whole life. Those were consolation prizes. She said, “I can’t give you your dad, so go play some music and leave alone because I can’t deal with a miscreant kid on top of everything else,” and so that damn guitar, my music kept me less lonely, but it couldn’t bring back what I lost and it couldn’t heal the goddamn hole in my heart. But he couldn’t say that answer because it would scream spinning out, and while spinning out might sell albums, it was a private matter nevertheless.

“I’m just having fun,” T.K. said, putting on an award-winning smile. “Nothing wrong with that.” Except that I don’t remember half of what I do, and most of the time, I can’t have fun unless I have a substance first, but other than that, I’m absolutely having the time of my life. I’m not at all lonely or sad or angry or disappointed or troubled.

“I’m not judging,” Jenkins insisted, raising his hands in surrender. T.K. fought the eye roll he felt pressing against his eyeballs. I’ve never seen someone so full of shit.

“Is there a point to this?” T.K. asked as patiently as he could, but he knows instantly it’s a stupid thing to say. Twitter stans will destroy each other over this.

“I’m just wondering…” Jenkins hesitated, and when an asshole like that hesitates, that’s when you should run away as fast as you can because that brief hesitation is the only escape your going to get from whatever attack is about to happen. “If rumors are true, you’ve been doing a lot of drugs and having a lot of sex.”

“I don’t—”

Jenkins chuckles. “Don’t worry, boy scout. I’m not asking you to confirm or deny. You’re too media trained to give it to me straight, anyway.”

“Then—” T.K. couldn’t figure out where Jenkins was going, and that was always scary in an interview. He’d been through some bad ones, so he didn’t worry too much. I can handle this. There’s nothing he can ask that I haven’t been asked before. He was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to admit defeat on this one.

“What I’m asking is,” Jenkins doesn’t pause this time. “Don’t you think your dad would be ashamed of what you’ve become?” T.K. didn’t hear anything after that, and he couldn’t tell if it was because the room had gone silent or because his senses had become hazy. The room had frozen, and only Jenkins seemed to be immune to the emotional frenzy that was taking place around him. Even Jenkins’ producer, Anette, looked like she wanted to end the show right then. I need to do something. Say something.

Judd was having heated words with Anette, probably putting an end to the interview as calmly as he could, but T.K. gave him another look, one that said, “Don’t make a fuss.” Judd loved to fuss over T.K., and most of the time, it wasn’t so bad, but T.K. didn’t want this interview to end on Jenkins’ terms.

“I wouldn’t know. He’s been dead most of my life,” and he doesn’t even try to keep a professional tone. His voice sounds detached, and even though he knows it has to be his, he doesn’t recognize it. The world is blurry and distant, and T.K. feels unground like he’s floating in space with no chance of ever returning. He hates when he gets like this. It makes him scared and angry and anxious. Except when he’s high. When he’s high he’s floaty without the bad parts of being floaty.

Jenkins was notorious for pushing people to their breaking points. You would think it would make his show self-destruct, but Jenkins’ audience loved the way he “tells it as he sees it,” which was code for saying “I like that he’s a cruel bully.” T.K. could talk a lot about things he didn’t want to talk about, but dad talk was not something he could endure, especially talk about his dad.

“He was a hero. You have to think he might be disappointed in some of your choices?”

“You know, I used to want to be a firefighter,” T.K. told Jenkins, and he wasn’t sure why he was sharing this precious information other than passive aggressive spiting. You want me to make a scene? Well, I’ll make a scene. I’ll give you exactly what you want and more.

“Oh, really? What happened to that dream? Did you realize it wasn’t glamorous enough for you?” His voice was so condescending that T.K. could feel himself losing what control he had left.

“I used to want to be a firefighter until I realized that being a dead hero sucked. Now, I sometimes wish I was a dead hero because at least then I wouldn’t have to put up with all this bullshit,” and with that, he did what he said he wasn’t going to and flung off his head phones and stormed away from fucking Peter Jenkins.

Judd caught up with T.K. first, and T.K. knew it was bad when Judd didn’t even try to lecture him as they went down the hall to the door. Carlos was behind them, quietly watching over with scrunched eyebrows. He thinks I’m a freak now. Just as I was starting to get on his good side.

“I’m sorry,” T.K. said when they finally get in Judd’s car. Judd’s hands grip the steering wheel.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“I couldn’t have reacted much worse. Twitter fans and Tumblr fans and fucking Instagram fans are probably all having meltdowns over this. For the love of god, who let me have vocal cords. I couldn’t just have my fucking meltdown in private.” This is turning into breakdown part two.

“T.K. calm down. This is no doubt going to get a lot of attention, but this isn’t going to ruin your career.”

“They’re going to cancel me!”

“They’re not, kid. Everyone knows Jenkins is a bastard. I’m going to take care of this. We’ve handled worse.” Like the girl who claimed to be pregnant with T.K.’s baby. No, this is still worse. “I’m more worried about how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine!” T.K. insisted, but his hands shook and he just wanted some Oxy, or anything else that would take the edge off because things are getting too complicated, and Carlos was dead quiet beside him, which made T.K. worry he’d broken his poor bodyguard who was far from a chatterbox but was good at keeping up a conversation.

“T.K., you said some pretty—”

“Is this about that dead hero line? Because I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You picked up on what I was trying to say pretty fast.”

“Because I know how your cowboy brain works.”

“I think you should see someone about all this,” Judd replied, and T.K. knows he said it right then because it was harder for T.K. to lash out in a moving car. He couldn’t storm away. That’s for sure.

T.K. looked over at Carlos, feeling humiliated that he was hearing all this. “Judd, no. You know that kind of thing isn’t for me.”

“You know I’m not a talking kinda guy, but it can’t hurt to try. Just once a week. You can even do virtual sessions if you like.”

“I just want to curl up in bed and never come out,” T.K. said stubbornly, unlocking his phone and scrolling through Twitter. He should have started on Tumblr. They’re less harsh there. “I’m doomed. The things people are saying! I’m never going to live this down.” His mom had also tried calling him three times, and he knew that as soon she got done with her shift that Marjan would not just be calling, but she’d be knocking down his door, and if he wasn’t home, she’d find him. She always found him, no matter how hard he was trying to hide.

Carlos snatched T.K.’s phone from his hands. “That’s enough of that.” It was a relief to hear him speak, but T.K. felt red anger surge through him.

“That’s my property!”

“And it’s my job to keep you safe.”

“I’m not going to throw myself off a cliff just because people said mean things about me.”

“T.K.!” he heard Judd exclaim, and just like that, T.K. felt his chest tighten and couldn’t hold back the sobbing that had been creeping up on him ever since he was at the studio.

Judd watched him when he could, looking back using the rearview mirror, but he didn’t say anything. Carlos looked like he didn’t know what to do, and T.K. felt like an idiot because no one likes a crybaby.

“My dad would hate me if he knew me,” T.K. confessed to no one in particular, but he figured that it couldn’t hurt to be honest about how he felt. After all, he’d confessed a lot more on live radio that would be recorded and saved for posterity. No point having secrets anymore. Might as well live up to my potential as a fucked up popstar.

“Your dad wouldn’t be ashamed of you, T.K.,” Carlos said, and his eyes looked so sincere. He was the kind of person who wouldn’t say a nice thing if he didn’t mean it, but he also somehow always found a nice thing to say.

Judd added, “He’s right you know. You mean a lot to a lot of people.” Yeah, I mean a whole lot to all the people who want what I can give, but don’t care about who I am. Very few people know who I really am. Most of the others, I’m fooling, and probably now, I’m not fooling them anymore. Everyone is going to realize I was never worth their time. When tour comes along, I’ll be playing to empty arenas, but it could be worse. How? I don’t know, but there has to be something worse than this, and it will probably happen to me next week.

“Everything I touch turns to disaster,” T.K. sputtered. “I’m so sick of it. All I wanted was to play music because how else was I supposed to survive? But now the music all sounds flat, and it feels like it’s never going to sound right again.” T.K. didn’t know what he was saying. His mouth was moving too fast for him to process his words, but it felt good to let them all out. Maybe Judd’s therapy idea wasn’t such a bad one. T.K. wouldn’t have to change anything. He could just have someone to vent to. He wouldn’t have to listen to anything a professional said.

“That’s not true,” Carlos said, and T.K. realized that Carlos was rubbing circles on his back. It had been so long since someone had done that. Maybe since his father had died. His mom had done her best, but she’d struggled with her grief, and she’d had to balance a lot more than she was ready to balance. She worked more and hired people to keep T.K. busy— music teachers, tutors he didn’t need, housekeepers who had better things to do than be bothered by grubby little kids with a penchant for mischief.

“Maybe I do need therapy.” It took a lot out of him to say that, but the realization had struck him out of nowhere, and now, it wouldn��t go away. It can’t hurt anything other than my pride, so what if it’s a waste of time. I’m going to have a lot of time on my hands when no one wants to see me sing.

Judd looked pleased. “I’ll get you a list of possible candidates you can look over.” Knowing Judd, he’d create a carefully curated list that had been thoroughly vetted.

“I could have my assistant do that,” T.K. offered. “Or I could do it myself.” He figured he shouldn’t keep expecting people to do stuff for him.

“That’s okay. I know you’re going through a lot, and with tour, you’ll be busy. I can handle it myself if you want me to. Grace may know some good people.”

“That would be good. She’d find people a simple google search never would.” T.K. smiled thinking about Grace. She always had a fondness for T.K., and he had a fondness for her. He explained to Carlos, “Grace knows a lot of people. If you need a recommendation for hiring someone, she can give you a whole list of the best people for the job. I don’t know how she does it.”

Judd smiled proudly. “My wife is a good listener. That’s how she does it.” He made eye contact with Carlos in the rearview mirror. “Carlos seems like a good

listener too.” Yeah, and that’s what I’m afraid of.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fics #Elise Writes #my writing #my fics #holding out for a hero

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 4 years

Text

TF2 gift for @sxpaiscia

Written rapidly, in chat, after a long period of lost creativity; may not be great. Demo/Solly x 2 | AO3 Rating: Explicit

Title: Pur-pulled Together

Darkness swirls through the room, faint light illuminates for but a second as lightning flashes outside.

Everything is hazy, indistinct and tinged with the dizzy haze settling over his barely-conscious mind. The hard concrete beneath his knees bites cruelly through the thick fabric of his breeches.

His helmet slides forward incrimentally as Solly shifts, trying to make out the location. His hands throbbed slightly, discomfort radiating from his wrists, bound together as they were.

Wriggling against the haphazard bonds, Solly snapped back to awareness; someone had taken the time to drag him into this secluded location, bind his hands behind him, and bind his arms to his sides. Yet... they had not thought to gag him?

Aha! A strategical error!

As he sucked in a deep breath to sound the alarm, the burgeoning cry choked quietly in his throat at the realisation he was not alone. Another body rocked into his, struggling to free their hands.

It was the sudden loud, heavily-accented cursing exploding between them that helped the mercenary to poinpoint his fellow captive.

"Demo?" Jane asked, dropping his voice lower to whisper, "...Tavish?"

Lightning captured the sudden jerk of Demo's head, face swinging to find the speaker. It was then Solly saw that Tavish's eyepatch had slipped across his face to the other side; effectively blinding the man. No wonder he reacted so strongly!

"Ach, yes it's me laddie... seems we're in a right pickle here." HE wriggled unfairly broad shoulders as if to make a point of how ver ymuch doomed the pair of them were.

"Now, now Private there's no room for talk like that! We must merely out-think the enemy, use a pincer maneuvre, strategically advance to the rear when possible!"

Tavish couldn't contain the small chuckle that escaped. "Of course you'd be able to make escaping sound like a battle plan, Jane me lad..."

They lapsed into silence, the real question finally making its way into their minds.

"So... I'm assuming that this here isn't the prelude to some degree of kinky shennaigans you were too timid to bring up to me at home base, right?" Tavish asked, the beautiful clever bastard that he was. Jane felt he was never going to live down the last time he'd unorthodoxically brought up a minor turn-on with Tavish in an unusual manner... but, in Jane's defence... he was a very hands-on man.

"That's a Negatory, Private! We are in hostile territory..."

"Oh, how'd ye know that, laddie? There's no light down here." Demo retorts.

"Because there's a big BLU symbol on the wall, I saw it last time the lightning flashed."

"...ah, alright then."

For a few seconds the room filled with the sound of two men thinking hard about how to free themselves from an exceptionally bizarre situation. The occasional harsh breaths and rustling clothing of someone testing their bonds.

"I can't seem to remember how we got here..." Tavish says, grunting with the effort of trynig to slip a wrist free. "One minute I was sticky jumping and the next, crack... thought I was for respawn... but now I'm here."

"Well, that's-..." and Solly stopped, because his own memoris were similar. One minute he was cackling maniacally, plummeting down towards the horrified BLU Scout, and the next... pain, sound, darkness...

"Mmm, I'm guessing ye can't recall either, hey?" Demo asks, wriggling over in Jane's general direction so their shoulders touched. Like a little island of safety amidst the sea of darkness they were lost in.

"...for reasons of national security I can neither confirm or deny these allegations..." Solly responds, and is definitely Not Pouting because REal Men Don't Pout. He liked the enemy you could see... because you can fight it. Being taken out by a sneak attack, utterly dishonourable tactic!

Tavish's lips brush his cheek and plant a kiss on the side of his nose. "There, there, love... I cannae see you, but it's the best I can do. Looks like we just need to stay calm and wait for answers, aye?"

"Aye... I mean, Affirmative, Private." the slightly-mollified Soldier responds. He settles a little closer to Demo, body heat bouncing between the two in this cold, quiet place.

"I'm guessing that you're a wee bit confused about this whole mess?" Came a far-too-familiar tone, so very like Tavish's and yet... not. "That's my fault for not wrangling my military man a little better, hope ye can find a way to forgive that little oversight."

"The deployment of my military might was too powerful for these foes, Lieutenant Demo." A contemptuous tone sneered, from somewhere nearby.

The lights flickering on near blinded Solly, too bright too soon. A growl builds in his throat at the sight of their captors... BLUs.

"Jane...?" Tavish whispers, and Solly turns to find the man just as much of a mess as he himself felt.

"BLUs, the Demo and Soldier. Looks like we're in a POW camp..."

"Och, nay... ye're in the BLU basement, don't be so dramatic!" BLU Demo chuckles, waving a hand as he came forwards to take stock of them. Noticing Tavish's issue, the enemy deftly moved the eyepatch to the right location and grinned. "How do I look, laddie?"

Blinking his eye rapidly, Tavish grinned. "Like I haven't gotten around to killing you yet, but don't worry yourself... I'll make time."

"Oh, I like him..." BLU Soldier informs BLU Demo in a loud whisper. The latter pats him on the shoulder, as the pair smile to one another.

"What sick game are you playing here, you-... you-... you COMMUNIST HIPPIES?!" Jane snarls, moving painfully on his knees so his body was between the BLUs and Tavish. Let them take him first... give Demo a chance to escape.

With a thunk, something hit the floor and slid across to the pair. "Now, I think there's been a misunderstanding somewhere along the way... probably because my laddie here got the drop on you're boyo there. Damn fine strike with the shovel... mid-air too! Couldn't be prouder."

The smart retort died in Solly's throat as his opposite on the BLU team blushed, helmet tipping down as if to hide it; before the impulsive mercenary pressed a hasty kiss to the BLU Demo's cheek. Things... were sliding into place.

Solly was a passionate man, a caring man, a slightly unhinged man if you believed Medic's reports... but not ever really awarded the title of Clever man. Tavish knew this was wrong... Jane was smart about practical things; and with the exception of Sun Tzu;s Art of War, Jane rarely cared for things of a philosophical nature.

But it was clear that the puzzle pieces had clicked into place right now, and he was seeing the majority of the picture.

"You two... are like us." Jane said flatly, trying to work out how that factored into their current situation. "You worked together to ambush us... and get us here, trap us at BLU. But...why?"

BLU Demo rolls his eyes, mouth opening... before BLU Soldier cuts in sharply. "It was a strategic engagement to procure valuable assets from the enemy... for recreational and experimental use."

Jane frowned. Tavish... has a lightbulb moment, and began to laugh.

"Oh aye, so kidnapping us from battle and binding us up down here was easier than maybe asking if we'd be open to a little inter-team 'cooperation', hmmm?"

"Well, boyo, if we'd said 'Oh hey would you like to perhaps go fuck yourself and your boyfriend in the kinkiest way possible', do you think we could have gotten past 'go fuck yourself' without you sending us through respawn?" BLU Demo grinned.

Tavish nodded, considering. "Aye, fair point there. Now... is there any chance of you taking these here bindings away? I can barely feel my fingers, and I think I'd like a word with my laddie Jane first... not a decision I can make solo, if you ken."

He was somewhat shocked by how fast they had been released after that. There was a moment where both parties tensed, as if expecting someone to throw a punch... but nothing came.

Quietly, Tavish whispered, "Jane... I'm all for this odd little game, but do you-...?"

"YES." Jane added before he could even finish the question.The man's belt had hit the floor already, pants threatening to go down with it...

Tavish hid his face in a hand. He loved to hate Jane sometimes. All passion and little forethought...

BLU Demo motioned to the health pack on the floor, and Tavish snatched it up quickly. Before it could dissolve in his hands, he slapped it against Solly's nearest shoulder; healing him instantly. A smaller healthpack bounced against his own forehead before the bright healing power coursed through his own battered body.

"Told ye they'd get soppy and try tae save the other..." BLU Demo muttered to BLU Soldier, who slid some cash into a waiting palm. "Ahem, if you're all right as rain... perhaps we can take ye up to our room? Don't worry about the others, they're celebratin' victory in town... the big fella wanted to try the mexican restaurant there."

With a meaningful glance to Jane, a pointed grin at the half-hard erection tenting what remained of the man's pants, and a shrug... Tavish smiled at their 'captors'. "Lead the way... if you dare."

After tramping through the BLU base with a vague sense of deja vu, for the building was a reverse image of their own, the REDs were unceremoniously ushered through a doorway at the end of an oddly-silent corridor.

Solly stumbled slightly, eyes trying to catch another look at the interwoven class symbols on the door; he'd... been rather impressed, always wanted to try something like that for Tavish one day. Damn BLUs stealing his secret intelligence telepathically or something...

Tavish felt strong, familiar arms wrap about his torso from behind; pressing him against a chest similar to his own. Clever, calloused fingers teasing at any exposed flesh through the ragged attire, dancing at his throat as they trailed higher.

Hot breath gusts over his throat, so different to the way Jane felt against him... and yet, Tavish felt his skin tingling. HEat rising to dance along every nerve in response to this new situation... and pressed against his own firm buttocks, an answering surge of lust.

He ground back against it, gasping as the BLU nipped his throat in response, and they both laughed in an eerily similar voice. How strange to have someone new to your body... show such intimate knowledge, knowing where you liked to be touched to stir the flames of your own passion.

"I'm glad you seem to like this arrangement..." the BLU murmured, tone low and soothing as he pressed a trail of kisses up the dark column of Tavish's throat. He pauses, and they both glance towards their Soldiers, eyes drinking in the scene before them.

BLU slammed RED against the wall, rough and ready, helmets clanging as they crashed their mouths together in something that appeared like passionate warfare. Muscular hands that could deal death and pleasure so easily, fought to divest the other man of his attire first.

Clothing hit the floor rapidly, weaponry that perhaps should not bounce... did so, in their haste. They kissed like it was a battle, their hips rocked against one another in-... no, it can't be! Tavish stifled a laugh as he realised they were rutting against one another in marching step time. Oh, Jane... predictable, adorable, forever deliciously ridiculous. And... he was all Tavish's.

Except for in this moment, that is.

"Where did ye go, laddie? Am I not enough for ye..." teases his BLU opposite, hands unbuckling his belt and allowing it to fall away. Tavish turned to face the other man, slding his own hands up under the blue shirt with the same delicate finesse he used to craft his bombs.

Fingertips traced over each defined muscle, felt the stiff coarse hair of the man's chest as he helped the BLU to peel the shirt off. Just as the BLU undressed him in return.

Tavish took initiative, pressing his lips against the other man's first and bringing a hand up to cup the BLU at his nape. Mouth moving to press hot little kisses across the other man's firm jawline, feeling stubble graze at his sensitive lips in a way that would sting tomorrow. Yet he could not bring himself to care.

BLU Demo's hands found his waist, his hips, slipping down the seat of his pants to clench at taut buttocks below and encourage the rocking motion they both enjoyed. Little sparks flaring before their good eyes when they aligned correctly.

Desperate for more, spurred on by their own lust-ridden Need to be closer, both Demos wrestled with one another's pants, forcing them down whilst locked at the mouth. Tounges dancing against one another, tantalising and promising more...

The garments hit the floor in a pile, and were forgotten. Tavish pressed his living mirror against the wall, adjusting his stance to allow the BLU to raise his thighs and clench them about the RED's own. The added support of the wall made the whole endeavour well-worth the earlier struggle.

His member throbbed, a dark column that curved upright against his abdomen. The need seemed to radiate between the near-identical men, shafts slicking together inexpertly... but easily enough, from the precum that continued to pearl between them.

Periodically, they snatched glances at their own partners, who were as loud as the Demos were silent. Both RED and BLU Soldier seemed determined to grind the other to orgasm first... jaws clenched, bodies shuddering from the onslaught of sensation, hips pistoning so firmly, so doggedly...

Tavish felt his member twitch at the sight, remembering how that stolid pumping determination felt when they were alone. Whether Soldier rode triumphant upon his lover's shaft, or slid deep within Demo until the man screamed his release at the unrelenting march of pleasure... he was always thusly determined.

With a strange sense of desperate purpose that stole upon both men like an assassin in the darkness, the Demomen crashed their mouths together in fervour. Hips bucking wildly, cocks throbbing and grinding against one another as best they could; sweat slicked skin making wet little noises as they rutted relentlessly.

Tavish was panting, sweat was running into his eyes, but he was so turned on it was almost hard to think... a combination of the BLU Demo wrapped about him, the lusty sight Jane and the other created, and the sense of danger this whole situation presented. A sense of taboo... interteam fraternisation and all.

His skin tingled, anywhere his counterpart touched felt like trails of fire writhing beneath it; the slapping of their skin, the hitched breaths and moans, the shuddering exhalations by his ear as the other bit his lip to hold off. They both wanted to stay here, on the brink, as long as possible...

"I-..." he gasped, the heat pooling in his abdomen an inferno threatening to break its bonds.

"...aye!" BLU Demo managed in response, legs clinging to him all the tighter for it, hips meeting every thrust in a frantic race to the finish.

His legs were trembling, climax imminent, when BLU Demo came; tremors taking ahold of that firm, sculpted form as thighs clenched violently about Tavish. Stark spurts of hot, violently white cum splattered on their chests, smearing messily as they continued.

The sight of the other man's release broke the last fraction of control in Demo's body, and his own orgasm surged through him like a lightning strike. Tavish curled about his counterpart, teeth sharp where they bit into muscular flesh as he came; hips shuddering into convulsive thrusts as his release slicked their joined flesh.

BLU Demo ground back against him until the climax faded, until they were both a shuddering mess that needed the wall to hold them up. Tavish could not help but laugh airily, delighted and (for the moment) utterly spent.

The BLU released him to place his own feet on the ground, and grinning cheekily. "That was as grand as any explosion... good job, boyo."

"Same to ye, matey." Tavish shot right back, trying to catch his breath. A new partner was always an exhilarating, breathtaking experience, even if things went wrong. Still, this had been brilliant.

Feeling surer of himself by the second, Tavish stumbled over to drop to the bed, and the other man joined him a moment later. Their eyes, for between them they had one functional set, riveted on the sight of their lovers...

Both Soldiers were flushed to the tips of their ears, slightly shocked expression on their stoild faces; they each fisted the other's cock, pumping slowly now, for their members were momentarily spent.

In a moment of clarity, Tavish realised that the pair must have been watching the Demos climax with such intensity, they had yet to even realise they had also come. Ach, but what could you do with such big, beautiful, sensitive men...

He goes to nudge the BLU Demo, and meets the other's nudge halfway; he'd noticed too. Still,if the valiant stirring in his loins was any indication... the sight was just the thing to rekindle his spent passion.

"A fine lad you got there, boyo... wouldn't trade him for mine, but I was wonderin' if ye'd be willing to share him. Just for tonight, that is... see if I can show him that BLU does it better. What do ye think of that?"

Tavish couldn't hold back the laugh. "Aye, Jane's a fine lad and I love him, even when he does get strange ideas... but if he and your boyo are happy for it, I see no harm in showing your lad how real men please one another. The RED way." he teased right back.

Noticing the conversation, Jane and the BLU Soldier had decided to make their way to the bed as well; listening in with interest in nothing more than their helmets, the mixed essence of their own release coating their abdomens, hands and reinvigorating cocks.

Jane watched Tavish, head tilted as if considering, before flashing a wide, smug grin. He was a man who loved a challenge, and Tavish could see the thirst in Jane’s eyes to prove to the BLU Demo once and for all... that RED was superior in all things. The BLU Soldier seemed to think the same, because he moved over to stand before Tavish, eyes scrutinising the mercenary from beneath the helmet.

“Looks like this maggot needs to learn that BLUs do everything better.” growls the oddly-familiar tone, as the muscular man climbs onto the bed. The BLU straddles Tavish’s lap, his reawakening cock slapping lewdly against the muscles of the demolition expert’s abdomen.

There’s a strangely disconnected moment there, hanging in the air; the mannerisms, the body, the voice are all so painfully similar... and yet, they both know the other is not their lover. Just a similar version, so this is a body they have not touched, not explored or pleasured in any way...

In short, a challenge.

The pungent stench of sweat and sex filled the room; almost dizzyingly so. Tavish’s hands reached out to press against the familiar flesh of the stranger before him, tracing muscles along the man’s arms, her chest, his abdomen. Tugging playfully at the happy trail in the way Jane always enjoyed... Like his hands had magnetised, Tavish found he could not pull them away, and with every little familiar movement, every quiet breathy response to his touch, certainty grew. This soldier was not Jane, but there was no doubt that the BLU was eager to experience this new mating with an equally familiar-stranger; that Tavish could please him, and be pleased in return.

He glanced into those piercing blue eyes, peering at him from under the blue-tinted helmet, and saw nothing but encouragement... and a hint of challenge. Tavish grinned, pulling the military mercenary closer so their mouths might finally meet; his tenacity and playful licks against the bulkier man’s bottom lip gaining Demo access into the hot cavern of BLU Soldier’s mouth.

Delving deeper with his questing tongue, he felt the other surge forwards, their bodies pressing close in a mess of cooling sweat and ejaculate. In the near future they would throw themselves into a shower cubicle to be rid of it, but for this moment it was only an afterthought. A dirty little thrill, one might say.

“Good lad...” Tavish murmurs, pulling back to glance over his shoulder at the other two; heart thundering a little faster when he sees the flushed, overstimulated expression of his Jane. BLU Demo had moved beyond foreplay now, the sneaky bastard had contrived to find some lubricant around here somewhere... from the soft hissing groan Jane made, that Tavish knew so intimately, it was clear he was at least two fingers deep.

“C’mon lad, they’re gettin’ ahead of us now, whatsay we show ‘em how it’s really done?” Tavish grins, patting BLU Soldier on the thigh to indicate they needed to rise. Moving around the bed, the RED winked at his BLU partner before patting the empty space. “Hop up here laddie, whatever position ye like best...”

In the periphery, BLU Demo was watching, along with Jane. Curious, but not willing to stop what they were doing at this time to intervene... still, it would be a tad hard to proceed without-... ah. BLU Soldier had pulled a small well-used tube from the internal pocket of his helmet; well, that’s definitely something he might need to mention to Jane for future notice.

BLU Soldier spread his thighs, pillowing his head on crossed arms as Tavish drizzled too-cool liquid into a palm; allowing bodyheat to warm the chill from it, before daring to use it. With a free hand, he traced little patterns down the length of the Soldier’s spine, enjoying the way this not-Jane seemed to enjoy it just as much as Tavish’s own partner.

When it became obvious the other man’s attention was on the opposites, and not in fact paying all that much attention to the careful slicking of his entrance; it earned him a smack to one of those unfairly mucular cheeks, startling a yelp from the military mercenary. Tavish couldn’t help the grin that erupted, seems like both the Soldiers had more than just the physical similarities in common... for good measure, he spanked the opposite cheek with enough force to leave it glowing rosily in the dim light.

Tavish laved lubricant-slick fingers around the man’s hole, his free hand running over the muscular planes of BLU Soldier’s body, enjoying how different muscle groups shrank and danced under his touch. Finally, with a pointed glare from the BLU, Demo decided he had best move along or they might lose this particular challenge...

A finger tentatively breaching the Soldier, sliding in and out in a gentle rhythm amidst grumbles that ‘he was an army man, dammnit, a fist wouldn’t break him!’; waiting for that subtle tensing of muscles to ease. It may be a familiar routine, but Tavish wasn’t BLU Demo, and he had technically killed BLU Soldier a few dozen times in the last week alone... no surprise it took more than a few hot kisses to relax the enemy. Still, he added little twists, turns and brushes against the man’s prostate to provide some small reward for his patience in this.

By the time they had reached the third finger, a familiar sigh echoed across the room so pointedly that Tavish paused his ministrations. Jane was sinking, exquisitely, onto the BLU Demo’s cock with such a look of exhilaration and pleasure that Tavish’s cock throbbed headily from the scene. He could only assume the BLU Soldier felt the same, given how he clenched about the intruding fingers...

A shudder ran down the RED’s spine at this sensation, the hot sucking heat rushed straight to his member; leaving it bobbing heavy, aching, between his thighs. Somewhat cruelly, Tavish brushed the knuckles of his free hand down the length of BLU Soldier’s desperate, weeping cock; delighted at how it quivered and pulsed his lust at the merest hint that the need for release might be met.

“Are ye ready, boyo?” he breathes, bending over the other to whisper right into the helmeted man’s ear; heavy shaft grinding slickly between the muscular globes of BLU Soldier’s backside. “Feels like you are...”

“A-Affirmative, sir...” the man chokes, grinding back into the sensation with abandon; fingers fisting the bedclothes to stop himself begging.

Tavish couldn’t help but love a man like this, and pressed a soothing trail of kiss from nape to base of spine. Slicking his cock quickly, efficiently, and guiding it on a few glancing thrusts between those taut cheeks in a teasing manner; before lining the head of his saft with BLU Soldier’s entrance.

Carefully, he pressed inward. They both exhaled loudly from the sensation of that hot, sucking hole clamping down around the head of Tavish’s cock; breathing heavily as the RED’s hands clamped tightly to the BLU’s muscular hips. Tavish inched deeper with small rocking motions that drew quiet hisses, curses and moans from the other; noting the small changes between this man and Jane.

BLU Soldier began to press back in encouragement, drawing deeper and faster; Tavish was only too pleased to comply. The pace grew wild, sending thrills of lightning up his spine as the sound of flesh slapping against sweaty flesh filled the room. Tavish pumped at the BLU’s cock, moaning at the way it made the Soldier’s insides clench at him desperately.

His hands roamed further, running over the muscular back as Tavish murmured small compliments, instructions and unintelligible sounds of pleasure under his breath. Periodically his eyes fell on the lust-fuelled bodies moving together in oddly perfect accord across the bed, and it did nothng more than spur him on to delve deeper, go faster, find the angle that made his partner scream...

Every thrust forwards met the powerful grind of BLU Soldier’s hips, both shuddering from the inexplicable sensation; Tavish mindful even in this state, to aim for the man’s secret pleasure spot. Let the BLU know what it was like to go boneless, as Jane often did... or did for Tavish, on the odd occasion... after a good bout of lovemaking.

Movement caught his eye. BLU Demo had rolled them both over, so he was now atop Jane and pouding away at this more fortuitous angle; Jane’s fingers clenched the bedsheets tightly, mouth open in a soundless exhalation of wordless delight.

There was a moment... just a fraction of a second really, when his eyes met the BLU Demo’s... and a single thought echoed between the pair. Their bodies slowing in their thrust as the men receiving glanced back in mild confusion, awaiting explanation.

“Shift along laddie, seems you and my Jane there could perhaps enjoy this a mite bit more if we all play our part...” Tavish said conspiratorially, and they moved a few centimetres to the right, while their opposites moved to the left; aligning the pair perfectly.

BLU Soldier, impaled upon Tavish’s throbbing cock, now found himself repositioned over Jane; head aligned with the RED’s desperate cock, and vice versa. Jane wasted no time in darting out his clever tongue to tease at the weeping slit, precum dribbling onto his face like rain; and the BLU Soldier licked a tantalising stripe down Jane’s cock before sucking at the head.

The ripples of these new pleasure diversions echoed through all four men, and both Demos began to thrust again. BLU Demo flashed a grin, and Tavish could not help but return it; the cheeky bastard!

Pleasure lit up his spine like christmas lights, every movement seemed to push him closer to the edge; but he refused to climax until this BLU Soldier fell into his own release. His sack slapped lewdly against the muscular buttocks in a driving staccato pace that you could almost dance to; feeling the other tensing almost as tightly as his own balls were.

“C’mon lad... that’s the way, come for me now. Come...” he encouraged as the the man’s thighs began to tremble, as BLU Soldier’s insides clenched erratically around Tavish’s shaft, and Jane swallowed deeply against the rush of come flooding his throat in frantic spurts.

BLU Soldier let out an unintelligible gurgle of release around Jane’s cock, before the other Soldier was climaxing too; filling the BLU’s mouth to capacity. The sights, the sounds, the sensation of trying to thrust through such erratic clutching at his shaft when he was so, so cery close...

Without thinking, Tavish jerked forwards and in one fluid motion, grabbed his opposite number by the nape, crashed their mouths together in a clumsy clash of teeth and tongue... and screamed his release into that waiting mouth. His body shuddered in convulsions of pleasure as his cock throbbed deeply within BLU Soldier, hips thrusting erratically as a golden haze seemed to descend.

When clarity next returned, Tavish dropped momentarily boneless against BLU Soldier’s shaking spine; breathing deeply before he had the strength to withdraw and help the other to sprawl on the bed beside him. Jane and the BLU Demo following suit.

Tavish reached out to tangle his fingers with Jane’s. BLU Demo and Soldier mirrored them.

“That was a fine spot of lovemaking we did just then, boyo.”

“Aye.”

“Affirmative.”

“Negatory.”

There was a worried pause, as the other three assumed something had gone wrong... but their eyes fell upon the tired but still somehow oddly smug grin Jane gave. “The exercise was performed with exemplary tactical precision, but it is important that we run these covert missions with different members of the platoon regularly.”

Tavish squints at his lover. “Jane are you saying you want to do this again?”

“Affirmative.”

“...Aye, I could live with that.”

From the grins they received from BLU Demo and Soldier... it might just be on the cards.

“Just... no more kidnapping, aye?”

BLU Soldier grumbled, but BLU Demo gave him a poke. “Aye lad, we agree. Now can ye shut up, I think I just came my brains out, and I need a minute...”

“Ach, do you hear that, Jane? These BLUs have no stamina!” Tavish goads.

He is swiftly struck with a pillow.

------

The End

#tf2 #demosolly #so very sorry its been a long time since i wrote anything like this and my skill was never great to begin with

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greenninjagal-blog · 5 years

Text

Bury the Body ch3

I apologize for the delay, here’s the return of the serial killer au! You can find the previous chapter here, and the beginning of this fun little psychotic story right here! Big thanks to @unsolvedsexualtension for being my beta.

TW: Attempted Murder, stabbings, broken noses, arson, severed heads, Actual Murder, broken glass, knives, name calling, Ethanol, murder, violence, gore, dark humor, blood, and I can not stress this enough: Murder.

Words: 5717

Quick Taglist: @seaspider10 @chelsvans @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam

Read on AO3

As it turns out, his companions did not have a problem remembering their names. It was much like once they had learned the names each had been scribbled down in a dictionary, preserved and the page tabbed, so they might never lose it.

So, no, the problem wasn’t remembering the names of the people they were sitting with.

Logan repeated them like a mantra in his head: the smiling man, Patton, Patton Sanders, Patton like plastic, fake, meltable, plastic Patton Sanders; the hooded man, Virgil, Virgil Sanders, Virgil like vigilant, like vagrant, like vexing Virgil Sanders; the man in white and red was Roman Prince, Regal, Royal, ridiculous Roman.

It wasn’t a problem remembering their names.

It was a problem remembering to use the names.

The smiling man in particular just had an even better affinity for word play. The man in white slung insults like second nature, and the hooded man let scathing remarks choke out of his throat.

Which wouldn’t have been a problem at all– Logan would have collected each of their souls in turn, dragging them to some place deserted and drowning them in gasoline, twisting and twirling lines with the flammable liquid and then dropping a single spark into the barest edges. He needed to buy a stopwatch, just to prove his theory that Virgil would be the one to scream first. Logan would have made the most beautiful art out of all of them.

If he could remember to use their real names just slightly better than the rest of them.

“Fine,” Logan snarled at Peppy Patton’s face, spitting the word with all the malice he could muster when the other had him pinned to the floor and their respective strengths were the only things keeping a body from being discovered by the next train attendant who walked by. Logan could see the flecks of his spit splatter on the other’s glasses, could see the unsymmetrical count of freckles on his face that he had somehow missed during their kiss earlier, could see the way his own arms were trembling to keep the butterfly knife from filleting him.

“Fine!” He snarled because he had never been good at admitting himself wrong, or that his carefully considered plan could have had such a loophole as this. “Three chances!”

The smiling man– Patton– eased just enough that Logan could wedge his fingers under the other’s hold on the knife and bend his thumb back until gravity retook the knife. It fell into a pile of clothes from Logan’s bag: something that had been overturned no less than five minutes prior by, uh, Roman.

Somewhere beyond Patton, Roman and Virgil were fingerpainting the seats with blood. From his angle, Logan couldn’t tell which was whose: Roman’s arm had been sliced, but a good punch to Virgil’s nose had resounded in a crack sometime between Patton calling Logan “a sore loser” and Logan calling Patton a “myopic milksop” and ended with an impressively bloody nose.

It seemed that rather than facilitate with murdering each other, Patton’s game had only wrought unconcerned chaos to the compartment.

Logan was more annoyed than he had a right to be. His strict order had been unheaved by these unhinged hooligans and Logan found himself rising to the challenge of it: he never liked things to be easy, never liked the ones that didn’t wake up before the flames consumed them, the ones that didn’t scream or cry or pray. He wanted to see Patton do it, wanted to see that plastic expression melt away and reveal that truth of a human from underneath. Patton was a challenge, a puzzle.

Logan had never been one to give up.

“Three chances,” Logan repeated when the scuffle beyond them didn’t immediately cease. “Three chances from here on out!”

Virgil slammed against the window, but managed to roll away from the punch that Roman threw at him. Roman’s fist slammed the glass window hard enough to send vibrations throughout the small room.

“Fuck!” Roman yelled as he flung his fist open and then waved his fingers losely. His knuckles were strikingly pink compared to the scarlet blood on his bicep. “Ow! Jesus fuck, Twenty eight!”

“One!” Logan snapped. “That’s one for you, Prince!”

“Do last names count? Is that a thing?” Virgil asked, balancing himself in a couch on the seat, much like a cat ready to flee out of the way again. His hoodie swallowed his hands, but Logan didn’t doubt that his hands were full of those little knives that him and his brother were so fond of.

“Logan’s at one, too!” Patton sang.

“Fine!” Logan hissed. “Last names do not count. Roman and I are at one, Patton and Virgil are at zero.”

The compartment breathed for a full second. Logan could feel the pressure of his clothes on every inch of his chest as he inhaled testily. The rain outside pounded on the windows, a raging thunderstorm that did not deter their train in the slightest. Lightning cracked on a distant hill.

“Are we done?” Logan asked.

There was a flurry of glares around the room. Well, glares and a condescending, lithe expression from Patton. For an overly tense moment no one seemed to be ready to back down, no one seemed ready to adhere to the rules that they had all so easily agreed to playing.

Then Roman flexed his fingers on the fist that had so elegantly punched the glass window flipped both his palms out for them to see him unarmed. “Truce?” He said, and Logan was certain there were several half syllables that were tacked on the end, the beginnings of a nickname that he cut himself short from saying. Roman took a deep breath, and he let it out with a laugh that dripped with a madness.

“Oh,” Roman said, throwing a deadly little look in Logan’s direction. “You’re definitely on my list now.”

“A pleasure,” Logan said, “You’re standing on my shirt.”

Patton picked up one of the other shirts around the floor, along with his little knife, and brought the dark blue fabric to his face. He smelled it, and smiled that ridiculously dreamy smile of his. “It smells like you, Logan!”

“Of course. It’s mine.” Logan snatched it from his hands. “I’d thank you not to touch my stuff at all, Mr–Patton.”

The other let out a teasing little laugh, leaning into Logan’s personal space. Their legs were touching, the warmth of his body making the rest of Logan’s limbs feel rather cold in comparison. “You really are amazing, Logan, for being so broken as you are.”

Logan’s eyes caught sight of the puckered cigarette burn on Patton’s collar bone. He wet his lips, imagining the smoke coming off his body again.

“You’re going to lose my little game,” Patton said fondly, and raised his hand as if touch Logan.

Virgil’s hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist before it could. Virgil didn’t look at either of them, but he sneered at the knife scars in the wooden flooring.

“Don’t,” He said, but without elaborating on exactly who should have not been doing whatever it happened to be. Wasn’t that curious?

Logan’s eyes watched the brothers’ hands, watched as Patton laughed again so carefree and wild and gave a tug that brought Virgil to the floor with him. With a fistful of his pastel sweater sleeve, Patton practiced wiping the blood from Virgil’s chin.

Roman used one of Logan’s iron pressed pants to wipe a smear of blood from seat.

“Must you?”

Roman blinked, “Sorry, uh–” The man snapped his fingers twice frowning, “You?”

Patton laughed again, “Oh dear, did you forget already?”

“Does that count?” Virgil asked. “Is he at two now?”

Roman glared at him, “Oh, shut up, Jason Toddler!”

“That one counts,” Logan said. Although Roman wasn’t his primary target, he couldn’t help that small swell of excitement that came from the increasing number, from the prospect of scorching flames and smokey flesh. “Roman is at two. I am at one, and both of you are at zero.”

“Fuck off,” Roman said and threw Logan’s pants at him in a very mature show of annoyance. The fact that he didn’t tact on another insult however made Logan suspect that he was attempting to learn to hold his tongue.

Interesting. Perhaps cattle could learn to think for themselves.

Roman stretched up to the luggage rack over their heads, his shirt rising ever so dramatically and flashing hints of the toned body underneath all that white. Unmarred and soft and would most likely bubble if Logan got a chance to press the tip of his lighter into his feeble flesh.

Evidently, he wasn’t alone in the thought process. Patton curled in on himself giggling and peeked through his fingers at the sight in a mockery of modesty, while his brother inhaled so sharply it turned to an audible growl.

“Like what you see?” The killer at the center of attention smirked, “I don’t mind.”

“I mind,” Virgil snapped, “That’s not even your bag.”

Roman grinned until Logan could see his canines. There was something about his smile, something that didn’t quite look right. It wasn’t fake– not the way that Patton’s was, but it was practiced.

“Are you afraid of what we might find in your bag?” Roman asked grabbing the handles and giving it a tug.

“I never said it was mine.”

The bag rolled off the rack and thawpped to the ground taking Roman’s arm with it. It hit the ground with a crash, that sounded suspiciously not like any bag of clothes Logan had ever heard before. Something liquid started leaking from the bottom of the bag, pooling on the floor in colorless puddles.

Roman looked up at the twins, and pointed at the bag, “What is that?”

Patton cupped his own cheeks, gasping in that false surprise that made Logan want to press another cigarette to his skin– maybe even in his neck, and burn straight through the tissues until every breath the man took was accompanied with a whistling noise.

“Roman!” Patton chastised, “I can’t believe you would call my little Kady Kay a “that”! She’s obviously a person! It wouldn’t be fair if I took my brother with me on this fun trip but didn’t bring my favorite patient with me!”

Logan blinked for a moment, staring at the bag, at the liquid coming from it, and suddenly recognizing the ethereal smell coming from it.

“Is that…” He didn’t have to finish because Roman had unzipped the bag to confirm what they both were thinking.

“What the fuck.” Roman whispered, somehow stunned beyond that cocky attitude of his.

“Aw, You broke her,” Patton whined, reaching between the flaps and poking the soggy strips of hair attached to the human head that was not attached to a body. He picked a shard of glass from over the wide open, spiritless blue eyes, and held it up for them to see. “Oh! This one looks like a dog! Look Virgil!”

The ethanol on the floor soaked the bottom of a pile of Logan’s shirts. His brain whispered about Safety Data Sheets he remembered from chemistry class so long ago: a colorless, highly flammable liquid, and Logan’s lighter was only a few feet away. His fingers itched for it. To light the Ethanol, to light the bag, and the head and perfect, peppy, plastic Patton on fire.

“Take a good look, Princey,” Virgil said, leaning over Roman’s shoulder with a nasty little smile, “Because that’s what I’m going to do to you.”

“That’s one for you, VeeVee!” Patton laughed, “And one for me, too!” He looked down at the bag, and curled a strand of hair around his fingers. “I like this game a lot!”

Patton made eye contact with Logan, his eyes shining through those glasses, still crooked on his nose after the fight. He pressed his fingers to the corners of his own mouth, widening his smile even more and leaving glistening dewdrops of ethanol on his cheeks.

“Thanks for playing with me, Logan!” He said.

It was ridiculous. For a moment, Logan was convinced he meant it.

But then there was a rap on the train compartment door, and Logan became acutely aware to the absolute chaos that was their appearances: Logan’s neck was a breath away from bleeding again, Vigil was nursing his own bloody nose, while Roman’s arms were in need of bandaging. Not to mention Patton’s sleeves were splattered with blood from wiping it off.

The compartment, too, was ransacked: the floor covered with bits of Logan’s luggage, and where it wasn’t it was carved up with a knife, blood on the seats, blood on the window, ethanol on the floor and broken glass in a bag knife hole in the seat that they had no hope of covering up at all. Not to mention the human head.

Thunder rumbled over the sound of the train, the rain fell in sheets.

Logan supposed the easiest thing would have been to stay silent and pretend like none of them were there– there was a nice little dining car several more cars down that Logan had passed on his way on the train all those hours ago. If no one knew they were there, they wouldn’t have to open the door or explain away the detestable mess the others had created in their carelessness.

However, the easiest thing was clearly not the thing that all the others agreed on. Logan suspected it hadn’t even crossed any of their minds at all.

Patton slid the train door open with his wide grin, “Hello!”

“Patton!” Logan yelped, reaching out to the door to slam it closed before the train attendant on the other side could register anything.

Patton shoved a foot between the sliding door and the gap, and he held it open without looking away from the man in the white uniform. “What can we do for you, sir? Oh, I love your tie!”

“My–? Oh, uh, thank you, sir. I was just coming around to inform you that the train will be making an emergency stop at the next station to wait out the storm. The next distance is too dangerous to attempt while the tracks are wet–I’m sorry, sir, are you bleeding? Your sweater is–”

Patton laughed.

Logan wondered how many people died with that as the last thing they heard. The poor unfortunate souls who had such an annoying grating sound following them to the afterlife– Logan pitied them. Just as he pitied the train attendant who never had a chance to finish his thought.

Patton’s hands weaved forward and around and before the man had even noticed, Patton had ensnared him in that blasted clay cutter. His throat sucked for air to scream with, but there was none to be had: Logan would know, he’d just been on the other side of that weapon as well. Panic expelled from the man’s body, the wire slicing through the tie that Patton had just complimented. Despite the train attendant being three inches taller than him, Patton twisted his body and leveraged the panicking man into their compartment by his neck like it was no trouble at all.

He landed in a puddle of ethanol, mere inches from the severed head. His blood mixed with the fluids on the floor.

Logan kicked the door closed before anyone else had the time to wander by.

By the time he turned back around, Virgil had gotten the man acquainted with his knife: severing the spinal cord and turning medulla oblongata to pin cushion. The life left the man’s eyes without even a scream, probably not even a thought.

A cold death, cruel and crude and effective. Still Logan thought the flames might have suited him better; white fabrics always looked best singed and dusted with charcoal.

“Oh great,” Roman said, “A dead body. Which one of you brainiacs are gonna explain away this one?”

Virgil wrenched the knife from the body and pointed it at him, “That’s another nickname! That’s three!”

“I’ll allow it,” Logan interjected stiffly.

“What why?! It’s a clear violation of the rules!”

“Because the question needs an answer.” Logan snarled at him, “I assumed one of the two of you had a single brain cell. However, now I see that I was mistaken!”

Patton pouted, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Even his lips quivered at the attempt to break from the mold of his plastic grin. “That’s really cold, Logan.”

“So was this death, Patton.” Logan’s mouth curls around the name, fitting it between his teeth in just a way that feels foreign. Part of him remains confused over how he could possibly be satisfied with something that was over so quickly, something that was so heartless, productionless, expressionless. The man was dead and there was nothing glorifying about it.

It was a dead body on a train in a compartment that pointed all the fingers to them.

Logan knew that most of the human population was stupid, but it wouldn’t exactly take Einstein himself to work out that something nasty and unpleasant had happened in their train compartment. Someone would go digging and they might discover the strangeness of Logan requesting to be sat in this train car specifically, with his name right next to Patton and Virgil Sanders, who happened to have just withdrawn a large sum of money from his bank…

No, Logan didn’t like the implication that a discovery of the body or the blood could create. He had built himself a lovely little life back in the city, had a nice little promotion, and this very nice paid vacation. He had Jeff from two cubbies over to publicly humiliate again, and an ashtray to send to his sister who would forever remain ignorant of why exactly he got them for her.

He wasn’t about to let two halfwitted hooligans ruin the little world he created.

“Don’t you remember?” Virgil said, sullenly. He pinched his blade between his thumb and index finger and slid them across the flat of the knife. The train attendants blood came away easily, dripping off the hooded man’s fingers and on to the man’s white clothes. “He said there was going to be an emergency stop soon.”

“And?”

Patton laughed.

Virgil glared at the window, “Do I have to spell it out for you? Trains can catch on fire, dumbass.”

“That’s two,” Roman said.

Virgil threw his knife at him, and missed by several inches. Roman still yelped.

“Are you suggesting that I set this train compartment on fire in the middle of a rainstorm?” Logan asked.

A haunting question, a dangerous question. Logan’s lips twitched at the mere suggestion, a slim crack in outward stonewall of a personality, but a crack nonetheless. It was ridiculous what a little iota of fire could do to him.

Everyone has their vices, though.

“Most definitely not.” Logan said, “I won’t.”

“What, aren’t you an arsonist?” Roman said, and then jabbed a finger the twins, “That’s not name calling. It’s an observation.”

“Of course, I am,” Logan said, folding his fingers under the collar of his shirt, rubbing the tender wound across his own neck, and ruffling the trim of his hair. “What is the point of lighting the room on fire unless one of you are left here to burn in it?”

“Really,” Virgil said. “There’s a dead guy on the floor, right here.”

“Dead bodies don’t scream.”

Patton laughed again. He leaned forward, coming rather close to Logan’s personal bubble. “Do you like to hear them screaming? That’s so bad, Logan! You are broken!”

“I’d like to remind the room that you are the one with the severed head in your bag, Patton.”

Patton reached into the bag and hoisted the head out by the scalp, showering the floor in broken glass and splattering ethanol on Virgil, the train attendant, and the seats. Roman shrieked, dancing back from the scene. Logan found himself in a staring contest with the person he had intended to turn to ashes three days previous before the opportunity was so rudely stolen away from him.

“Look! It’s not in the bag anymore!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Roman yelled, “Put that thing away!”

Virgil snarled, sprouting to his feet and squaring up for a fist fight, “Nothing is wrong with him!”

Roman retook the steps he had retreated until the two of them were chest to chest. “He is dancing with a severed head. Oh my god, what if the brains fall out? Do brains catch on fire?”

“Congrats, you’ve impressed me by being even more of a clueless moron than I thought you could be.” Virgil threw up a hand and shoved the other back. “The brains are in another jar.”

“Yep!” Patton laughed and reached into the bag again to reveal an unbroken glass cylinder, with what Logan assumed was four sections of a brain carefully cut apart and bobbing in the clear liquid. “Look what happens when I flip it upside down!”

“That’s a third strike for you!” Roman said, “Name calling, Virgil. You lost the game.”

“Let me introduce you to the difference between a proper noun and an adjective, Roman Prince.” Virgil snapped back. “For example: a proper noun is a name that I might hypothetically call you, such a “Pompous Princey”. An adjective is an insult might that I use to describe you, such as “washed up actor who never made it big and never will”.”

Roman’s face screwed up, his eyes hardened, and before any of them could move his strong world crushing hands curled around Virgil’s hoodie and pulled him close. Well, as close as they could be when Virgil tripped over the corpse on the ground.

Roman had several inches on him; several inches in height and several feet in sudden boiling bloodlust. “Say it again.”

Patton titled his head to the side, his smiling losing the genuine happiness of the moment. “Hey,” He said, “Look.” He flipped the brain jar again, “Bubbles.”

They ignored him.

“You’re a joke, Roman,” Virgil said. “A joke that’s so old it’s not funny anymore. Child star grows up, no longer cute, no longer getting prime time on TV, no longer remem–”

Roman shook him.

“Stop,” Logan said, although not with much conviction. Part of him was curious: would Roman default to breaking the rules of the game to murder Virgil? Would Patton truly let him? His brain started running the calculations like a silent watcher of a movie.

“–Did I hit a sore spot?” Virgil smirked, the dribbles of the blood from his nose smeared over his top lip still. “You read like a book, Roman. A stupid, easy, dumb-”

Logan was curious to see if Virgil did have any better insults to toss around, but unfortunately before he could the train itself gave a jarring squeal of metal wheels, a shrill whistle sliced through the pattering of rain on the windows. The carriage jolted forward sharply, sending Roman tripping over Virgil who tripped over the train attendant. They both fell over, hitting the seats and Roman’s right leg landing entirely in the bloody ethanol.

Logan grabbed for the door to steady himself while Patton hit the backrest and wrapped his arms around the head to protect it and let the brain jar drop on the seat next to him. The lights overhead swung with the motion of the train, the liquids on the floor sloshed around, a few misplaced knives skidded over the hardwood floor.

In a flash of yellow, Logan caught sight of one of his familiar possessions in the mess: his bottle of lighter fluid that had been stashed under his folded socks. Virgil’s words rang in his ears: reminding Logan how easy it was for Ethanol to go up in flames, almost easier than it was for Butane. With the amount of flammable liquids in the room, Logan was almost giddy: a simple spark could send them all up in those glorious flames. And wouldn’t it be such a sinch to slip out the door while they were busy trying to put out an alcohol fire with what little materials they had and jam the door closed while they were discovering that not even water would put it out.

The train was losing speed, quickly. Someone would come looking for the train attendant who was neglecting his duties due to an untimely demise. Someone would see the mess they had created in the collision of their four different personalities in such a small place.

Logan could feel his heartbeat in his ears, the thundering pulse that matched the speed of his thoughts. How many times had he flicked his lighter? How many times had he counted the nanoseconds it took the flame to ignite?

It would be over before the others would even know what happened. The game would have one winner: Logan, by default. Because you very well couldn’t play the game without other players.

Roman yelled something at Virgil.

Logan wasn’t able to hear it over the roar in his ears, the rush of adrenaline in his veins, the thud of his heart. Whatever noise the others made, it was lost in the static the second Logan’s fingers (the ones that still worked at least) slid his lighter from his pocket and flicked it open.

“LOGAN!”

His lips twisted into something– the corners pulling, pulling, up, baring his canines for the rest of them to see, there was a smear on his glasses that became apparent the moment his cheeks seemed to lift, but he could see around it enough to catch the expressions of surprise, maybe even worry on the other’s faces.

His thumb rolled over the trigger, hitting the switch that would release the gas bottled up inside and strike the flint to give one of its glorious flames that brought forth an exciting buzz in Logan’s head, in his chest, across his skin–

Something slammed into his stomach. And even if Logan didn’t feel pain– couldn’t feel pain– he felt the crushing panic in his lungs when the air was forced from them. His body lurched back, the edge of the sliding compartment door went right between his shoulder blades, like a knife to his back. Logan’s tongue spit out of his mouth along with what little saliva he had. He hit the ground a second later, and the lighter tumbled from his useless stupid fingers at the same time as Virgil’s hand shoved his jaw upwards.

Curious, wasn’t it, that this close to another person, a different person, and the only thing Logan could think was Virgil smelled so much like Patton.

Logan rolled to the side, up heaving Virgil from on top of him. His knee slammed on the seat, jarring the fluidity of his motions, but the second Logan caught sight of the metal rectangle on the floor he was scrambling for it.

Virgil’s fingers tore through his hair. He missed the lighter. A pastel-rainbow checkered Van swung through his line of vision and his metal lighter went careening across the floor, bouncing off the train attendant’s limp arm colliding with the seat, and then tumbling right to Roman Prince’s feet.

Patton laughed, stamping his pastel shoes and hugging the severed head close to his face.

“Nice try, Logan!” He said, “But it looks like we’re a step a-head!”

Logan felt his breath tear through his throat, tickling that cut on his throat that probably had started bleeding sometime during the tussle. Virgil yanked his hair again and Logan imagined those fingers being burned off, being cut off and cauterizing each bleeding knuckle.

“What’s the matter, Logan? You’re not smiling anymore! You don’t like my puns?” Patton asked, squatting next to Logan’s face. The head banged against Patton’s knee and then hit the ground. “Or you just don’t like me?”

“I find you utterly detestable,” Logan snarled as Virgil yanked his hair at the roots again. His ribs pressed the floor, held in place by Virgil’s surprising amount of weight, his arm pinned to his side in a foolish mistake of his own making.

Patton laughed to his face, that ridiculously grating noise, that was just a decibel short of causing Logan’s ears to bleed. He booped Logan on the nose.

Behind him, Roman picked up the lighter. “Oh please, you were going to set us on fire with this little thing?”

He twisted it in the air, sniffed it, and shrugged with a cocky type of grin. “Oh look at me! I’m Logan Ackroyd! I kill people in the most boring-est way and play with my lighter when I’m bored– oh fuck, oh SHIT!”

Logan saw the flame, the spark that seemed to come alive with a whisper of danger, of delight.

And then he saw it snuff between Roman Prince’s fingers– those very vulnerable fingers with those very vulnerable three nerves– and then Logan saw the entire lighter drop to the floor, and spun into a puddle of the bloody ethanol.

Once, when Logan had been in high school, had been all his teachers favorite quiet kid, had been stupidly trusted with the keys to several class rooms, Logan had broken into the chemistry classroom to remove several chemicals he had a better use for than the teachers did. He had spent the weekend in his backyard setting things on fire, timing it, and picturing what the Baseball Team’s Captain’s face would look like burned out and ashy.

None of them had been quite like watching the Ethanol light up.

It was magical: a sizzle, an explosion, the pinpricking all over his skin like a blanket thrown over him, except that it was nothing more than the heat in the room evaporating the liquid. It was dazzling to watch as it leapt from the puddle, out to the splatters, taking a bite of the train attendant and then consuming the canvas duffle bag that Patton had brought with him whole. It cracked like a whip, churning out blackened smoke, and dancing with that ethereal orange glow.

“Logan!”

Roman’s boots landed next to his face, shocking Logan from that trance. It took him only a moment to reset himself, to curse himself for being so easily distracted. The sliding door had been shoved open, the twins already evacuated from the compartment. Patton’s grinning face appeared in the smoke, his bloody pastel sweater, holding the door open, as if he was just stopping by.

“You can’t smile yet, Lolo!” Patton told him, “My game’s barely even started!”

Virgil appeared again, grabbing Patton by his shoulder, “Come on, the train’s stopping.”

Logan scrambled to his feet, his hand twisting around the nearest item: his bag just inches from the fire and glowing with warmth that made his own skin bubble. His other hand found one of his shirts, his turtleneck and pressed it to his face. He dragged it after him as he threw himself out of the room.

Logan took one last look back, a final glance at that dead body overwhelmed with the dancing light and not a single noise coming from those lungs–not even a crackle of the gases in the stomach– and then shoved the sliding door closed.

Roman and the twins were already down the hall, close to the end of the train car where the door separating the cars provide an ample amount of room for a slim person to climb the safety fence and slip off the train.

Patton was laughing, laughing, laughing.

Logan breathed in the smokey smell of his own shirt, blinked the unnecessary tears from his eyes, and was glad to see the train was just beginning to settle into the deserted train station that was only lit up with four and a half night lights.

He wrapped the bag over his shoulder, stuffed his one shirt in between the unzippered pouch and then swung himself over the edge of the fence. His shoes pushed off the metal bars and he lunged for the station platform with the others.

Virgil had one bag with him, staring up at the flicking light like it had personally offended him. Patton clung to his arm, grinning so widely he might have lit up the entire station by himself. Roman sneered at the ashes on his white shirt, and the searing tiny holes all over his pants– which Logan was almost upset to see. Surely for someone who had fallen into the ethanol, he might have caught fire a bit better? A bit brighter?

“That was another one,” Logan said, once his breath had returned to a functional state.

“What?” Roman asked bitterly.

“Patton referred to me as Lolo.” Logan said, “That makes the score currently the rest of you at two. I am at one.”

Patton laughed like it was some type of joke. He moved just enough that Logan realized his other hand was holding something–the severed head. It bobbled in the air. “Looks like the rest of us are just losing our minds! Isn’t that right, Logan?”

Logan did not dignify that with a response. The head’s eyes stared at the distance train that was sure to blast a fire alarm soon. Logan didn’t want to be there when it did. He nodded towards the exit of the platform, where the rain was pounding exuberantly for the hour of the night. Thunder rumbled overhead.

“So,” Roman said, eyeing the rest of them, “What now? We set the rest of the city on fire?”

“Sleep,” Virgil muttered.

Patton gasped excitedly, “Yes! We can have a sleepover! Remember Virgil? A sleepover! Like when we were kids! With us and our new friends! And Kady Kay!” He swung the head up between them.

“A sleepover?” Logan repeated, as if saying it one more time would allow them to hear how ridiculous that sounded. A bunch of grown men sharing a room? Preposterous!

Virgil looked at him with a crooked, broken smile– something that should have been infested with spiders and cobwebs for all the practice it seemed to have. “Yeah, a sleepover Logan. How else are we gonna make sure you two aren’t gonna run off in the middle of our game?”

Chapter Four

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