#I EXPECTED A HAPPY ENDING BECAUSE NO MOVIES SEEM TO GO INTO THE DARK ROUTE

[fdrsamericanflagduckfloaty]

just watched knock at the cabin aka the movie with bautista and jonathan groff and adult ronald weasley and all i can say is

NATM Jedtavius Knock At The Cabin AU. Octavius as Eric. Jedediah as Andrew. Julia as Wen. The old nightguards can be Leonard/Redmond/Adriane/Sabrina or Kah, Al, Ivan, and Napoleon.

So like KATC AU when

(spoilers in tags and a long ass rant in tags too so)

[meliorist-midoriya]

to you, to the world, to my love (you’re all three)

synopsis: midoriya has always had too much love to give in a world that loved to take. you’re just hoping that he has enough left for you in the end.

pairing: midoriya izuku x reader

genre: fluff with a touch of angst

warnings: some insecurity

word count: 2.5k

notes: happy valentine’s day, everyone! this is my contribution for the pocuties server collab, based off the greek types of love, of which i had the honor of receiving izuku and decided upon agape  please help yourself to the box of chocolates they’re offering for valentine’s, there’s a wide selection of chocolates handmade by talented creators, so i’m sure you’ll find something to your taste! tbh i only managed to finish this fic because i was watching chan’s valentine’s vlive and i was in a super soft mood ;3;

extra: agápe - the ancient greek concept of selfless, universal love.

“Making his debut in the pro hero scene, Pro Hero Deku is blazing a trail straight out of UA—”

“—Pro Hero Deku solved an astounding 30 cases in the past month—”

“Deku’s popularity is skyrocketing, rivaling that of—”

“Hero Deku—”

“Deku—”

“Pro Hero Deku has swept the hero rankings to come out on top as Number 1!”

With a resolute ‘click’ of the remote, the reporters’ overlapping voices cut off as the TV screen faded away, your lonely reflection staring back at you from the blank screen. You, curled up on your empty couch, in your empty apartment with the clock striking what should have been dinner. The TV was only there in an attempt to drown out the crushing silence, the white noise—hellbent on filling the space his presence had left—was deafening.

That attempt failed.

Horribly.

If anything, it just made the sense of wrongness permeating the air even worse. 

(That TV recap of his best moments didn’t help as much as you hoped it would.)

Being alone in this apartment felt… off. As if someone had gouged out what should’ve been there, the ghost of a presence settling a chill into your bones that ran far deeper than just plain loneliness. The foreboding grief of what could be, the fear that you’d resigned yourself to the moment you agreed to follow him on this path, the selfishness gnawing at your conscience every time you saw him run out the door to save the next person, to solve the next case. 

Things like an All Might coffee mug sitting primly next to yours on the drying rack, garishly yellow “tufts” staring back at you with a cracked vengeance. (You’d apologized profusely to him that day, promising to buy him another one. He’d just smiled over his cracked cup of coffee, telling you not to worry about it for the hundredth time.)

Things like his haphazard mess of notes and scrawl spread out on the kitchen counter, the pen sitting next to the half finished page. (You’ve long since learned to leave his notes be, they’ll be tidied up once he’s done… if he’s ever truly done.)

The filled queue of movies and pile of DVDs you’d picked out together, giddy over plans to watch the next time he had a free night. (You remember pretending not to notice him trying to slip another hero documentary near the bottom of the pile, distracting you with talks of popcorn and the night that was supposed to be tonight.)

Deku. The man the world adored, clinging to his promise like a lifeline in times of need. 

Midoriya Izuku. The man you loved, who promised you the world.

“It’ll be okay, I’m here.”

His soft promise echoed both in the battlefield and in your darkest hours, a close mirror to a hero of a generation past, yet it was different. It was his own. Comforting, personal, and wholly him. The public, weak and grasping for new support, latched on to the small sliver of hope his hand offered and he just kept giving, giving, giving. It never seemed to stop, and you were scared. 

He was a man with a bleeding heart with all the love to give and more. To the civilians, to the villains, to anyone in need.

Now, you needed his promise more than ever. A reassurance whispered into reunions and the thousandth hospital visit, over fresh scars and searing kisses. A promise that he would come home. You didn’t want to think of all the times he came so, so close to breaking that promise, even before you two had made it, before you two had even promised yourselves to each other in your UA days.

You pulled the blanket a little tighter around you, staring down at your phone with no real intent in mind as you scrolled. The video playing one of his interview clips (bashfully reciting his “catchphrase,” how cute) cut his voice short as you scrolled past to move on to the next, wincing at the next tweet on your timeline. Him, battered and bloody, as he pulled a child from the aftermath of the battle he’d just won. 

You still need to wrap that new mug you got him as a gift. You still had to listen to him bounce his ideas off of you. You still had to move that hero documentary to the top of the pile. You still—

“Hero Deku saves 30 people, no casualties,” A soft murmuring of the headline shattered the silence, and you smiled to yourself, giggling at all the replies joking of how he threw himself into the fray a little more responsibly and singing their praises.

It’ll be okay.

“Ugh, those reporters are at it again.” 

At your best friend’s exasperated groan, you followed their gaze over to see— ah. 

A small swarm of reporters had worked their way into the fans crowding your boyfriend, their press badges reading every tabloid magazine on this side of the city and prying questions falling off their tongue like poison. From what you could hear over their overlapping clamoring, they were trying to dig into his private life.

Again. 

Deku, the darling of the masses, all sweet smiles and sincere words amidst his strength. Deku, the number one hero with the tightest lock on his private life, which came as a surprise to both everyone and no one.

It was a given, considering his position at the peak of hero society.

It was also a complete shock, considering his tendency to ramble into tangents that had his PR team withering.

Which seemed to help in times like these, now that you thought about it, laughing to yourself as you watched the reporters’ expressions darken in defeat the longer he continued to talk around their questions. Quite a long stretch from stiffly standing on the practice stage at UA all those years ago, frozen from nerves. You idly mused to this to yourself, taking a sip of your drink as you dragged your gaze back over to your best friend.

“Did you choose this cafe because it’s right along Izuku’s patrol route?” They stiffened, and you couldn’t help but laugh at their obvious intentions.

“Maybe, or it could’ve been just a coincidence.” The next teasing jab was halfway off your tongue when they cut you off before you could give into the urge, the words dying in your throat. “When was the last time you saw him anyway? I know you two live together but Todoroki told me he practically lives at the agency with how swamped they are. Are you okay?”

You purse your lips, staring down at the ice swirling around in your cup as you idly stirred it round. As if the sloshing liquid could whisper the answer you wish you knew.

“...Yeah.” They cocked a brow, and you took another sip to try and delay your time. “It’s not like either of us can help it. Izuku’s number one, so this was bound to happen.”

(The clamoring from the reporters grew ever louder. Persistent, that bunch.)

Their expectant (doubting) gaze was met with your own steady one, and you smiled. Whether it was out of consolation or resignation was anyone’s guess.

“We’re okay, I promise.”

You should really be getting to sleep. 

Really, you should.

At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past several hours, tossing and turning in your bed with nothing but winter-cold sheets and a gnawing loneliness to keep you company. You know you should be sleeping when the clock on the bedside table reads an ungodly hour and there was work to be done in the morning. You know you should be sleeping when the moon disappears from the night sky and leaves you with nothing but the city lights to dimly illuminate the dark room.

You really know you should be sleeping when you hear the front door click open, Izuku shuffling around the apartment to get ready for whatever minimal amount of sleep he’d get before he had to be up and running soon after.

Despite this, sleep still refuses to come, and you don’t bother pretending to be asleep when he slides into bed next to you. Instead, you turn over and curl into his chest, stifling the guilt that bubbles up when he jumps in surprise.

“Something keeping you up?” Oh, he sounds so tired, and part of you wishes you could just make it all go away. The weight of the world rests heavy on his shoulders, and deep down, you wonder if you’re part of that burden. You curl a little closer, as if trying to smother the thoughts that crashed upon you, spilling over the crack in the dam that only widened the more you spoke.

“Jus’ a little lonely, is all.” Your voice is too quiet, brittle, and you pray to every deity that would listen that he would drop it. That he wouldn’t take on yet another burden when he was already carrying Altas’s share of the world.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Of course, the gods are hardly ever so merciful—to them you are just another wishful mortal in the realm of the holy and damned—and Izuku’s hand rests on your cheek with a tenderness that makes you want to cry.

“...Why?” 

The confusion that falls over his expression (gaunt, tired, and God, should you even be doing this right now?) is immediate, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze with yours, like he could find the answer in city lights dancing over your face. His thumb strokes soft patterns over your cheek—as if brushing off the layers you’d built to protect your soul—and you lean into his soft touch with a sigh.

“Why what?”

The words spill from your lips unbidden, your hesitations softened by the comfort of his touch, the sudden drowsiness, and the emotion that near overwhelms you.

“Why do you still try to do everything yourself? When there’s so many people out there, ready to support you?” His breath hitches in shock, but it’s too late to go back now. You reach up to hold the hand cradling your cheek, distantly remembering a time when he was too insecure of his scarred and crooked hands to even hold your hand.

He’s come a long way, indeed.

“I love you, Izuku. I just don’t know if that can hold up against your love for the world.” 

Something in his gaze softens, to your surprise. His smile is even softer.

“What would you do if you’re both?”

“Wh— Izuku—”

He continues, and you listen, raptured by his words spoken into the glow of the blue hour.

“Yes, I know that at the end of the day, peace and safety has to come first, but—” His smile widens into something bashful, a smile that never failed to send butterflies scattering through your heart. “—who says you can’t be right along with them?” 

He bumped his forehead with yours, smiling emerald eyes gazing into your own with such love—dizzying and overpowering and so, so warm. With the steady thrum of your heartbeat matching his, you found yourself falling even deeper once again.

“You know me, I can never compromise when it comes to what’s important to me.”

You laugh, something watery, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, temple, cheek, with a last, smiling kiss on your lips.

“How greedy.” He laughs into your lips, pulling away to hold you closer.

“Just for you.”

There’s so many things you could’ve said, as you watched the rest of the night sky fade into the deep blues of dawn. But, you decide, the comforting silence was best left as is, only broken by one resounding comfort.

It’ll be okay.

“You know, it would’ve been nice to know that you had taken the day off before I had that whole guilt spiral last night.”

“It turned out okay though, didn’t it?” He turned back to flash you that cheeky grin of his, half-hidden by his winter coat and backed by the glow of the setting sun. You just rolled your eyes with a laugh before jogging to catch up to him, slipping you hand out of your pocket to interlace your fingers with his.

“Yeah, it did.” 

The walk was silent as you two strolled down the familiar path, winding down after a whole day spent with each other. It was romantic of him, now that you thought about it, to take the whole Valentine’s Day off just for you. You hummed as you leaned onto him, giddy and content at the thought. 

In love, if you were to be so bold.

(Granted, he had to wear a mask and a cap the entire time to hide from the prying eyes of the public, but you made do.)

The sight of aged, familiar scenery pulled you from your musings, and you tugged at his hand to grab his attention, pointing at the quaint bench surrounded by bare gingko trees.

“Hey, wasn’t this the park where you confessed?” At your words, he froze and glanced over at the familiar scenery, eventually burying his face into his free hand with a groan once the old memories clicked in his head.

“Oh, don’t remind me. It’s still embarrassing to look back on.”

“What? I thought you were cute!” You laughed, nudging him to follow as you led him over to the small park, brushing off the dust to sit on the bench before patting the space next to you. Izuku obliged, and you almost automatically curled into his side, as if by habit.

“Did we really walk all the way here from the station?” His disbelieving tone made you look up at him, his expression one of nostalgic awe, before casting your attention back to the aged scenery, humming in agreement as you idly picked out what’s changed and what’s stayed in the years that have passed.

“I guess we never really forget, huh?”

“I forgot the sunset looked the best from here.”

“I hope you didn’t forget all the memories we made here.” He tore his attention from the sunset to gape down at you, scandalized.

“Of course not!” 

“Really?” He arched a brow at the teasing lilt to your voice and the mischievous grin playing at your lips, “So you didn’t forget accidentally firing an Air Force shot at me when we first met because you were training?”

He buried his face in his hands again with another embarrassed groan.

“I hoped you would forget that, at least!” You just laughed, hugging him closer as if to console him from your teasing. Before long, the atmosphere settled back into a quiet reminiscence, indulging in the nostalgia of memories past in this little park. The silence that was once deafening alone, now softened by the comfort of his presence at your side.

“We’ve made so many memories in this park, huh?” At your soft hum of agreement, he continued. Was his voice shaking? “It wouldn’t hurt to make more, would it?”

“What do you me—”

Your question cut itself short as you saw what he held out to you. 

A little velvet box, sitting open in his hand. You dragged your suddenly watery gaze back up to Izuku, his once bashful smile now wobbly with nerves. 

So familiar in this little park, yet so new.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It was just a small walk down memory lane, the street lights blinking on one by one in the wake of the fiery sunset as you two walked the familiar path together. Yet there was something buzzing anew in the air, humming through your soul as you held out your hand to the sun, admiring the way the gem on your ring finger sparkled in the fading sunset. In the other, you interlaced your fingers with his.

Yeah… 

You caught Izuku’s soft gaze, smiling and in love.

We’ll be okay.

[harpidiem]

Hi, you and I seem to have very similar tastes in art and in other things and as a begging artist I would like to know your art journey and any resources you used such as books and things or where you get inspiration from, thanks in advance

Hello! I'd be happy to!

I've been drawing since I was a kid, but I only started drawing seriously when I was about 12 (I wanted to become an animator, I didnt know that jobs like illustration on concept art were a thing). I never took a formal art class, expect for one that was on acrylic painting, and I didnt really learn that much there, and it was only for 4 weeks. (Maybe I'll learn to love acrylic someday, but not today).

For inspiration, I write down favorite memories of mine, and sometimes unimportant ones (memories of sitting at a gas station on a hot summer day, waiting on my dad to buy some sodas so we can get going on our trip; walking under football bleachers at night), and most times I'm a little too scared to post these because they're personal, but im working myself up to it.

I collect moodboards on interest, just whatever catches my eye, even if the aesthetics don't match. When I'm out, I take pictures of places I would like to draw later (abandoned farmhouses, old mill houses, a lighthouse far off in the water alone, a stretch of road completely covered in graffiti).

Books! Ok so I have a lot of art books but few that have actually been beneficial, so I'll post those here.

Color And Light by James Gurney: A Guide For The Realist Painter; I cannot reccomend this book more!! This book is excellent, it talks about how to paint different light conditions, and how it effects light scientifically. Very easy to understand, and Gurney is a master painter.

Adorning The Dark by Andrew Peterson. Another excellent book, and one I don't think I'll ever be over. While this is a book from a Christian standpoint, and I don't know your opinions on religion, this book for me was unputdownable. I read it cover to cover in a day, and did the same thing the next day. Reflections on self and the creative process that takes place in the mind and spiritually, and how we effect others. A simply wonderful book. Id go as far as to say life-changing.

Any Ghibli art book (I own Howl's Moving Castle, and Spirited Away.) These are excellent if youre wanting to look into illustration or character design. It doesnt give much advice, but I find myself inspired every time I open the ghibli books I have.

Sketching From The Imagination: Characters by 3d Total Publishing; this book has many MANY artists of various art styles, and they give their process and advice! Little nuggets of "Oh! Yea that makes sense." are scattered throughout the book, at least for me.

As for fiction books, I read a wide range of genres, so I can't really make a HUGE list of books I reccomend, but I can give a few that I feel have been important to me personally the last few years.

Jeff Vandermeer's Southern Reach Trilogy, and Borne Trilogy. Rick Bragg's All Over But The Shout'n, and Ava's Man, Flannery O' Connor's A Good Man Is Hard To Find, C. S Lewis's A Space Trilogy, and Madeline D'Engle's A Wrinkle In Time. Comics like Batman: The Long Halloween, Calvin and Hobbes, and Minna Sundberg's Stand Still Stay Silent have been great to read as well!

Movies and TV shows are HUGE inspirations for me, but as a general guide, I adore movies like Alien, Fury Road, Pan's Labyrinth, Lord of The Rings, Oh Brother Where Art Thou?, and TV shows like Stranger Things, Over The Garden Wall, and The Twilight Zone. Video games are important as well, like Resident Evil, Silent Hill, Kentucky Route Zero, and Death Stranding.

Anyway, heres what I have to say: Use everything. Dont be afraid to deviate from your "aesthetics". Yes, you'll feel a bit lost at times, like you have no identity, but thats a good thing for growth. When I was 12, I was dead set that my thing was extremely cartoon art styles, pokemon, and drawing dragons. While these are still great and huge inpirations, if I didn't branch out, I would be stuck in a rut.

It is not important to have a set aesthetic. Youre not an aesthetic Instagram page at heart! Find what you are drawn to, what imagery catches your eye, what symbols have meaning to you. I will change throughout my life, but my core values are still there. And I think its important to understand that, to loosely quote Andrew Peterson, that self expression is an endless, and often fruitless chase. You gotta shift your direction outward, and you'll discover things about you, good and bad.

Wow, this post is getting very very long. Apologies. Anyway, one more note. Just explore. Collect things, look for details! Note that swirl in the sand, a wrinkle next to an eye, get a feel for a place or thing. I have dozens of books that make no sense together (2 books on sharks, 1 on specifically waterplants, 5 on animal species, 2 on surgery, 1 on the history of medicine, 1 on car mechanics, 1 on martial arts, 3 cookbooks, and a book on the history of wood working.) Yes, I tend to hoard books. Get a book from the library on a subject you know nothing about once a week. Glance through it, take at least 20 minutes hopping page to page, even randomly. You'll find something! Just keep your eyes open, dont stop learning! I encourage wiki rabbit holes 100%.

And please, please dont be afraid to post new things. In the end it doesn't matter if your followers are unused to the new thing you like! As long as you are conveying meaning behind what you create, you'll find your way. Im uh, still learning this. People latch onto concepts more than skill, I've found.

So yea, thats just what I have to say. Sorry for the long, LONG post. I hope this helped!!

[randomnotesofmyown]

Fate/Stay Night - additional comments on selected characters

Tohsaka Rin

Emiya Shirou got to survive the Holy Grail War thanks in a very large to Tohsaka Rin. In the early days of that war, she helped the clueless Shirou understood what was going on and formed an alliance with him.

As I see it, Tohsaka Rin, born into a well established mage household, roughly the equivalent of a noble or an aristocratic family in the real world, was raised under the pressure of living up to what her family name stood, and thus she must excel to show she was worthy of inheriting what her forefathers passed down from one generation to the next. Simply put, her life was largely about responsibilty. And she didn't have the choice to walk away from it because she was the sole successor of what her father left behind.

Because of what happened in Fate/Zero and its aftermath, Tohsaka became an orphan at a very young age. Growing up as an orphan and with that huge responsibilty was not easy without any doubt, her remarks about not seeing herself as a fortunate person in Heaven's was thus actually perfectly justifiable.

And except in UBW, Tohsaka didn't have the chance to find her own future, her own happiness with the person she came to love.

Overall impression of Tohsaka after watching (and rewatching) all three routes: she was a kind-hearted, forgiving and caring character. In Saber route, she was the benevolent facilitator; in UBW, even after Shinji played a part in her abduction and threatened to kill her, Tohsaka was willing to risk her life to rescue Shinji, whom she thought an important person for Sakura, her biological younger sister; and in HF, she genuinely cared for Sakura and wanted her to be happy, even though she was nearly killed by Sakura.

Illyasviel von Einzbern

Grew up with a background similar to that of Tohsaka Rin, Illya was shown in UBW as being overwhelmed by what the people around her expected her to fulfill and got killed in a gruesome manner.

In Heaven's Feel, Illya overheard what Fujimura said about Emiya Kiritsugu going overseas time and again until his body failed him and realized she misunderstood him: her father didn't forsake her, he just didn't get see her again after the end of the fourth Holy Grail War. With this new understanding, Illya became willing to sacrifice herself so her half-brother get to survive. After she performed the Third Magic, destroyed the Greater Grail, and closed the Gate, it seemed that Illya had a happy reunion with her mother, Irisviel (So I assumed). So in a way, Illya had a happy ending.

Emiya Shirou

Just by watching Heaven's Feel the movie alone, I couldn't fully understand what happened to him after he used Archer's arm. So I googled and read the text records of the events in Heaven's Feel. I learned that each time he used Archer's arm, he lost some of his own memories. Near the end of the war, after several uses of Archer's arm, he lost the memory of Kiritsugu's last words, and Archer's Reality Marble, the Unlimited Blade Works, materialized on his body. In order to rescue the person he loved, Shirou paid a very, very heavy personal price.

In all three routes, Shirou got to remain alive because of other persons: Tohsaka, Saber, and Illya. Yet it was in Heaven's Feel that Shirou actually became a hero, not for some abstract ideal, not some strangers who might be killing each other off, but for a particular individual who meant a lot to him: Matou Sakura.

Matou Sakura

Her personal tragedy was determined when her biological father Tohsaka Tokiomi decided to send her away for adoption by the Matous. Until Sakura succumbed to the dark power planted within her, she saw Tohsaka Rin, her biological sister, as her hero.

During the War, Sakura devoured Servants and countless humans, and nearly killed Tohsaka. Though thanks to Illya's actions, she got the chance to see cherry Blossom together with "Shirou", whose body got destroyed as the War concluded and whose soul got transferred onto to a mannequin.

For Sakura, Tohsaka, and "Shirou" in particular, became living reminders of what she once did. The guilt would remain for the rest of her days. That's why I felt some lingering sorrow when I finished watching Spring Song.

Edited Dec 16, 2021

[set-phasers-to-whump]

something like family

prompt: drugging (from day 26)

whumpee: neal caffrey

fandom: white collar

hi! i’m gonna be honest the last few fics i’ve written have felt super hard to write and i haven’t loved them but this fic was so enjoyable and easy to write and i am very happy with it! these characters are just my absolute faves and i love writing them so much :) i hope you like this! (also this fic is set well into the show, probably some point in s5).

Before Neal even has time to process what’s happening, let alone fight back, he’s being dragged off of the sidewalk and into an alley and someone is pinning him against a brick wall and then stabbing a needle into his arm, right through his suit coat and shirt, and a few seconds pass and then they drop him and he sinks to the ground, less because he can’t hold himself up and more because he hadn’t expected this to be over so quickly. 

The person is already gone. His arm hurts, and he briefly entertains the idea that someone had grabbed him off of the street to give him some sort of forcible vaccination, because to be honest, that’s what this feels like. A quick poke in the upper arm, exactly the same as a flu shot or something similar. He doubts that this is the case, but he has no idea what in the hell he has been injected with. 

He thinks for a moment. If he’s been drugged (which seems like the most likely option), he has a very limited amount of time to do something before the drug starts to take effect. Now, the most logical thing to do is call 911 and tell them what’s happened. But then they’ll take him outside of his radius and he’ll have to explain to Peter and everybody that no, he hadn’t tried to run away, but rather had been on his way to the hospital because he’d been drugged. That seems like a lot of work, not to mention a lot of stress to put everyone through. 

So 911 is out. But there’s always Peter. It’s late evening, which means he’s at home, probably relaxing and enjoying a peaceful night with El. Neal hates the thought of interrupting them, but he’s also starting to feel...something, so he decides to just get going. 

Luckily, he knows how to get to the Burkes’ from just about anywhere in the city. A few seconds of orienting himself in his surroundings and he’s got the route completely down in his rapidly-fogging brain. 

The walk to their house takes much longer than it usually would. Neal has definitely been drugged. He’s tired and can barely remember what it is he’s supposed to be doing. He can’t focus on anything and he feels kind of detached from the world. Not to mention every other step he’s tripping over something, stumbling all over the sidewalk. 

“Hey, mister, you okay?” someone asks, and Neal makes out the blurry shape of a person in front of him. 

“‘M good,” he mutters, pushing past them. He just has to get to the Burkes’ house. That’s his goal, and he intends on fulfilling it. He can’t stop and talk to some random stranger on the street about whether or not he’s okay!

The person says something else to him, which Neal can’t understand, and then he’s past them, and the lights from cars and street lamps and houses are blurring and swirling together around him, and it’s kind of nice. Very pretty, he thinks. He feels oddly calm about all this, despite the fact that he is tired and confused and disconnected from just about everything, kind of like he’s floating. Maybe he is, he figures. But he looks down at his feet and sees that they are still on the ground. 

And then he’s walking into a newspaper box, too distracted by staring at his feet to notice himself drifting across the pavement. The metal clangs when he hits it, and the sharp edge of the box digs into his skin. He kicks the offending box, mutters that it better watch where it’s going, then continues along his route.

After an eternity of walking, Neal’s blurry eyes land on the familiar shape of the Burkes’ house. It’s almost completely dark outside now, but the house is illuminated by street lamps, and there are lights on inside. It looks warm and inviting, and for the first time that night, Neal hurries up. 

Going up the first few stairs feels like it takes no time at all, and then he reaches the top step and catches his foot on the bricks and then he’s falling onto the front stoop, awkwardly sticking out his arms to catch his fall. 

His palms sting and his chin hurts and feels damp and he just lies there for a moment, trying to work out what exactly had happened. He can’t remember, but he knows he’s not supposed to be lying face down outside the Burkes’ door, so he staggers to his feet, nearly stumbles backwards down the stairs, catches himself on the railing, and finally reaches out to knock on the door. 

--

Peter and El are settling down on the couch, about to watch a movie, when there’s a knock at the door. They share a glance. It’s 8:30, which isn’t an unreasonable time for someone to stop by, but they’re not expecting any visitors or deliveries. 

Peter gets up to answer the knock. The door swings open, revealing none other than Neal Caffrey, eyes unfocused, chin bleeding, clothes rumpled, and generally a mess. 

“Hi,” Neal says, with a soft smile. “C’n I come in?” The way he’s speaking is awkward, like he’s having to concentrate very hard to work out what to say and how to say it, and his words are slurring together. Taking this into account, along with his appearance, Peter’d say that his CI has probably been drugged. A thousand questions run through his mind, but Neal is looking at him expectantly, so Peter gestures for him to come inside. 

“Who is it, honey?” El asks from the living room. Neal’s face lights up at the sound of her voice, and before Peter can stop him, he’s stumbling (rather quickly, considering his current state) in her direction. 

“El! Hi,” Neal greets her, and Peter comes into the room behind him. El stands up from the couch and turns to face the two of them. The smile on her face quickly fades when she takes in Neal’s appearance, and then she’s walking up to him, placing a hand on his cheek, and asking him if he’s okay.

“Now that ‘m here,” is Neal’s reply. 

El gives Peter a look. “What happened?” she whispers, and he shrugs. 

“I think he’s been drugged,” he whispers back. 

Neal looks between the two of them, confusion evident on his face. “What’re you talkin’ about?” he asks, stumbling towards the couch and sinking heavily down onto it. 

Peter and El follow him, standing in front of him. “Do you remember what happened before you came here?” Peter asks. Neal’s face scrunches up in concentration, but eventually he shakes his head. “Dunno,” he says. “Walked.”

“Do you remember if someone gave you something? If someone might have drugged you?”

Neal shrugs. “Feel funny,” he replies, and then he doesn’t say anything more. His eyes roam around the living room like he’s taking it in for the very first time, and Peter gets the sense that he’s not going to be getting anything more out of him. 

He and El share another look. “We should take him to the hospital, right?” El whispers. “We don’t know what he’s been given, or why.”

Peter nods in agreement. “We’ll take him. Let me call a couple people and let them know where we’re going first.”

--

Peter steps to the side, phone to his ear, and El crouches down in front of Neal. His hazy-looking eyes find her face, and he smiles at her. At least he’s not scared or upset, El thinks. Whatever drug he’s been given seems to be relaxing him, which she’s grateful for. He’s already clearly confused and disoriented, and he doesn’t need to add fear to the mix. 

She gives him a good once-over as Peter explains their current situation to whoever’s on the other end of the phone. The palms of his hands are red and scraped, the toes of his shoes are scuffed, his jacket and shirt are rumpled, and blood is dripping from his chin down his neck and under his collar, staining the fabric red. His expression is unfocused and spacey, but it’s lighter than normal, like a weight has been lifted off of him. That’ll be the drugs, too, El figures, though she wishes that lightness would remain on Neal’s face forever (minus, of course, the confusion and the spaciness). 

Peter finishes his call and walks back over to the two of them, placing a hand on El’s shoulder. She looks up at him, getting to her feet. 

“We’re good to go,” Peter says quietly. To Neal, he says, “hey, buddy, we’re going to take you to the hospital, okay? We need to make sure you’re not in any kind of danger.”

El expects Neal to resist, to insist that he is staying right here, and she’s more than a little surprised when all he says is, “okay.”

Peter’s surprised, too, because he repeats himself: “we’re going to the hospital, Neal.”

“Okay,” Neal agrees again, and the briefest look of irritation crosses his face, like he can’t believe Peter thinks he hadn’t understood. He staggers to his feet, and would fall forwards onto the coffee table, but El catches him under the elbows and holds him up until he gets reasonably balanced. 

Once Neal is no longer in immediate danger of collapsing in the middle of their living room, the three of them slowly and carefully make their way out the front door and to the car. After a brief discussion, Peter takes the driver’s seat, and El and Neal sit in the back, so she can keep an eye on him and Peter can keep both eyes on the road. 

Neal sits with his head pressed against the window, watching the lights of the city flash by. His breath is fogging up the glass and one of his hands taps an uneven and uncoordinated rhythm against it. That soft smile is back on his face and the lights bounce off of his skin and he looks completely peaceful, the most relaxed El’s ever seen him while awake. It makes her heart hurt that he has to be drugged to be like this, but she can’t help smiling at him. 

They come to a stop at a red light and Peter half-turns in his seat to look into the backseat. His eyes are concerned but gentle, and they meet El’s gaze, and his expression softens - not quite a smile, but almost. “How’s he doing?” he whispers, and El looks to her right and realizes that Neal has fallen asleep, still leaning against the window. 

“He’s okay,” she whispers back, and this time Peter does smile, quickly and softly. 

The light turns green, then, and they both share another quick look at the sleeping young conman, who, at some point, has stopped being Peter’s CI and become something like family. A second smile passes between them, and doesn’t fade away this time. Someone behind them honks, and they start moving again, making their way steadily towards the hospital.

aaaa thanks so much for reading this! in case you’re curious, neal has been drugged with rohypnol, which apparently can be injected, according to the department of justice. you learn something new every day apparently. anyways i hope you liked this!!!

[secretlittlerandezvous]

Evermore - Jamie Benn

Summary: Back in summer 2013 Jamie ends his relationship with Y/n. Seven years later they run to each other on the street and both of them wonder what would happen if they tried to get back together.

Words: 2964

“We've been here before, you and me together. And we will again. Somewhere somehow we'll meet again.” - Leohearts on Tumblr

End of 2013

Y/n forgot about the time on July 22 at 5:33 pm. That was when her whole life fell apart and her world turned upside down. That was the moment he broke up with her and left her alone, confused and broken. It seemed so easy for him to walk away and forget about their love, but for Y/n it was a heartbreak she’s never experienced before. She was hurting, but everyone around her kept moving forward, life went on and on and Y/n stayed stuck in place. Summer ended as quickly as it came, the leaves turned brown and fell from the trees in the blink of an eye, Halloween passed and Thanksgiving was near but she didn’t acknowledge it and refused to make plans and she decided to stay home alone and cry. She didn’t want anyone to see her because the breakup seemed to take away all of her confidence and she feared everyone would look at her and think “what a fool, she thought she was going to get a fairytale ending with her hockey player prince”. As if the breakup put her in a bad light, as if it meant she wasn’t worthy of the love and the good company of her friends. The only reason she got out of bed every morning was her job that she didn’t enjoy anymore and for every minute she spent there she prayed for the end so she could go home and curl up in bed. No one saw her smile, no one heard her laugh, she stopped joining her colleagues for lunch and she avoided every conversation. She spent most days in her bed, crying and screaming whenever she needed to, and kept replaying every moment before the breakup to find the one where she went wrong. Maybe one day she’d find the mistake and it’d give her a fair chance of avoiding it the next time she’s in a relationship. Because what if it truly was all her fault? What if she ruined it? On the other days, she wrote letters, sometimes to Jamie, sometimes to herself just to get her thoughts out of her mind, and sometimes she stared at the blank paper and didn’t write a single word. All letters ended up in fire the moment she finished writing them.

Y/n used to believe she wasn’t the type of person who lets a heartbreak ruin her life but the end of her and Jamie’s love story had a bigger impact on her than she expected. She kept repeating to herself it was just a breakup, just a guy, just a temporary feeling but nothing could ease her pain. The pain was so overwhelming she was sure it would last for evermore.

The situation significantly changed in December. With all the Christmas decorations, songs, and movies that followed her everywhere, it was hard not to feel the joy. Suddenly she started craving the company of others and started hanging out with all her friends whenever there was a chance, sometimes she walked around the city on her own, she shopped for gifts and before she realized it, she was being her old self again; happy and cheerful. Her attitude towards the breakup changed as well although it highly depended on her mood each day. When Y/n felt good and confident, she wondered what she was even fighting for. For a relationship that ended weeks before he said it out loud? For a man who got so disgustingly comfortable in their relationship and took her for granted? On days like this, she refused to blame herself. On the days when she wasn’t in a good mood, she still cried a little and some doubts returned. But no matter what day she was having she knew now she was going to get through it.

Jamie on the other hand was doing better than ever before. He felt free to do whatever he wanted, he could go out and party all night every night, he had a different girl in his bed every time he went out, there was no one holding him back. In September he was named the sixth captain of the Dallas Stars, the new season started, and he felt like he owned the world. He had everything he ever wanted. But most of his old friends could hardly recognize him. He was the opposite of who he used to be. Cocky and foolish. Jamie naturally refused it and insisted on his truth: he was still the same person. Everyone could see how lost he was without Y/n, they saw it long before Jamie did. Jamie believed he was happy, however the breaking point came in December, just around Christmas. All his teammates were getting ready to spend the holidays with their wives and kids, girlfriends, and families, they all had someone to go to, someone who would greet them at home. But Jamie returned to an empty apartment every night and he started missing Y/n singing in the shower, her silly dance moves while she prepared the food, or her sleeping peacefully while he was about to leave for the morning skate. He missed her face and her voice and her support and love. Everything that he took for granted. He got overly comfortable and believed she would stay by his side no matter what.

And so, while Y/n started to feel better, Jamie started to feel the consequences of their breakup and the pain of all the things he lost.

Presence

Another horrible date, another idiot her friends set her up with. Another wasted day and time and a wasted outfit on someone who didn’t deserve it, not even a tiny bit. Y/n felt comfortable with being single, but her friends believed it was time for her to start seeing someone again. Since her brokeup with Jamie, she only had one longer relationship that lasted for almost three years. But that was three years ago and since then she only went on dates, but she was never satisfied with anyone. And unlike her friends, she already gave up on the hope of ever finding her soulmate.

On her way home, Y/n decided to take the longer route home to properly clear her mind and get some fresh air she so desperately needed. It was late spring, and the weather was nicely warm, the trees were green, and flowers bloomed around the sidewalk. Her mood was significantly decreased by that idiot her friends believed he could be the one, but she still couldn’t resist to smile as she looked around herself. New life always began with spring for her. And as she looked around, she noticed a familiar figure standing just across the street. A tall, muscular figure, dark hair, and tattoos covering his arms, the way he posed as he stood still. Y/n froze in place when she realized it was truly him, her heart started beating faster and she debated with herself whether she should quickly leave or continue walking and go to him to say hi. She then smiled even brightly and with confidence went to him. After all, there was no grudge against him anymore, no anger or pain, no need to cause a scene. She was at peace and she was now able to look back to 7 years ago and feel joy from all the memories she had of him and them together.

Jamie as if he knew felt a familiar presence behind him and slowly turned around. He didn’t expect to see anyone, and he believed it was just a random feeling but there she was. She was more beautiful than he remembered, her hair was longer, her face more mature now but the smile and bright eyes didn’t change at all. Panic took over Jamie when he realized she was heading his way and he wanted to run away. He wasn’t quite ready to face her because even after 7 years he couldn’t believe he made the mistake of letting her go. He knew now she was the love of his life and foolishly he let her go and he couldn’t believe his stupidity and naivety he was better off alone. What was going to happen now? Was he going to meet her on a beautiful spring day with the birds singing, trees blooming and the sunshine warming up his skin and learn some awful truth? What if she was on her way to pick up her children from kindergarten or school? What if he was about to learn she’s happily married and has everything she ever wanted? Of course, he would be happy for her but the selfish side of him couldn’t accept she would have that with someone else and that he was going to spend the rest of his life searching for her in some other girl and then die unhappy and alone.

“Hey there stranger,” her sweet voice brought him back to reality from his thoughts and sent shivers down his spine. It was like seeing a ghost.

“Y/n!” He breathed out and without thinking, he took a step closer to her, wrapped his hands around her, and gently picked her up. Y/n closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the moment and enjoyed his touch, his strong hands around her body, his beard slightly scratching her soft skin, his cologne, and the nostalgia. Jamie did the same, his heart was beating fast and he knew he would have trouble with letting her go once again. “How are you?” He asked as he put her back on her feet, unwillingly and full of fear he would never get to do this again.

“I’m good,” she said confidently. “Really good. I was just on a date.” She laughed.

“A date huh?” He said raising his eyebrow hoping she would give him more details.

“Yeah,” she nodded. Y/n knew she should’ve told him it was a bad date and that the guy was an idiot but Jamie was the last person she wanted to talk to about it and after all, he didn’t need to know anything about her personal life anyway. “But let’s not talk about that. How are you, Jamie? I’m so happy to see you!”

“I’m good too! Things are great with hockey and everything, you know? Couldn’t ask for more I guess.”

The two fell into a silence that was far from comfortable. They randomly and shyly looked at each other from time to time desperately trying to figure out what to say next. After so many years, after all the pain and moving on what could two people possibly talk about? They were done with the small talk and although neither one of them wanted to part ways just yet, they had no idea what to talk about. Y/n deep down knew meeting him would cause some damage, it would bring back some bad memories and possibly even pain and it would certainly leave her wondering what could’ve been if he didn’t end their relationships. Jamie wanted to grab her hand and never let go because he knew now without a single doubt that it was the biggest mistake of his life to let her go and even after seven years he didn’t fully move on.

“I should probably head home,” Y/n whispered unsurely.

“No! Don’t go, not yet,” Jamie said quickly. “We haven’t seen each other for so long we can catch up a little, grab a coffee or something and talk.”

“Jamie,” she said, rubbing the back of her head as always when she found herself in an uncomfortable situation. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Look, after the breakup I was not doing good and it took me so long to get over you. And just seeing you here in front of me is hard because it’s making me realize that it never faded, you know? Something’s still there, some feeling, and I can’t risk getting my heart broken again.” It took all her strength to say it out loud but she had it rehearsed in her mind for such a long time. After the breakup, Y/n often imagined running into him on the street and this was the speech she prepared and memorized.

Jamie knew this was coming, he deserved it. He deserved to know how much he hurt her and how much he screwed up. He had no illusions about himself anymore, for a few years now, he admitted to himself he was arrogant to everyone around him. But what for? It was probably too late. A girl like her, so kind and beautiful, funny and supportive couldn’t be alone.

“I know.” He nodded and looked away. He couldn’t bear looking at her, but he wasn’t gonna give up just yet. “Y/n, I know I made a terrible mistake and I’ve been regretting it for so long and if I had the chance, I would take it back. I was stupid, selfish and I took you for granted. I know it! But I also know that if you gave me a chance, I would be better this time.” This was the first time Jamie shamelessly and bravely admitted his feelings. He was never good with words, expressing his emotions, and avoided it as much as he could but 7 years was a long time to think and to change himself for the woman he loved. In the end, this was probably his only chance.

“I can’t Jamie, I’m sorry, I can’t do this again,” tears appeared in her eyes as she said the last word but she still found some courage to fight it back and smiled at Jamie before she walked away praying he won’t go after her. And he didn’t.

A couple of days later

A few days later Y/n found herself confused about her feelings for Jamie and she couldn’t stop thinking about him. He still had her wrapped around his finger. All these years of moving on and believing she was over him were destroyed. She thought deeply and constantly, wrote dozens of reasons why it’s not a good idea and why she could give him another chance, she cried, tried to forget, talk about it with her friends. But nothing worked. The memory of him kept coming back to her even in her dreams and ever since she ran into him she had a few dreams about the meeting, about their life together, and even a dream of their breakup. She was screwed once again.

“So, what you’re gonna do about it?” Y/n’s friend finally asked after the curiosity took over her. “I mean you’re thinking about him, right?”

“Of course, I am thinking about him! How could I not? It’s been 7 years and I was over him, over us and then I meet him for a few minutes, and he messes me up like this? What am I supposed to do now?” Y/n yelled out. Deep down she already knew what to do but didn’t want to admit it to anyone. Not even herself.

“Whatever you decide to do, I know it’ll be the right thing,” the friend smiled at her warmly.

That night Y/n couldn’t sleep. She kept tossing and turning in her bed, she tried to read a book, watch a movie, listen to a podcast but nothing could put her to sleep. The decision she made deep down haunted her because she knew if it was a bad one it would end in a total disaster and she wasn’t sure if she would survive it the second time around. And so, the next day she decided to go see Jamie in person and clean up the air.

Y/n arrived to the American Airlines Center early in the morning hoping she would find Jamie there. When they were dating, he liked to go there before anyone else arrived to have time for himself and Y/n hoped this habit didn’t change and she would find him on the ice.

“I hoped I’d find you here,” she said with relief when she spotted Jamie on the ice all by himself. “Some habits just don’t change huh?”

“Y/n!” Jamie said with surprised face. He was lost in his thoughts and didn’t notice her standing just a few feet away from him. It brought back so many memories of her coming with him to early morning skates, to his games, or when they sneaked in at night and skated until the late hours of the night. It reminded him of her smile and excitement, he heard her laugh and saw the sparkles in her eyes. “What you’re doing here?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the last time we saw each other,” Y/n admitted. “And I came to the conclusion that I might survive giving you or perhaps giving us a second chance.” She smiled at Jamie and then quickly stopped as she realized he could’ve changed his mind and not want her back anymore. “If you still want that.”

Jamie’s face lit up immediately after she finished talking. He hoped and prayed for a second chance and he knew that if he was gonna get it he would make sure to treat Y/n right and appreciate her as he should’ve. He then quickly skated to Y/n and stood in front of her with hope and happiness visible on his face. “I promise I won’t make any stupid mistakes this time.”

“You will make stupid mistakes,” Y/n giggled. “Just don’t ever let me go again.”

“I won’t, I promise you that.”

“Then it’s for evermore,” Y/n whispered and kissed Jamie. And it was right. It felt right. They belonged together.

[babbushka]

The Shape of You (3/12)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader

You do a good job of it, staying out of the way. You’re quiet, you’re unsuspecting, you’re practically invisible; just the way you like it. Until one sunny summer day in 1962, the government base where you work acquires an unusual asset, and everything you know is about to change. In the race to save this lonely, desperate, beautiful man, loyalties are shaken on all sides – and the bonds of true love are tested.

7.4k ; CW: mentions of injury, mentions of past torture, angst

Tumblr Masterlist | Available on AO3

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

When you wake, it is dark once again.

For a moment, you blink and stare at the ceiling, the phantom image of his face swimming in the inky black of night. Holding on to that face, you tentatively reach a hand out into the air, hoping to touch him, hoping to feel something.

In the end, it is nothing but empty air, and your hand drops.

“The only station for when you’re on the go, tune in to AM W-6-Z-O!” The swingin’ dancers on the radio blare once again, an official signal that the time for dreaming is over.

With this new encounter, this new…you don’t even know what it is, you can’t help but feel your pulse quicken. Everything is the same – you will get up to brew your coffee, Armitage will pound against the wall, you will share your breakfast and take three buses to work – but simultaneously, nothing will ever be the same again. Because possibly for the first time in many years, you do not dread the thought of going to work.

Not that you dreaded it, work, not really. It was a good job, an important job, a job that was part of something bigger, much bigger than yourself. But you could not deny the excitement that simmers just below your skin at the thought of it.

The thought of seeing him again.

“You’re chipper this morning.” Armitage scowls as he opens the door for you, a bright cheerful smile on your face.

“Haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean.” You breeze right past him, placing the percolator down on his pot-holder that he keeps on the counter just for this very occasion. Immediately going to his cupboards, you begin to remove the flour and sugar, giving him a knowing glance and asking even though you know the answer, “Pancakes?”

“Please, god knows I’m going to need something sweet today.” He groans, moves to sit at the table.

Sometimes, you can’t help but think how domestic this is. How your friendship had blossomed into a bond so much stronger than you had ever expected. You wonder if Armitage thinks it too, if he ever is reminded of a lifetime ago, when he was married to a beautiful woman and had a house in the suburbs, if when you pour his coffee and flip pancakes on the stove, his heart aches for that long gone time.

If he does, he says nothing about it, so you don’t bring it up.

“What have they done now?” You ask instead, knowing that this is a topic of conversation in which Armitage will always have something to say, always have something to complain about.

“It’s just these essays. Half the class it would seem, completely missed the point of the extra credit film.” He sighs, gesturing to a stack of papers once again sitting on the kitchen table.

“Oh that’s alright, at least Boris is happy.” Sliding pancakes off of the pan and onto a plate, you douse them in a generous helping of syrup and powdered sugar for the both of you, before moving to sit opposite him at the table.

Just then, the lights flicker on and off, making you both frown. The power had never had much of an issue before, what with the movie theater just downstairs needing those extra generators. You glance out the window, it wasn’t raining, and it wasn’t windy – both telltale signs of potential power failure.

“Do you ever worry about what will happen when he has to shut down the building?” Armitage grumbles, carefully and very specifically cutting his stack of pancakes into wedge pieces.

“No, because he won’t.” You shut that train of thought down at once within him, knowing that while he likes to pretend otherwise, your Professor has a proclivity for the dramatics unlike anyone else you’ve ever met. “He has renters for a reason after all, and the summer tourists bring in enough to make ends meet.”

Armitage thinks about that for a moment or two, before accepting the answer.

“You’re right.” He concedes, sounding resigned.

“I’m always right.” You wink, and the two of you finish your breakfast in companionable silence.

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

When you leave Armitage’s apartment and go back to your own, you cannot deny the rush that is the thought of seeing him again. It seems so silly, and of course it is silly, but something in you wants to look nice for him.

You fix your hair and pick out your cleanest most nicely ironed uniform, concerned for the first time about how it fits you, how it forms to your body. It is a modest uniform – you are a cleaning woman after all – but you find that despite the drab color palette and utilitarian shape, you look good. The clock chimes, and you realize that there isn’t much time to fuss, so instead of standing in front of the mirror, you pick a pair of heels off your grand shoe display, and hope that he finds the bright blue color appealing.

Dawdling had never been a trait of yours before, and now you understand why.

The bus is sitting and waiting at the stop when you exit your apartment building, and you run in those bright blue heels as fast as your legs can take you to make it just in time. The click-clack of your steps on the pavement alert everyone nearby, as you bolt towards the bus. Water on the ground from the night’s dew reflects the colors of the neon signs all around you, and when your foot splashes in one of the light puddles, a rainbow scatters around your ankles.

You make a beeline straight for the doors, which are open and welcoming you like a warm embrace, and only once the momentum of your body has thrown you into your seat, do you let out a long exhale.

“Thank you, I’m so sorry!” You could bury your face into your hands with how embarrassed you are, but your hands are shaking from the adrenaline of nearly missing the bus.

Missing this bus would have been bad, very very bad. It would have meant that you’d be late to work, and you have never once, not in the entire ten years on the job, have you been late for work. Such an irregularity would have raised suspicion, would have called attention to you – more attention than there already was. They wouldn’t like that, it would compromise your larger job, your more important mission -- you could not afford to be late. So, you sigh with relief and will your heart to stop pounding in your chest; all was well, you are on the bus, it did not pull away from the stop without you on it, you will be there on time.

“Good morning Miss (Y/N), no need to apologize, you know I’ll always wait for you.” Mr. Henry’s kind eyes glance at you with amusement through the rearview mirror, and you once again thank your lucky stars to have a friend like him.

Much like Armitage, you had never expected to befriend the bus driver. You had of course planned on being friendly and polite, but the extent to which you enjoyed the elderly man’s company had surprised you. And what’s more, you were constantly surprised by his willingness to be friendly with you in return. It reminded you that perhaps, there was a solidarity at the bottom – when there is no one to look out for the people like you and him, you look out for one another.

Could Mr. Henry have gotten in trouble by waiting for you? Would he be late to his other stops now? These were questions that you couldn’t help but think, but you have to wonder if they were questions he considered. Surely it would have been easier to simply leave you behind, but he hadn’t done such a thing, and you cannot express how grateful you are for that.

You resolve to thank him somehow, some way more meaningful than simply the words. It strikes you then, that despite speaking to one another every day, you still know very little about the man. You know he has a beautiful wife and a blossoming garden, you know he picks up a cup of coffee from the donut shop before starting his route, and you know which music stations he prefers to listen to. But beyond that, you have both remained relatively private.

He was not so different from you in that regard, you suppose.

Most people are not so different from one another, you suppose.

“For absolutely no reason at all, what is your favorite type of baked good, Mr. Henry?” You ask after a few moments, when the bus has left the stop and has continued its route, the Las Vegas strip a myriad of lights and colors, blinking and twirling in the night.

“Oh you don’t have to go doing all that – ”

“But I want to.” You insist, “Please let me?”

He looks up at you once again through the rearview window, and you see the sparkle of a smile in his eye. You wonder when the last time someone did something kind for him was, someone doing it just out of the want to see him happy.

“I may or may not be fond of those caramel brownies you make.” Sheepishly, almost as if he will be scolded for revealing such information, he confesses this to you.

You recall a time when you had to bring something to the company party, a holiday get together many years ago. You had been charged with bringing a dessert, and as a thank you to Mr. Henry’s continual kindness and hard work, you offered him one.

It makes you strangely emotional, to know that he had enjoyed it enough to remember it, after all these years.

“How very interesting to know.” You smile, and he smiles back, before he turns his attention to the next bus stop, and your window for conversation comes to a close.

 She is waiting for you at the bus exchange today, standing and huddled in the large group of other passengers. It is chilly out in the desert tonight, and she has a beautiful black and white checkerboard coat wrapped around her body. In moments like these, watching the steam and fog of the bus exchange plume around her feet, Gwendoline reminds you of a movie star.

Perhaps in another life, her face would light up the screen, her silvery blonde hair and striking cheekbones commanding every man in the theater to fall head over heels in love with her. Sometimes she talks about it, about moving away from this city, about quitting her job.

Perhaps in another life, you might go with her.

Armitage would surely come too, wouldn’t he? He could get a job as a professor anywhere, he could pack up his apartment and join you and Gwen on a trip to Los Angeles, or New York City, or perhaps somewhere abroad – but you can’t, can you. You can’t leave.

And so, as selfish as it is, you hope that Gwen never leaves either, because you’re not so sure what you would do, were she to go.

This is especially true, as she catches sight of you politely making your way to where she is standing, and she smiles and throws a hand up to wave to you, as if you didn’t already see her. Gwen was, in so many ways, a beacon of color in the world of black and grey.

“(Y/N)!” She hollers happily to you, competing with the noise of the bus exchange.

The hiss and hydraulics of brakes and doors opening and closing, the sound of engines revving and radios humming, of the news playing on black and white screens behind a window of glass, of people talking and smoking and eating and laughing even though it’s too early for it all, still through this noise Gwen’s voice cuts through.

“Morning,” You smile back at her, offering a thermos as is your tradition every morning. “Coffee?”

“You’re a saint,” Gwen responds, accepting it as is her tradition. “Oh I love when you wear the blue shoes!”

She takes a step back for you to point your toe and extend your leg ever so slightly, the dazzling satin shining like sapphires in the artificial light of the fluorescent overheads. One of the men waiting in the crowd with you lets out a whistle when your skirt rides up just enough to show a little thigh, and you have to physically restrain Gwendoline from snapping her teeth at him.

“I really like this pair, I don’t know why I don’t wear them more often.” Chuckling just a little at your friend’s fierce protective nature, you draw her attention back to the shoes. It wouldn’t do to get into a fight just minutes before being in an enclosed crowded space together.

“Maybe because they’re the least practical thing for a janitor?” Gwendoline mutters, still shooting the man dirty looks. He has, thankfully, backed off – probably for his own safety. Rarely do men ever expect women to snap back, and oh how Gwendoline’s bite is worse than her bark.

“Maybe, but they are so beautiful.” You shrug, and this at the very least, Gwen can understand.

“Come, I think that’s our bus now.” She whispers to you so as to not draw the attention of the crowd around you, knowing how the rush of everyone wanting to get onto the bus and secure a seat can often lead to a mob.

Sure enough, as she pushes her way to the front and you follow her diligently, when the bus rounds the corner and the pushing and shoving begins, you two are already on your way to the back of the bus, coats and purses in your laps, a deck of cards ready to be shuffled.

 In the back of the bus, you and Gwen hide your faces behind a hand of cards each, a game of Go Fish that you are sorely losing. You almost wish that the bus would hit a bump in the road, so that the cards could go scattering all over the floor and you wouldn’t be shamed with the loss, but then the thought of having to clean it all up makes you reconsider.

Gwen, for her part, doesn’t ease up on you one bit, a great big grin on her face as she claims yet another of your cards for her own little pile.

“I dreamt of him again.” You bring up, as nonchalantly as you can.

The bus has greatly reduced down its number of passengers, thankfully. No longer packed like sardines, you and Gwen have enough room to spread out, your belongings no longer piled up on your lap. Instead, they rest on the seat just across the little aisle, as you normally do. Still, it’s not entirely empty, there are quite a few stops to go before the bus pulls over into the dark of the desert and identification is requested.

All this means, is that while you can speak, it has to still be in hushed tones, lest someone from outside the building’s personnel overhear. Gwen hears you perfectly well despite your near whisper, and her face practically alights in the same way those flood lights search the sky.

“Please tell me there’s a face this time!” She abandons the cards to grasp at your hands.

For someone who prides herself on practicality, Gwendoline was incredibly invested in these dreams that you have. Every time you bring it up, she is genuinely and completely interested in hearing more, and you’re more than happy to indulge her.

“There is, and you won’t believe it, but it was, well, it was the Asset.” The last word is whispered so quietly that you might as well just be mouthing the words.

Upon hearing this, her eyes widen, mouth falling open ever so slightly.

“You’ve seen him?” Her shocked whisper makes you cast a glance around.

Good, you think, no one is paying any attention to you, everyone who is left has seated themselves at the front of the bus, knowing that they will be getting off soon and not wanting to have to shuffle through the narrow aisle.

“I – ”

“(Y/N) you didn’t sneak into the lab after all that, did you?” Gwendoline suddenly turns frustrated, exasperated with you. She hisses through clenched teeth, “After that creep Tarkin warned us specifically not to do that very thing?”

“I couldn’t help it Gwen, you can’t tell me that you’re not so curious to know what’s going on in there!” You explain, and she only scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Of course I’m curious! But I also have some sense of self-preservation.” She looks down at where her hands are clutching yours, turns your palms over in hers. You look down, see how calloused and rough the both of your hands are from a decade of harsh chemicals and hard work. “What if that man is dangerous? What if he hurts you?”

“He can’t, he’s behind bulletproof glass, I don’t think he can even hurt himself with how secure they’ve got him.” You try reassuring her, and it seems that at least for the moment, she is convinced.

Chewing on her lip for a moment or two, eventually she relents to your assurances, and a great big smile spreads over her face once more. You have half a mind to ask her what lipstick she’s wearing, and there you go again, daydreaming about looking nice for this man…

“What does he look like?” Gwen snaps you out of your reverie, and you duck your head, bashful.

You’ve been thinking about him and the way he looks ever since you laid your eyes on him, on his incredibly impressive frame.

“He’s huge. Built like a refrigerator, tall and wide. His face was hard to see, he wears a mask that covers nearly half of it, but his hair is long and dark, and his eyes…” You can see it so clearly, there in your mind’s eye; can see his flexing biceps, the abs, the thick trail of hair that disappears behind those swim trunks they have him in.

With a knowing smile and a shake of her head, Gwendoline sighs.

“You’re going to see him again, aren’t you.” It’s not so much a question, as it is a resignation. She knew you well enough to know that once you’ve decided something, once you’ve put your mind to something, there was very little that could stop you.

If only she knew how deep that sentiment ran.

“I have to, I promised him that I would.” You say, that giddy excitement returning to you once more.

You know that the lab is going to be on your list, you and Gwen are the only ones with high enough clearance for it, you know that at some point in the day, you’ll be face to face with him once again. And that thought thrills you, it has your leg bouncing, your pulse quickening.

Gwen can feel it in your palms, and she lets go of your hands so that you can fiddle with something to keep those busy fingers satisfied.  

“Just…just be safe, okay?” She whispers, “You know I’ll cover for you, but I need you to promise me that you’ll be safe.”

Much like Armitage, and even like Boris, or Mr. Henry, you find yourself once again wondering how you got so lucky to have friends so willing to look out for you. You would do the same for any of them in a heartbeat, of course, but something about the knowledge that Gwen would lie to Mrs. Parker, or even Robert – something that could risk her job – made your heart clench.

“I promise.” You whisper.

She looks at you hard, trying to see what thoughts are going on inside your head, before letting the conversation go entirely, picking up her cards once again, determined to beat you at a few more hands before pulling up to the shuttle stop.

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

The morning passes uneventfully, as the mornings typically do. Today though, there’s an undeniable pep in your step, a glow about you that the other janitors notice. It’s not that they hadn’t noticed you before, they had of course – but with Gwendoline around, usually she absorbed all the attention. It was flustering to be on the receiving end of it, listening as the boys in the halls got a little too chummy with you, thinking your smiles were for them. Things like:

“Lookin’ good (Y/N)!”

“Where are you off to with a smile that big?”

“Fancy a smoke with me and the boys?”

Are whistled and shot your way, much to your amusement -- funny what a little confidence and a pair of heels could do!

You politely reject everyone’s advances, diligent about getting your work done and doing it well. The sooner you finish everything on your clipboard, the sooner you can get to the lab. It’s on your list, as you knew it would be, but it’s so far down and comes after so many other tasks, that you feel as though Mrs. Parker knew you were eager to return to the tank and the man inside of it.

Thoughts of the man consume you, as you go about your list. Nothing was too strenuous today which you were grateful for, it wouldn’t do to be too exhausted to spend time with him. So, as you empty all the little trashcans and ashtrays, as you clean windows and glass panes in offices, as you take the great dust broom to the floors, you let yourself wonder about him.

What were they doing to him today? Were they going to hurt him again? Would he kill someone again?

The last time you saw him, he was wounded, and that bacta shit had healed him. Would they be wounding him further, or did they have what they needed? You wondered if the scientists in the lab would be so careless as to leave their notes out again. The boys back home would be more than interested in reading further developments, you were sure.

Reminded of the boys, you feel more determined than ever to figure out what’s going on with this man, why he’s there in the first place. Surely he must be Russian, why else would the government be so keen on keeping him as contained as he is? Although, you don’t recall ever seeing a plane like the one that was being dissected in that warehouse, so maybe he wasn’t.

Maybe he wasn’t human at all…the thought pops into your head, and you blink it away.

The stories of alien life in Area 51 were just that – stories. No matter how often you liked to joke about them with Gwen, that’s all that it was, just jokes. Still, that ion engine, the strange shape of the wings, the strange gel that seems to have otherworldly healing properties…it raised so many questions that you simply didn’t have any answers to.

As you sweep the floors, back and forth and back and forth with your big dust broom, you wonder if perhaps you’ll be able to speak to the man. Perhaps he could give you some answers, perhaps you could help him.

You have no idea how you could, but maybe if the two of you worked together, you could figure out a way. One thing was for certain, you felt something for this mystery man. A sense of protection, a bond of some sort. It didn’t have a name, didn’t have much to define it at all – but it was there. Much like the dream, that reoccurring dream, it was indefinite and blurred around the edges, but it was there all the same.

For a brief moment, you wonder what the man dreams about.

You wonder if he dreams at all, in the tank.  

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

Time passes strangely, in the building. You’re certain that you’ve just gotten there, had just hopped off the shuttle with Gwen – but in the blink of an eye, it’s lunch time. Gwendoline very shyly lets you know that she’s going to be having lunch with Mary, and true to your word the other day, you’re nothing but encouraging.

Besides, it means that you could spend your lunch in the lab, it was the next place on your list anyway, no one could be angry with you for being there, no one could accuse you of being out of place. In the locker room though, you find yourself frozen, standing in front of the little metal locker that you call yours. There’s a compact in your purse, and you pull it out, look at yourself, really look at yourself.

You feel so foolish for all this, especially when you open Gwen’s locker and find one of her tubes of lipstick. She always keeps a couple in her locker for emergencies, something you found silly, but now are eternally grateful for. Picking out a shade that best compliments your skin tone, you apply it carefully. The damn thing is likely going to smudge anyway while you eat your lunch, but at the very least you’ll look put together when you first arrive at the lab.

He better be appreciative of all this, you think to yourself with a nervous chuckle, he better care about all the effort you’re going through. Gwen would tell you that men never care, but she’s not here right now, off playing footsie in the courtyard with Mary.

 As you walk the halls down in the bowels of the building, you realize how utterly alone you are in here. Everyone is on lunch, all the scientists, the janitors, the management. Not a single soul is in these halls, the greenish bluish light no competition for the sunshine that waits them near the picnic tables outside. You don’t mind, not one bit, and in fact it thrills you, the thought that you might be with him all alone.

Swiping your keycard through the little number pad, the doors beep and slowly open. Three layers of bulletproof steel slide open, one set horizontally, one set vertically, and one set diagonally. This lab would likely be perfectly impenetrable, in case of an attack, but you recognize that as well designed as it is to keep things out, it is also designed to keep things in.

Things like the man, who finally, after what seems like a lifetime, you will get to see again.

The lab is, much like the rest of this wing of the building, empty.

Once again you are faced with the mechanical nature of it all, the dark grey metal walls and floor, the tables with all sorts of piles stacked high atop them. The lighting is dark, kept dim, even dimmer than the halls outside. You hold your breath as the doors shut behind you, as they lock time and time again, sealing the lab away from the rest of the world.

You park your janitorial cart against the wall, your brown paper bag lunch clutched in your hands, just for something to hold, something to keep your hands occupied so that they don’t shake.

"Hello?" You call out gently, hopefully.

The tank is on the far end of the lab, and you take care to approach it cautiously. There are a million bubbles filling the tank, the bacta gel having been disturbed, and recently. Those bubbles trap the air and make the gel look nearly white with all the foam. You have to get closer, have to approach the glass, straining to see inside it.

“It’s just me, I’ve come back to visit you.” You try again, this time speaking a little louder. Maybe he just couldn’t hear you, through the glass and the gel.

Bracing yourself for him to scare the shit out of you with a startling appearance, you nearly press your nose to the tank. But seconds go by, and there is no activity. A deep deep sense of disappointment and fear spike through your body – if he was not here, where was he? What had they done to him? Where had they taken him? Was he alright -- ?

The immediate string of questions is interrupted by a splashing sound coming from your left, and you whirl around, clutching the brown paper bag to your chest.

He is out of the tank, but he is still here, still in the room with you. For whatever reason, he has been moved from the tank to the pool, and you know this because as you watch with wide eyes, he rises up out of the water, standing up to his full height on his two legs, strong legs, powerful thighs that flex and carry his body towards you.

Remaining perfectly still, you do your best not to gasp. You had thought perhaps, the glass from the tank had distorted his proportions, maybe he wasn’t nearly as big as you had thought. But you’re wrong, he’s even bigger somehow, in the flesh, in front of you. He must be over six feet tall, and twice as wide as the normal man, or at least, twice as wide as any man you had ever seen.

But the most unexpected thing of all, is that he is not wearing the mask.

You have a clear, unobstructed view of his face for the first time, and it takes your breath away. He is utterly, completely, totally handsome. Your imagination could have never come up with the configuration of his features, never in a million years. His nose, so strong and proud looks slightly broken from the front, but when he shakes the water away from his hair and you catch sight of his profile, it is beautifully sloped and triangular. His lips have to be the most full and plush that you’ve ever seen, his ears are large as they poke out from the dark drenched blackness of his hair.

You’re staring, you know you are, but he doesn’t seem deterred. In fact, he’s staring right back at you, looking at you with soulful brown eyes that seem to be sharper than anything you’ve ever seen, eyes that seem to be taking you in with the same level of intensity that you do him.  

“Oh!” You realize that he can hear you now, you realize that this is the chance you’ve been hoping for, so you reach out your hand for him to shake, and offer him a friendly, “Hello.”

The man’s eyes track the movement in a way that can only be described as predatory, as an apex creature focusing all their energy on their prey. Strangely though, you don’t feel like prey. Keeping your hand extended, you take slow even breaths, showing him that you mean no harm, showing him that you won’t hurt him.

You’re not like those men, those scientists, you won’t hurt him.

“My name is (Y/N). It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You introduce yourself, speaking as carefully and clearly as you can. “What’s your name? Can you understand me?”

The man simply looks at you, as if in a trance of some kind. You look around, check over your shoulder to make sure, absolutely sure, that no one is around.

Once you’re determined that the coast is clear, and this man continues to take in the sight of you, you move one step forward, closer to the edge of the pool.

“Can you understand me now?” These words come in another language, a switch of your tongue that would have you arrested on site if anyone had heard.

He frowns, confused, and you wonder if this is the first time anyone has tried being polite to him since his capture. You’re about to retract your hand, when suddenly, he lifts his own, his arm tensing as he reaches for you – only to be stopped by long chains that are attached to cuffs on each of his wrists, and to the metal collar he wears around his throat.

The man looks at his bindings, and strains against them with a strangled shout of frustration. His muscles bulge, but it’s to no avail, whatever he has been shackled in, is too strong for him to break through. You have to sit, your legs unable to support you for the moment as you take him all in. Settling on a step near the edge of the pool, you lean in enough for this man to do the same. He too sits, just on the other side of the edge, as close to you as the chains will allow.

Reaching your hand further, further, further still, the man freezes as you place a palm to his cheek. The skin of his scar is smooth, and you find that surprising, as you stroke his face. Eyes closing, the man lets out a shaky shuddering exhale, nuzzling into your palm. He reminds you of a bear trapped in spiked teeth out in the forest, or a lion in the cage of a circus.

“Why do they have you chained and collared like this, why are you here?” The Russian flows freely now, you no longer hold it back the way that you might have in front of anyone else.

Then, suddenly, the strangest noises come out of his mouth. You think that he might be in pain for a minute, but then you realize no, he is speaking to you, impassioned and desperate, his voice is deep, rumbling, coming from the depths of his chest, a baritone that vibrates down inside your bones.

This is the voice that you heard in your dream, you realize. The voice parroting your words back to you, now you know why it had sounded so strange, so off. This man didn’t speak English, and he had only been mimicking the sounds, not knowing what it meant. You’re not sure what this man speaks, and it pains you, it pains you to not share this with him.

“I – I’m sorry I don’t understand.” You have to cut him off, putting your hand over his mouth to interrupt him, to get him to stop. You’re not sure if he even knows what you’re saying, if he can understand but not translate it out of his own mouth, you don’t know. “I’m familiar with ten different languages but yours isn’t one of them, I’m sorry.”

The man looks so sad, devastated, and that at least feels like maybe he can understand you. All at once, you recognize that if he can understand you, there may be hope. Perhaps if you both learn to communicate in a way that doesn’t rely on words, perhaps if you can find a way, you can help him.

That will require some planning, great planning, careful planning.

The man is watching you, he rests his head on the ledge of the pool, his black hair slinking and sliding down the strong muscles of his back. It is as if he is telling you to not be afraid of him, the very same way you were trying to tell him not to be afraid of you.

It strikes you, for a moment, how human he is. Even if by some cosmic improbability he is an alien, he is human. His stomach growls then, loudly, so loudly that it makes you laugh, and you shut yourself up immediately, afraid of scaring him with the noise. He doesn’t go anywhere though, his eyes only widen, making you smile.

The man mimics the motion, smiling back at you, a small laugh of his own.

He has dimples, you think, as you only grow more and more attached to him, and his teeth are so crooked.

“Here, I don’t know what kind of shit they feed you, but you must be hungry.” You rifle through the little brown paper bag that you’ve been holding in a death grip this entire time, pulling out the first thing you see. The clementine fills your palm, you offer it to him cautiously, encouraging, “Go ahead, you can have it, I promise it’s okay.”

The man, wherever he has come from, must not have seen one of these before, because he takes it in his hand and immediately goes to bite through the rind. Your hand flies out and grabs his before he can do so, and despite it all, you laugh again.

He scowls, thinking you’re making fun of him, so you simply shake your head and demonstrate how to peel the hard outer flesh of the fruit away.

“Don’t make fun of me for the way I peel it, I can never get it to come off in one go.” You mutter, wondering wondering wondering if he can understand you.

Watching diligently and carefully, he sits patiently at the edge of the pool, his palm extended, resting near your hands. Piece by piece you peel the clementine, always trying to get it in one spiral but failing, as usual. Eventually, once the floor has been littered with peel and the clementine is bare, you pry the citrus into segments, and place one in his hand.

It looks so small, comically small in the man’s palm, even smaller as he raises the piece to his mouth and pops it in between his teeth, the juice squirting into your face, making you laugh once again. The man’s face lights up immediately, already asking with those strangled sounding words that you cannot understand, a language foreign to even your ears.

“It’s good right?” You hope that that’s what he’s saying, you hope that he likes it. Giving him the whole thing, you watch as he delicately pulls the segments apart. “Bright and sweet. It’s just about the only thing bright in this whole place, hm?”

Instead of eating the entire thing as you would have expected him to do, the man thoughtfully gives you half of the segments. You notice that they are the larger pieces, the ones that must be more flavorful, juicier. He is kind, you decide, kind enough to offer you the better of the halves at the very least.

“Why are you here?” You whisper, knowing he cannot answer. “Why do they torture you so?”

There are no fresh wounds this time, you are glad to see. Nothing healing or inflicted, just the smoothed over scars. You long to touch them, the pink lines that mar his flesh, but he is a person of agency, and you will not disrespect him the way that these scientists do.

So instead, you offer your hand out to him once more, and after careful consideration, the man presses his cheek against your palm. Your thumb rubs soothing circles against the little beauty marks and freckles that pepper his skin, and you sigh.

“I’m going to figure out a way for us to communicate. I don’t know how, but I will.” You tell him, tell yourself, “You won’t be alone, I’ll help you, I just need to figure out how.”

Out in the hall beyond the sealed off lab, a bell chimes, signaling that lunch is over. Regret and disappointment rise up in your throat like acid, you don’t want to leave him, you don’t want to go away from him. He has been in your dreams, all this time, it has been him, of this you’re now sure. But you have a job, you have a responsibility, and you cannot lose it now.

Pulling away, he makes a noise of protest, and this is a noise you can understand.

“I have to clean. You can watch me, if you’d like, but I can’t just sit here all day, or else they’ll be very angry with me.” You explain to him, willing him to understand, “And if they’re angry, then I can’t visit again.”

The man sighs, chews on the segmented clementine.

With that, you move to the other side of the lab where you’ve parked your cart. The only thing on the list is to mop the floors, and you find that you hate that, you wish there were more, wish that you could have more time. You never thought you’d think this, but you hate how efficient you’ve become, how they’ve entrusted you with the jobs they know you are quick at. It is a double edged sword, because if you weren’t good at it, then maybe they wouldn’t have assigned this lab to you in the first place.

Dunking your mop in the solution that you make yourself – vinegar and baking soda, and a little dish soap – you begin to work, the thing you’re actually there for. It is very obvious that he’s watching you, from his spot in the pool. He walks back and forth, almost stalking you, his hulking frame tethered to you by an invisible string. When you go to the right, so does he. When you double back to the left, he goes as well. You smile, hoping that he finds the incredible mundanity of it all not so mundane.

“You’re very handsome. I’m only saying this because I know you’ve got no idea what it is that I’m saying, otherwise I’d be dying of embarrassment. But you’re handsome.” You admit when your back is turned to him, swishing the mop this way and that, picking up the little stains and debris that have stuck to the floor in the time since it was last mopped. “I was wondering what your face looked like, without the mask.”

You continue to mop, and he continues to watch you.

In a strange sense, it is almost like a dance. The sound of the water splashing as he moves back and forth, as he creates little waves and currents, acts as a rhythm, a steady beat to which you mop. His breathing is calm, and he seems to be in a relaxed mood. Maybe he has been hypnotized by the repetitive motions that you make, or maybe, a hopeful part of you thinks, maybe he feels completely at ease with you.

The thought sours in the back of your throat, because you know that once you have finished this, you will have to leave.

You prolong it, you try your best, you really do. But eventually there comes a point in which you cannot procrastinate any longer, you cannot draw it out. The floor is mopped, your clipboard is checked.

Carefully, walking over the freshly mopped tiles slowly and deliberately so that you don’t slip, you sit on the edge of the pool once again, something painful like sorrow making your head hurt.

“I’m done.” You whisper, “I have to go now.”

He’s alarmed by this, the man. He seizes forward, rushes to reach for you with wide panicked eyes, but the chains around his neck yank him back, and he stumbles for a moment, nearly loses his footing in the water. You could cry, with the desperation in the words that he speaks, with the way he reaches for you with bound hands.

You lean as far into the pool as you can, your arms wrapping around him, nearly toppling over into the water with how far forward you are. You don’t care, so what if you should fall? You cannot bear to see him so sad, and so you pull him into an embrace. He holds you tightly, hands curling in your hair, breathing in your smell.

“I know, I know I’m sorry – I don’t want to leave you. But I’ve got more work to do.” Your voice wobbles, hating this, hating how he’s chained, hating how he’s going to be all alone, how he’s going to be tortured and harmed in your absence. You hate it, and he doesn’t want to let you go, you can tell by how strong of a grip he has on you as he talks and talks and talks in a language you don’t know.

There is nothing you can do today though, to help him. For the first time in your life, you feel overwhelmingly insignificant, in the way that you can’t do anything to help him.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, even if it’s not on the list, okay? I’ll come back, I promise.” Your hands cup his cheeks, looking at one another, your eyes boring into his. “I’ll always come back.”

You let go of him now though, and you turn your back to him, mopping up your steps so that the footprints do not give you away.

Swiping your keycard through the number pad once more, the doors open for you, and you do your best not to cry when you hear his pained shout muffled behind the steel.

[inmyarmswrappedin]

ok now i need to hear more of your thoughts about the remakes and how they adapted even’s favorite films

Hi anon 🎬 Sure!

So, first off, the thing about Baz Luhrmann is that he makes unapologetic love story movies. His movies have elements of action and adventure, but they’re first and foremost love stories, and that makes him stand out from other big movie directors. His movies aren’t even romcoms, first because they don’t have happy endings (as Even notes in the video with Mikael) but also because the setting is never contemporary. Like even aside The Great Gatsby or Moulin Rouge, which are not set in the present day, Romeo + Juliet does ostensibly have 90s technology. But since the characters speak in Shakespearean verse, it gives the movie an atemporal feel. So this is a super tragic, super romantic movie that is actually super toxic for Even to model his life after, because Even is convinced that, in order for him and Isak to be in true love (for any love story to be valid), their story has to end badly. 

In Skam, Even provides the twist himself, by starting to make references (and model his life after) Pretty Woman when he starts to become manic. Pretty Woman is like, far from a non problematic movie lmao. But it does have an unlikely happy ending, and it’s through Isak’s understanding of how Even sees Romeo + Juliet and Pretty Woman, that he is able to ultimately reassure Even that their love story doesn’t have to end tragically.

So anyway, the fact that Even unabashedly loves this super romantic movie makes him mysterious and attractive and passionate, because it’s not a dude bro action or superhero movie. By loving this movie, Even is rejecting the macho persona Isak so badly wants to project.

I’ll start with the examples I like lol:

Only Lovers Left Alive: David identifies with this movie to the point that his cartoon persona is a vampire. Like Adam in the movie, he dresses in all black. He is convinced that he’s a monster who can’t live in society because he will be rejected. So it’s pretty clear how this movie is toxic for David. But I also think the movie is sooo telling of David’s actual desires. David likes to pretend that he can go it alone, that he doesn’t need anyone, that he wouldn’t take anyone with him in the case of a catastrophe. But... The movie is about Adam and Eve, the titular only lovers left alive. By loving this movie to the extent that he does, David is parading his major yearning for a forever partner. And like, of course he eventually asks Matteo to run away with him, but Matteo demonstrates how innately he understands David by telling him he does want a relationship with David, but he doesn’t want the toxicity of acting like they’re two monsters who’ve been cast aside from society. 

Dangerous Liaisons: I think Skam España took an interesting route by choosing to not have Cris verbally connect the dots (like Druck did). The thing is, Dangerous Liaisons is a tragic love story, yes, but a love story between Valmont and Tourvel, whereas Joana projects on the Marquise de Merteuil, who is all but the villain in the story. Tragic story aside, Romeo and Juliet do love each other, as do Adam and Eve. Joana’s idea of romance (and of herself by extension since she projects on Merteuil) doesn’t even allow for loving and being loved back in return, because no one in Dangerous Liaisons loves Merteuil, and Merteuil herself has become so twisted that she can’t even call her feelings for Valmont “love” (though that’s how Joana interprets them). And the thing is, Joana still finds beauty in the movie! She writes Cris a letter with the edges burned out because it reminds them both of the story. She wants to meet at a specific park because it reminds her of the movie. So it’s just so... beautiful, that Cris takes all of this and just gives Joana the Liaisons dangereuses book. Like, she is lowkey reminding Joana that the book is just a book, that Joana is a real person (within the Skam España story I mean lmao) and not a twisted awful villain, that she is loved, and that Dangerous Liaisons can be their thing (like “their” song, but a movie in this case) without having to be the horrible thing that will destroy them. I really like that the writers chose to imply all these things in their minutt for minutt scene, without saying them explicitly. 

Last Man on Earth: Honestly, like I don’t particularly have a big issue with Skam Italia making this Niccolò’s thing, other than it’s so... dude bro-y bland? Like one thing you can say about Romeo + Juliet, Only Lovers Left Alive and Dangerous Liaisons is that they are all such high key romantic (as in, emotions running high) movies, it’s what makes Even, David and Joana so mysterious and attractive and passionate. If I knew someone who told me he projects on Last Man on Earth I’d be like, “The Good Place is better” or “if you wanted to stan a SNL cast member, Andy Samberg was right there.” I mean, I do think Bessegato knew what the point of Even’s movie was, but Last Man on Earth is exactly the type of dude bro material I would expect from him, and would not expect from an Even. 

Polaris: Polaris is an undeveloped motif who seems interesting because of the dark and light aspects, and I claim my five pounds. Polaris is in no way toxic for Eliott, like all the others movies and show (even Last Man on Earth) were for the other characters. It’s just... cute. Cute like everything about Eliott is cute and nothing more. Eliott drawing himself as a raccoon is cute because he has a mask and is nocturnal! Whereas Lucas is small and defensive like a hedgehog! And Lucille is elegant and mean like a cat! Etc. This motif is never really developed or explored, it’s never given a twist, Eliott is in fact still obsessed with it 3 seasons later, just like he was obsessed with it before he met Lucas and it was Idriss he envisioned in the other role. There’s no growth, Eliott just never progresses beyond what Polaris represents for him. It sure is cute as fuck though, which is why the stans love it.

 ???:  Does Sander even have a movie? I heard he likes Baz Luhrmann and maybe even Romeo + Juliet, but this isn’t really explored. I don’t think even David Bowie’s life or sexuality or various musical personas (like you could do something with Ziggy Stardust or Aladdin Sane if you couldn’t think of a movie) are explored. Sander likes Bowie like he could like Iggy Pop or Freddie Mercury, queer music icons who for the most part are “safe” for straight men to stan without their sexuality getting called into question. I assume Robbesander stans think the lack of an Even’s movie motif is a sign of excellent writing, and proves Sander is a better Even because he doesn’t project on anything toxic or whatever the hell, just like Robbe is the best Isak because he was so good at letting Zoë and Senne have drama uninterrupted. 

[crqstalite]

Letters Home.

I made a mistake because this was originally meant to answer a prompt fill and then I forgot about it until now. So I tweaked it, but it still works I think.

I would rather not think about the fact the current majority of writing I've done for Lali and Joker is very angsty. That'll change, eventually, but it was begging to be written so here we are. It's a little shaky since I've written Joker himself maybe a grand total of three times but I'm happy enough with it.

Post-Thessia, minor (major?) character death mentioned. Lali/Joker.

"There's a new Blasto movie coming out, it doesn't look a lot better than the last one, but it'd be great to see with you when you're home again."

Her green eyes are still bright, her grin wide while she falls back on the collection of pillows decorating her bed. Her concerns then must've extended about as far as what was for dinner that evening, or tomorrow's assignment. Blasto wasn't one of her favorites, he knew that every time they'd watched one together, but she'd sat through every single one because it made him happy. Not that she didn't complain the entire time though.

It'd been a while since he'd been fifteen himself, but those concerns shouldn't have included Reapers in them.

"You must know about all the inaccuracies in the movies, huh? With the Council and stuff this has to be hilarious to you."

Joker isn't sure what feeling to name the one that's threatening to consume him while Hilary continues talking, rattling off that week's events. Teachers, classmates, her chores around the house.

The vidmail just seemed so normal. Everything had seemed perfectly fine when he'd checked in on them after they'd left Earth. Maybe that was an overstatement, nothing would've been fine but it was still manageable then. His father and his younger sister had intended to bunker down for as long as they had to, as long as they could while he'd promised them to try and get them off Tiptree. Nothing had seemed off. Nothing had seemed wrong. He thought they'd have time.

Six months later and he'd proved himself wrong. Time was in shorter and shorter supply. By the time he could turn his attention fully back to finding them nearly a week ago to do anything more about their situation, it'd been too late. He'd heard it over the extranet, part the long list of colony worlds flashing red every other hour. His blood had run cold while he'd hoped, prayed he wouldn't find his homeworld among the lost.

The galaxy felt like it stopped spinning when he did. In big, bright red letters, it'd said Tiptree, and he...it'd all felt like a bad dream then. That he'd look back and see it was some other colony out in the Traverse. Not his. It couldn't. It shouldn't have. It was so far outside of normal trade routes that it didn't make sense for the Reapers to seize it.

Yet they'd done so anyway. The last communications had gone out the day prior, and had stretched into silence since then. Where he'd be expecting a call today, instead his missed messages have remained dark. His 'tool won't connect to his father's, or Hilary's.

He almost misses when the door behind him opens, his hand missing the pause button on the video while he scrambles for it. He doesn't get a great glance over his shoulder, but it's enough for him to try and get his emotions back in check long enough to hold a conversation, "Shepard? Look, I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

"You've got the wrong Shepard, actually. I think." If the voice isn't enough to convince him, then the absence of anger in it does when he turns his chair to look at her. Smaller, softer, more concerned when Citlali pauses in the doorway compared to her elder sister. His girlfriend a sight for sore eyes, at least compared to her counterpart, "Sorry for scaring you, if I did.

"You didn't. Just, thought she was making the rounds again. And holding a grudge against your commander doesn't really bode well for you, as I've found." He can't find the energy to add a genuine laugh with the quip, and while Citlali smiles, it's one of the ones that's strained, "What? I feel like Alenko's walking proof of that."

"I guess, depending on how you look at it." She furrows her brow, maybe in thought, maybe in disbelief. He still can't read her very well, though it's not as if she makes it easy. Shaking off the expression, "Do you mind if I come in? You seemed...busy."

While Hilary's vid has gone quiet, he doesn't meet her eyes. The distraction might be better than nothing, even though he'd rather spend his time alone, most likely watching the last handful of mails from the month prior, "If you want to, sure. Did you need anything?"

"No. It's just...quiet around here. Thessia's on everyone's mind and it honestly feels too constricting." The door closes behind her, "If you're worried, Kodelyn's with Liara right now. I don't think she's going to come back up here for a while."

"Oh good. That'll probably give her time to cool off." Refocus her frustration with Thessia back towards comforting, always seemed like it fixed something in her. He might've been out of line, but he hadn't been expecting for her to explode at him like that. It seemed too out of character, and he hadn't been able to accurately predict it. The longer she spent doing anything else was probably extending his lifespan. Shepard wasn't predictable, but she rarely played the stereotype of the short-fuse Commander.

"Cool off?" Citlali quirks an eyebrow, "Was she mad at...you?"

"Surprising, I know."

"Weird. What'd you do?"

"Nothing." He says habitually, then sighs, "I don't know. Rough day for obvious reasons, she wasn't doing so well and I probably didn't make it any better."

"Oh." Citlali cringes, "She wasn't too upset with you, was she?"

"Probably not with me specifically. I just ended up as collateral damage."

"Collateral -- Never mind. She'll probably apologize when she's feeling more like herself. If she ever does." Her tone wavers at that, uncertainty on the other end of it, "Are you okay, though?"

His silence answers it for her. What does he say to that? Fine, only that I found out my home might be ashes and the only family I have left might be gone?

Well, he probably could.

"Sure. Fine."

Her smile's shaky, "Are you really fine, or are you just trying to get rid of me?"

"Never, I love spending time with you. You know that."

"Uh-huh. I'll suspend my disbelief, but only because you're sweet," She frowns at that, padding over to sit in the empty co-pilot's chair, turning it to face him, "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. You don't have to lie to me though."

"I'm not. Just dealing with...everything. All of us have our off days." The screen blinks when he turns back to it, Hilary's expression still frozen in one of amusement. His chest grows heavy again, this one was dated a day before the Reapers came through. This vidmail, the one like so many others that'd come before it, was one of the last ones he'd ever have of her.

And when he received it, he hadn't thought anything of it. He wouldn't go as far as to say he'd taken the ritual for granted, but he'd thought he'd receive another one. And another after that. He was careful to watch every one, and send back another as soon as he was able. His had gone unread.

"Fair enough." Citlali leans back, blissfully oblivious, "Long day. Maybe way too many things happened all at once."

"You could probably say that again."

"I'll refrain from repeating myself." She chuckles, "Can't wait to get back to the Citadel. The rest this crew needs is probably ticking up towards absurd."

"That bad in your professional opinion?" He asks, "I'd thought we were doing just peachy. Y'know, with the Council trying to absolve themselves of guilt and the galaxy crumbling around us."

"Thank God for night clubs." She responds, leaning back, "It just feels tenser than ever. Can't shake the feeling we're getting towards the end of whatever this is, and it's making everyone jumpy."

"Probably, yeah. Hopefully it'll be longer than a day or two when Shepard's done with Horizon. It'd be nice not running from Reaper forces day in and day out."

"Too exciting for you?"

"Everyone has their limits. just seems like there are more of them than ever lately, and they all want a piece of us." That much is true. The other half is that he wants a chance to search. Search the Citadel, search the surrounding systems. Maybe Hilary would be with the refugees, and he just hadn't found her yet. Maybe she'd lost her 'tool. They'd never been great at remembering each other's codes.

One hell of a time to forget, if she was out there, all alone and surrounded by the unknown.

Citlali turns her gaze towards the front window, then to one of the screens in front of him from what she can see, "Thessia-related matters aside, if you're willing to share, who's that?"

He hesitates, trying to find an answer while his throat tightens around his words. All he can do is send a picture of Hilary over to her screen. She halfway smiles when she receives it, one of her out in the yard during his last leave. Yellow sundress, celebrating the first day of summer, "Friend? Family? She looks just like you. Same grin and everything."

"Family. Younger sister, actually."

"Aw. Looks just like you." Citlali smiles, "What's she like?"

"Like any little sister, I guess." What was there to say? Why is he looking for adjectives to encapsulate the sister he loved, and why is it so difficult, "Smart, kind, practical joker sometimes. Occasionally gets on your nerves, but you love her too much to stay mad."

"As all siblings do. Feel like she'd be fun to have around. Guess you missed out on the curly hair gene, huh?"

"Had it when I was younger."

"Is she looking to follow in your footsteps? A pilot just like her brother?"

The lump in his throat almost doesn't let him answer her, and he plays with the bill of his hat, "Maybe. I don't think she ever really said anything about it."

"Big shoes to fill, I get it." The smile fades slightly when he doesn't follow up on it, "Where is she now?"

His voice is raspy when he tries to talk again, "I don't...really know. I don't know if she even still is."

Her face falls, furrowing her brows once she realizes, "I- Jeff..."

"Evac orders were sent out to Tiptree a couple of days ago. No news since, only that a handful made it...somewhere. Liara didn't say where." The orange lights in front of him start to swim in the water collecting in the corners of his eyes, "I don't even know if she made it offworld."

There's a flood threatening to burst behind his eyes, delicately held back for the last few days just by sheer will. Just the thought of the planet being turned into Earth, Palaven, Tuchanka...hell even what he saw of Thessia turns his stomach.

They didn't live that close to any major city, but they still would've been at risk if they sent any husks out that way. Any of the other grotesque monsters they'd seen lately.

Had she been looking for him? When it'd all happened, had he missed her call while they were in FTL? Just by a split second.

The thought of one them getting their hands on her, one of the sweetest girls in the galaxy who'd done nothing but act as a ray of sunshine in his life, it kills him to think about.

His hands are wet, he doesn't even realize until he hears Citlali's boots against the ground behind him. Her eyes are searching his face when she kneels down next to his chair, holding out her arms halfway in a silent question.

He accepts a moment later, wrapping his arms around her. She hugs him back, a quiet whisper on her lips when she returns the gesture, "I'm so sorry."

The dam breaks.

Big jade eyes that match his, a grin she lamented about every other day. The figurine he'd brought back for her, the Normandy, on her nightstand just in view.

What he'd give to see her again. Hear her voice again.

The galaxy crumbles away, tears streaming down his face.

"I love you, Jeff. I miss you."

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 8

AN: This one took me so long but poor Rowan is just so confused!! After this, chapter 9 will have a slight delay but that’s because I have a Lysandra POV coming in the next few days!  Enjoy!

masterlist - ao3

------ 

The sounds of slamming cupboard doors and the clinking of glasses drew him into the kitchen, eager to find out which one of his roommates was determined to break every item in the shambles that was their crockery collection.

There were two people in the kitchen; Lorcan was perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, hands wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee and a smug smirk on his lips. His smirk grew at Rowan’s entrance and an anticipatory look came across his dark features as he settled himself in to watch, leaning back into his stool.

The other occupant of the kitchen also had dark hair but had his back to Rowan as he routed through the kitchen cupboards, on the hunt for something Rowan didn’t know. Rowan knew he didn’t live with anyone else with dark hair.

Rowan raised an eyebrow at his roommate, a request for any information he had on who this stranger was tearing their kitchen apart, but Lorcan merely shrugged before taking another swig of his coffee.

The male putting their kitchen at risk finally turned around and Rowan felt his heart sink.

Dorian Havilliard took a moment to take Rowan in, clocking the way Rowan stood taller and broader than himself before eventually smiling, straight white teeth shining as he flashed his Hollywood grin.

“Hey, Rowan right?” Rowan nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak until Dorian revealed more about the reason for his presence in their kitchen. “I didn’t wake you did I? I just don’t really know my way around your kitchen.”

Dorian let out a breathy laugh and Rowan blinked, taking in the scene before him.

This was not what he needed after the spectacle he had made of himself the other night, the day before too if he was honest with himself. He hadn’t meant to push Aelin away so, he had thought that was doing what she would have wanted.

He had thought that she would have wanted to sweep it under the rug, not acknowledge it out of fear of ruining what they had going so far. He had assumed that she had just been going along with it, maybe that was the way she had thought to deal with his mistake. When she had leant in, her slender fingers lightly brushing his neck he hadn’t known what to think, had barely even known how to keep breathing.

Forget it ever happened.

The way her face had fallen at his words had been a catastrophe he hadn’t been able to think fast enough to stop. A car crash he had only been able to stand by and watch.

The evident hurt that had flashed across her face when he had wrapped his fingers around her delicate wrist to halt her had shown him he was wrong. He had been wrong to assume she wanted to move past it. Or had he? Fuck, she was impossible to read sometimes.

Aelin was physically affectionate with all of them, sometimes sidling up to Fenrys on the couch when she was cold or throwing her feet over his own lap when a movie was playing on the tv. He had assumed that was just how she was and that being tactile with them was how she showed her affection. Gods, sometimes she’d even tuck herself under Lorcan’s arm on their walks home from the bar.

That was a relationship Rowan feared. The two of them could argue until they were red in the face and a minute later burn down the world together. The pair were just as stubborn as one another and the fallout from their arguments could have the other residents of the loft walking on eggshells for days. Or, other times, they would team up, playing a number of outlandish pranks on all of them. He had cursed them the day they had replaced all of his beer in the fridge with alcohol free versions, but Aelin had only laughed loud and bright, and he hadn’t been able to keep a hold of his anger at the sound.

He truly hadn’t intended to hurt her, and the way she had jerked back from him had replayed in his mind all day and night, twisting the knife through him even further with each replay. He had thought he was doing what was right, stepping back and taking responsibility for the situation he had caused, but no.

Again he had fucked up.

And now Dorian Havilliard was in his kitchen, sleep rumpled in a pair of loose grey joggers and a creased white polo shirt.

He sent another brief look to Lorcan, a request for assistance, but the bastard only rested his chin on his fist, half-heartedly attempting to hide his grin.

“What are you looking for?” He managed after clearing his throat, taking another step further into the kitchen.

Dorian paused, briefly looking around himself to take in the state of the kitchen. A number of cupboard doors were left half open in his search. “I found mugs for coffee, and I was thinking of making Aelin breakfast, but you guys don’t have much food in.”

His voice trailed off at the end as he took in Rowan’s growing frown. Any hopes Rowan had that Dorian had been here for Fenrys were destroyed with a single sentence, he knew it had been a slim chance, but he hadn’t been able to hold back the hope that he hadn’t messed up completely.

But Dorian was in their kitchen and was wanting to make Aelin breakfast. His chest burned at the idea of what had taken place in the room across the hallway from his own while he had been sleeping. Sleeping and dreaming about Aelin while she had slept with Dorian.

“Yeah we normally leave it to Aedion to do groceries, but it seems he’s been a bit busy recently.” Lorcan was going to get a punch in a minute, he was having far too much fun.

Rowan shook his head, attempting to assemble his thoughts.

Aelin had clearly taken his advice, almost painfully well, and had forgotten all about their moment at the bench Lorcan currently sat against. He hadn’t expected it to hurt as much as it did, he had been the one to press pause after all, and yet it seemed Aelin was happy now while his chest hurt.

“Right,” Dorian began, slowly glancing between the two roommates. “I guess I’ll go and see what she wants to do. I’ll see you guys around.”

With that he was gone, scooping two cups that Rowan hadn’t even noticed off the counter and sweeping out of the room.

Rowan only turned to Lorcan, who let out a dark laugh.

“What the fuck was that?” He hissed as he skirted around the breakfast bar to come closer to Lorcan. It only caused Lorcan to laugh even harder, letting out a rough guffaw.

“You really should see your face right now,” Lorcan said. “You and Little Miss Sunshine having trouble in paradise?”

“Fuck you,” He said, but it was resigned. “What paradise anyway?”

“I heard about your little sexcapade the other day, in this very room.” Another smug smile.

“It wasn’t a sexcapade,” Rowan narrowed his eyes. “Who even told you?”

“Um,” Lorcan scratched behind his ear. “No-one.”

Rowan cocked his head, he sure as hell hadn’t told anyone.

“You need to find something more interesting to do than gossip about me in your spare time. Get a hobby.”

“I have many hobbies; gossiping about you just happens to be one of them.”

Rowan shot him the middle finger as he crossed the space that led to Aedion’s room, having dealt with Lorcan enough for one day. All he received back was yet another burst of dark laughter.

He paused before knocking and calling Aedion’s name, hoping the golden haired man was inside and not still at his mystery lover’s. Aedion would always be more of a help than Lorcan.

“Who is it?” He heard Aedion call before there was a frantic rustling of bed sheets.

“It’s me,” He said, a hint of confusion bubbling inside, it wasn’t like Aedion to make them wait. He had no modesty at the best of times, choosing to walk around the loft constantly in various shades of undress.

“Right, come in.” Aedion’s voice sounded eventually.

He pushed open the door to find Aedion lounging in his bed, chest bare and hair unbrushed.

“Hey man, what’s up?” His best friend was stiff.

“Just haven’t seen you in a while.” It wasn’t like Aedion to disappear, he normally hung around the loft and the bar most days, and it had been at least three since Rowan had last seen his best friend.

“Yeah, I’ve just, uh, been busy.” He said, shooting a nervous glance off to the side of his room. Rowan grinned and took a seat on the office chair by Aedion’s desk, bracing one elbow on the table at his side.

“I heard you’ve been seeing someone new.” He probed, expecting Aedion to delve into the gritty details of his sex life, anything to take Rowan’s mind off what was probably happening in the other side of the apartment.

Aedion lifted a hand to scratch lightly at his hairline and tugged his duvet up to cover more of his chest, unusually shy in a way Rowan hadn’t expected.

“Hmm,” He hummed when Aedion didn’t respond. “You like this girl then? Aelin said it was a girl.”

Aedion chewed on a lip, again looking away from Rowan, his eyes darting again to the corner of his room before saying, “Yeah, a little bit.”

“Alright!” He exclaimed, leaning forwards and bracing his elbows on his knees. “What’s she like?”

He was curious as to what kind of girl had entranced his best friend, normally Aedion went for blondes, short and slim. Normally quiet girls who would smile politely as Rowan would show them the door in the mornings after. He never normally seemed quite this smitten though.

Aedion blushed slightly and Rowan’s grin grew. “She’s pretty great actually.”

“Yeah? You’ll have to introduce us to her soon.” He wanted to meet this girl, if she had Aedion under her spell so quickly Rowan was intrigued; it had been a while since his best friend had had anything serious.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll have to ask her. We’re taking things slow.”

Rowan nodded his agreement, not wanting to push Aedion too far when the signals were well received.

“Did you know Dorian Havilliard is here?” He asked, changing the subject and moving on to the reason he had come in the first place.

Aedion wouldn’t steer him wrong, and it was time enough for him to admit the way he had been feeling about Aelin. He’d take Aedion’s annoyance, but he wasn’t sure how much Aedion could justify. It wasn’t like there was any chance of him making progress in that way with Aelin now. He cursed himself again.

“No,” Aedion shook his head. “Why?”

“Yeah,” He let out a bitter laugh and looked down to pick at his fingernails slightly. “With Aelin apparently, and I think it’s my fault.”

A noise sounded from inside Aedion’s closet and Rowan paused as Aedion’s eyes grew wide at the sound.

There was a beat while Rowan’s brain worked to catch up. He took in Aedion’s tense posture, his fingers tightly gripping his sheets and his wide eyed expression as he glanced quickly between Rowan and the built-in cupboard.

Rowan sighed a soft laugh, “She’s here right now isn’t she?”

Aedion opened his mouth before closing it again. He took a breath and ran his hand down his face.

“You can’t tell Aelin okay?” He pleaded.

“Why–”

Rowan’s question was answered when the door of Aedion’s closet slowly swung open, revealing a scantily clad Lysandra covered only in a large t-shirt, clearly one of Aedion’s that left her long legs bare. Her face was free of any make-up and her hair was unbrushed. She bit her lip as a slow blush spread across her high cheekbones, nodding at him slightly in a shy greeting.

Rowan’s mouth dropped open, swinging his head between the two.

“No,” He began, unable to stop the mischievous smile from taking over his lips.

Lysandra came fully out to perch on Aedion’s bed, tucking her exposed legs under the covers and leaning next to Aedion at the headboard.

“You can’t tell Aelin yet, okay,” She looked to Aedion before turning back to Rowan. “I’ll tell her soon I promise, I just… This is new.”

Rowan took in the sweet smile on her lips and the adoration in Aedion’s gaze as he watched her. He hadn’t seen his best friend behaving like this in a long time, not since their first year of college and Aedion had been stunned by the new proximity of beautiful girls.

He had come a long way since then, learning how to charm and how to sleep with guys and girls without any level of seriousness, but his expression as he took in Lysandra was a throwback to his years of innocence.

It was that look that had Rowan pausing, he didn’t want to keep secrets from Aelin when he knew they could upset her, but he couldn’t take away that look from Aedion. Or the mirror on Lysandra’s face.

“I—You have to tell her soon,” He sent a sharp look to Aedion. “You know I can’t lie.”

“Please, you have to. Just for a little while.” Aedion’s voice was softly pleading and Rowan felt his brows draw into a frown. Not at his friend’s choice, but at the idea of lying, no matter how indirectly, to Aelin. He owed her better than that.  

“Shit though, I can’t believe it’s you.” He looked to Lysandra who smiled bashfully at him. “And this is serious now?”

Aedion’s smile was sickly sweet as he grabbed Lysandra’s hand, twining his fingers through hers before turning back to Rowan. “Yeah, it is.”

Rowan sighed, “Well, I’m happy for you guys.” He really was. “But you have to tell Aelin soon. Does anyone else know?”

“We haven’t told anyone. But Lorcan and Fenrys probably know.” Aedion was avoiding Rowan’s gaze.

“Why would they know?” He was sceptical.

Aedion took a deep breath before looking up at Rowan.

“It started when we were out with them.”

Rowan paused, running through a mental catalogue of the times the four of them would have been out without himself and Aelin. The number was low, in fact, he could only think of one occasion.

“This,” He pointed between the two of them sat on the bed. “Started from truth or dare?”

At their embarrassed nods he let out a humorous laugh. Sensing that he wouldn’t get Aedion’s full attention now, or be able to speak freely, Rowan stood, unfolding his limbs from the small chair he had been perched on.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll speak to you later okay?” He said nodding at Aedion who nodded back.

They bid him their goodbyes, Lysandra already tucking herself into Aedion’s side as he left the room, only then did he spot the black patent-leather heels slung in the corner of Aedion’s room by the door. His shook his head as he closed the door, happy for his best friend, but he would definitely need to seek him out soon. He needed a sounding board, someone to help him work through the tangle that was his feelings for Aelin.

Aedion would set him straight, it was what he needed. Some harsh truths could only set him down the right path, the path he had so far strayed from so wildly.  

------

Aelin woke to an empty bed, but the sheets were still warm on the other side meaning Dorian couldn’t have been gone long. She glanced around the room and spotted his jeans and trainers at the foot of her bed, so he hadn’t snuck out on her. Good.

She flopped back onto her pillows, letting out a breathy laugh as she considered the events of the night before. Dorian had been a great date, chatty and agreeable all night. She had really enjoyed his company and hadn’t held back from pressing her lips to his at the end of the night.

He had kissed her intently on the pavement outside the bar, twisting his hand through her hair and roaming the other down her sides until he had pulled back insisting they get a cab now. She knew her place was closer so she risked it, hoping she wouldn’t come face to face with Rowan as she brought Dorian through the door.

Back at the loft they had kissed for a while, lying on her bed, neither taking the steps to further the endeavour along until eventually Dorian had pulled back, his lips swollen from her kisses.

“Is this… doing anything for you?” He had asked mildly, as if he was afraid of the answer.

Aelin had grimaced, fingers now clammy where they rested on the back of his neck. It wasn’t that he was a bad kisser, he wasn’t at all, she just hadn’t been able to shut her mind off. Hadn’t been able to lose herself in the kiss.

“Honestly?” He nodded. “Not really.”

She winced as she spoke, readying herself for the potential catastrophe that could be about to crash into her, but Dorian had only sighed and rolled off her to lie on his back.

“Oh thank Gods.” He had laughed. “I was wondering at what point it was too late to feign a personal emergency.”

She scoffed and slung a lazy punch to his chest, rolling onto her side to look at him where he watched her, blue eyes relaxed as he took her in. There had been a moment before they had both burst into laughter, Aelin burying her face in her pillows as Dorian covered his face with his hands, rubbing his temples with his fingertips.

The relief she had felt had been edged with a level of unease at what to do now, but Dorian was a master at removing any awkwardness and just suggested they throw a film on Netflix because it was far too late for him to be bothering to head home. She had managed to find him a pair of grey joggers at the back of one of her drawers, she wasn’t sure who they belonged to, but it was most likely Aedion over any of her other roommates. Hopefully they weren’t Rowan’s.

She was relieved the night had clearly had no effect on their budding friendship in the morning light as Dorian crept back into her bedroom, bearing a mug of coffee in each hand, and smiling widely at her. He handed one to her before taking his place on her bed next to her.

“Morning,” He said. “How you feeling? Any lingering desire for me?”

She almost snorted her mouthful through her nose before managing to swallow and shooting him a glare.

“You wish,” She told him.

He seemed unaffected by the events of the night before and she was grateful. Dorian was a good friend, and she valued the night they had spent in each other’s company, no matter the end it had reached. At least now they could be friends without either of them questioning if there could be more.

“Your roommates are not the most… friendly,” He told her after taking a small sip.

She sat up at that, pulling a pillow behind herself to prop her up.

“Oh no,” She groaned. “Who was out there?”

“Rowan, and a really tall guy with dark hair who didn’t tell me his name.”

She cursed them both mentally. Lorcan for being an unfriendly fuck and Rowan just for being there.

“That’s Lorcan, I’m sorry. Ignore them both.”

He waved her off, but she paused, gnawing on her lip while she debated her need to know about what was said between him and Rowan against the desire to keep any of what had happened with Rowan a secret from Dorian. Eventually, curiosity won.

“What did they say to you?”

“Nothing really.” He took another sip of his coffee and she hung on the words, waiting for whatever came next. “I don’t know if it’s Fenrys or you, or something else, but I don’t think they like me very much.”

He looked to her expectantly and she sighed.

“I’m sure Lorcan liked you fine, he’s like that with everyone. Rowan and I just… It’s complicated.”

He raised his eyebrows, prompting her to continue.

“It’s nothing much, there’s just this sense of, I don’t know. With him and me, we get along you know, but then he does something, and I wonder if it could ever be more. More than just roommates or more than friends.

“I don’t know if I’m reading too much into things, you know. Is he just being friendly, and I think way too much about it when he doesn’t mean anything by it, or is it more?” 

She paused to laugh, fully aware that she was rambling. 

“Because I guess I did—or do, like him a little bit. And then yesterday, in the interests of full disclosure, he kind of shut the door on that ever happening. So I texted you.”

She looked down to her hands, wringing them out slightly, hoping Dorian wasn’t upset with her less-than-pure intentions with him.

He surprised her though, laughing full and loud, gripping his mug tightly as his body rocked with the force of his laugh.

“What?” She asked petulantly.

“Gods, Aelin, just completely using me.” He laughed and she gasped.

“Not using you,” She assured him. “I really did have a good time last night, you’re my friend.”

He rolled his eyes, still laughing at her so she knew it was in amusement rather than genuine anger and she blushed, stubbornly fighting the laugh building in her chest.

“Seriously, though.” His expression sobered. “Rowan? The one with the tattoo?”

She gave him an exasperated look and Dorian held his arms up in surrender.

“Not that I’m judging, of course. He’s just not the one I’d go for.”

Her expression morphed into one of confusion. She hadn’t chosen to feel how she did about Rowan, it would make her life a hell of a lot easier if she didn’t, but she had no control over it. She was powerless against his small smiles and rumbling laughter, weak against the sharp cut of his jaw and the lengths of corded muscle that wrapped round his towering frame.

Dorian took pity on her and tucked an arm around her shoulders, resting his stubbly cheek against the crown of her head. She laid her face on his chest, the vibrations of his voice rolling through her as he spoke.

“I’d say, in my limited experience with him,” She snorted a laugh as he began. “That Rowan isn’t as uninterested in you as you seem to think.”

She swallowed before lifting her chin to look at him. She wouldn’t allow herself to hope that Rowan felt any way different to how he had acted with her.

“Dorian,” She chided. “You don’t have to lie. I’ll be ok, get over it soon enough.”

“I’m not.” He threw his other arm across her, linking his fingers across her shoulder. “You should have seen his face when I suggested taking you for breakfast.”

“No.” Aelin hesitated, weighing up the information Dorian had to offer. He shrugged at her, as if to say believe what you want.

“Honestly, I just need to get over it.” She sighed, burnt out from all the time she had spent milling over the same details again and again. “Lysandra is right, it’s a bad idea anyway.”

“I’ve seen worse.” Dorian laughed. “Had worse myself, in fact.”

“Worse than having a crush on your roommate?”

“Yeah, I’ve actually slept with your roommate, we’ve been over this.” He told her with a smirk.

Aelin groaned, pulling out of the circle of his arms.

“I don’t know why I’m putting up with this.”

“You love it, and we’re definitely making lover-boy jealous the longer we stay in here.” He waggled his eyebrows at her dramatically.

“Get dressed.” She deadpanned.

“Alright,” He stood from her bed, walking slowly over to his jeans where they were folded neatly on her floor. “Let’s get breakfast though. You can tell me all the saucy details about the two of you then.”

“Dorian, I’m serious.” She pleaded. “I need to get over this.”

He nodded, realising the time for joking about her and Rowan had passed and slipping out of the joggers and into his jeans.

Aelin took in Dorian where he stood, hands on hips at the foot of her bed. He had turned out to be an incredible friend, one she was becoming increasingly grateful for. He had taken her confession, and for the most part rejection, in his stride, only pausing the check that she was alright. Her heart swelled with affection for her friend and she gave him a soft smile in appreciation.

“Now hurry up, you have absolutely nothing in and I’m starving.”

She rolled her eyes at his impatience, but the fondness remained as she threw on her outfit and followed him out of the door. Her eyes only lingered on Rowan’s door opposite her own for a second, some soft rock music filtering out through the gap below the wooden panel. They could be friends; she could feel for him the same as she felt for Dorian. She’d make sure of it.

------ 

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22​

as per usual if I’ve missed anyone please let me know 

[a-simple-lee]

Fleeting Calm

BAU team, reader

A/n: Wrote these snippets over a couple of months. Is it a coping mechanism? We’ll never know

Synopsis: The reader’s alone and touchstarved. As the BAU becomes their family, it slowly gets better. Gen, with vague allusions to angst.

_______________________________________

“...Nah, I don’t buy that for a second. Nice try, though.”

   The first time Derek reaches out to pat your shoulder with a chuckle, playful taunt bringing a grin to your face, it takes a second to sink in. He’s already moved on from the casual display of affection, cheerily swilling the coffee around in his mug as he reaches his desk, but you find yourself racing to catch up with what’s just happened. He’d been so gentle; two quick pats on your right, briefly squeezing, before letting go. You blink and try to drive the fog from your head. Damn. You didn’t realise it was this bad.

________________________________________

It’s another week of oversized jumpers, sleep deprivation, and coffee-cradling before a similar incident happens. Penelope hugs you in the morning, at seven am in the pouring rain by the BAU’s door, not one minute after you’ve stepped off the jet. You’re wet, tired, exhausted, and then she’s there, ray of sunshine personified, sweeping you into her arms and asking how the flight was. Her hair & cardigan are too soft, her jewellery chiming as she places her hands on your shoulders and looks at you - you’re so glad she’s not a profiler, because the thought of her realising how close to happy tears she’s brought you is mortifying. Your expression passes as exhaustion to her, and for that you’re grateful. She offers to take your overnight bag as you stride down the hall, ready to make the routine post-case coffee run, and you thank the powers that be for Penelope Garcia.

____________________________________

Emily pauses mid-sentence to tuck a strand of hair away from your face, fingers brushing your temple, and you pray she’s not picking up on your microexpressions as you try desperately hard not to visibly stop thinking properly, try not to dwell on how part of you wants her to pick up on them.

You nod at what she’s saying, trying to keep listening, trying not to let your hand drift to your temple. It does anyway. Fuck.

___________________________________________

J.J.’s exhausted, you know she is. This case has been rough for her. The drive from the police station to the motel is another half hour, and it’s nearly one in the morning. Hotch is almost asleep at the wheel, and Derek’s passed out by the window. Rossi’s in the middle of trying to persuade Hotch to rescind his night driving privileges, but the exact words are lost on you, because J.J.’s just leaned her head into your shoulder, her eyes closed. The middle passenger seat is never comfortable (you envy Spencer & Emily’s spacious BMW, which trails behind you) , and your left leg is starting to go to sleep, but suddenly shifting your position seems like a very bad idea. You lean a little to your right, knee bumping Derek’s (he doesn’t notice, thank God), and try to make sure J.J’s not going to slip forward as the car pulls over so Rossi & Hotch can switch seats. Half an hour later, when the car pulls into the motel, you wake up from a nap you didn’t realise you were having, and your head is resting against J.J’s.

_______________________________________

“So this map shows the unsub most likely-oh.” 

Spencer’s hand is on your shoulder, suddenly. It stops you dead in your tracks. He’s right next to you, pointing out the route you’re referring to with his finger. You try to continue. “Uh- most likely cut the victims off...here, after coming off of the slip road…” Keeping a hold of your sentence is a losing battle. Reid’s nodding, circling relevant points and seeing invisible connections, distracted for now. He’s going to notice you’re hesitating if you don’t do something. As much as it pains you, you move away, sipping your coffee for a second until words come back to you. 

“Sorry- as I was saying-”

_________________________________

“Can I do your hair?”

“Hm?” You did technically hear what Penelope said, but it’s easier to act sleepy & oblivious than it is to act nervous around her. She’s in early - mentioned something about needing the bakery’s freshest chocolate croissants - and it’s another half hour till everyone will get in. 7:30 is not the greatest time to be proofreading a report, but you want to get it done. Penelope hasn’t questioned it. 

“Can I do your hair?”

“Uh, yea, sure.” This is absolutely going to mess up your focus. This is a mistake. But it’s Penelope, and it’s 7:30, and you’re tired-

Her hands start at your scalp, sectioning off two parts of your hair, and you stiffen. She’s slowly working her fingers through the lengths of the hair she’s gathered, checking for tangles. It’s careful, methodical, rhythmic. Sometimes your hair gets caught and tugs slightly, but she always stops, apologises, detangles, continues. There are tears almost coming to your eyes but it’s too early to cry, you tell yourself, work hasn’t even started yet, and...you realise your eyes have slipped shut.

Garcia hasn’t commented on it if she’s noticed. Which she probably has, considering you don’t type - or proofread, for that matter - with your eyes shut. 

She gives you a chocolate croissant when she’s done. You hope your voice doesn’t sound noticeably thin.

__________________________________________

You’re not expecting Emily to poke you in the sides when you’re checking the kettle’s plugged in, and withdraw your arms towards your torso with a yelp. She laughs, apologises, pats you on the back. It’s enough dopamine to get you through the day.

_________________________________________________

Someone speaks next to you on the jet. It must be early - or late, you don’t know. All you know is that it’s dark, and you’re tired, and it’s been weeks since you’ve had a hug. Your body aches, chest hollow, hands cold even with a jumper and pillows. They’ve always been cold. You were sleeping, you think, though you don’t remember nodding off - you don’t want to open your eyes. There wasn’t a person next to you before. Someone must’ve moved. 

“Another hour or so-” that’s Spencer’s voice, trying to be quiet. You realise with a start that it’s coming from close above you. 

“Wh-” you open your eyes - it’s still dark, but there’s enough light for you to realise you're leaning on Spencer’s shoulder. Oh. “Ssorry, sorry, didn’t-”

“It’s okay, go back to sleep,” Spencer strokes your hair, and it’s impossible to stop the fatigued sigh that escapes. His jumper’s soft, and the fuzziness that comes with fatigue makes you far more inclined to snuggle into him. You hesitate, but the thoughts get jumbled, and it’s easier to just wrap your arms around him and worry about consequences later - so that’s exactly what you do, falling back to sleep within seconds.

Eventually, the jet’s bumpy landing wakes you up, and Spencer’s still there, muttering something about a movie to J.J. You can feel the rhythm of his breathing from where you’re resting your head in the crook of his shoulder, and suddenly it all hits you at once. Reid must feel you shift, because he pauses his conversation with J.J. to put his hand on your arm.

“Hey. We’re here.” 

You let out a half sleepy, half tearful little noise of acknowledgement, and hug him a little tighter. His hand pats your back and that's when you have to move away to dab your eyes before it gets any worse.

"Morning," you mutter.

"You okay?"

"Coffee first. You okay?"

"Fine."

You get up, grabbing your overnight bag and avoiding eye contact with the others as you disembark.

Morgan's texted sent something to the group chat; a photo of you curled up in your seat, hugging your book, leaning against Spencer, who’s reading. Of course he has. 

___________________________________________________

The alcohol’s made you sleepy, which was not the plan at all. Emily cracks a joke, and you duck your head to laugh, accidentally swaying into Morgan’s shoulder. 

“Hey, you good?”

“Just tipsy, sorry-”

“S’okay.”

This isn’t the first time you’ve ended up leaning on him. You vaguely hope he hasn’t noticed, but the thoughts are jumbled and distant, too quiet for you to listen to them.

The next time, Morgan’s ready, arm wrapping around your shoulders, keeping you steady. You hold onto his hand, let go, exchange it for wrapping an arm around his shoulders, too. The table chatter continues, and you’re not sure how long you stay like that, but it’s long enough for you to mutter a small thank you to Derek, who just smiles.

J.J. links arms with you on the way home that night, and you think for the first time in a while that things might be okay.

[darkshadow90]

Loki: Thoughts on the finale (maybe some other things)

Hey guys. I thought I’d make a quick post on the last episode. Overall, I’m happy with it. Although the villain wasn’t who I was expecting, since I was thinking they might go the physical and metaphorical route of storytelling, (Loki confronting his worst self via evil King Loki variant) I’m still glad they were able to introduce Kang in a way that wasn’t too confusing. That was my biggest fear about Kang being the big bad, but it works. And it could lead us into the next big event in the MCU. I’m totally down for a Marvel movie that features Doctor Strange, Wanda, and Loki. Speaking of King Loki, he wasn’t even in the episode. I need to see those scenes, damn it. I hope we get them  in season 2. 

I was really sad at the end when Mobius didn’t know who Loki was. God what a gut punch. I hope he just had his memories erased and he isn’t a Mobius variant. I think he’s our Mobius because he doesn’t act very different. I hope Loki can restore his memories because goddammit I want that man to have his jet ski, and I want him and Loki to go back to being the awesome cop buddy duo they are. I love him so much.

I was really upset about what happened with Sylvie (no not the kiss as I’ve mentioned before I don’t ship them). I was upset about what she she did. I get it, I really do, but damn I felt bad for Loki. I still really like her a lot though. I like that she seems to care about letting people have free will, and she also has her own issues to work out just like Loki. I hope we get to see more of her on season 2, and yeah, I would have preferred if they went with Loki loving and trusting himself in a metaphorical sense than actually make it romantic, but whatever.

I’ll briefly give my thoughts on the ships because holy shit, I feel like I’m one of the few people who wants to talk about the show and characters, and everyone else is having a bitch fit over ships. I’m not really interested at least not at the moment with shipping Loki with anyone at this point. He’s never had a real romantic relationship or friendship with anyone. I feel like he’d have a hard time telling the difference between platonic and romantic love. I’m not saying Loki can’t love anyone. I’m saying he still needs to work on his own issues before he can have a happy and healthy romantic relationship.

 I love Mobius. He’s so kind, gentle, and patient. Not just with Loki, but everyone he interacts with. I love the dynamic between him and Loki. Mobius trusts and supports Loki. He’s the first friend Loki has ever had. He shows Loki that he can trust others. I also believe that Mobius cares about everyone in the TVA. I don’t think Loki is the only variant he’s saved from being pruned. I think he saved a lot of them and offered them jobs at the TVA. He didn’t want them to be killed because he’s a good person. I love him for that, and helping Loki learn about trust and support. I see him as someone who could be therapeutic or a mentor for Loki not really a boyfriend. I don’t ship him with Sylvie because Sylvie is someone who could teach him to love, trust and accept himself (metaphorically not literally). I’m not trying to tell people who they can and can’t ship, I just want to talk about how much I like these characters without all the drama. I didn’t watch this show for ships. I watched it for Loki, his character development, and what it could mean for the MCU. 

Did I get exactly what I was hoping for? No. Was I disappointed? A little. I do wish we got to see Loki confront a more menacing version of himself. I wish we got to see Loki use more of his sorcery. But I still like that for once Loki is actually being allowed to change and he didn’t die immediately afterwards like he did in Thor: The Dark World and Infinity War. I’m excited for season 2. What about you?

[demonfox38]

Okay. Made it through the last season of Netflix's "Castlevania" interpretation. Thoughts are below the cut.

I've often thought of this series as the exploitation version of "Castlevania," and hiring Malcom McDowell confirms that.

Although, I find it hilarious that both Malcolm McDowell and Patrick Stewart have ended up voicing the same character. I'm sure there's a "Star Trek Generations" joke to be made in there, but I'm not Mike Stoklasa.

Also, I was cracking up a bit when Varney's plot twist happened. Mostly, because it came off a bit Skeletor-esque in vocal performance.

Also, also—laughing that the final boss went the "Castlevania: Lament of Innocence" route despite barely touching on that game's plot.

Animation had its ups and downs with this season. It seemed like there were some frame issues (not enough inbetweening.) I do appreciate how they incorporated more of Alucard's SOTN animations into his fights, however.

Additionally, some of the fight scenes' pacing seemed to have issues, particularly regarding weapon recovery.

The whole bit with St. Germain was off. Like, he's a weird asshole in "Castlevania: Curse of Darkness", but he's more of a weird asshole there in the same way that casually encountering "Doctor Who"'s Doctor would also be strange. Not a straight up villainous boob. Kinda makes sense thematically to have another character who is willing to do horrible shit for their lost loved one, but the series honestly did not do a good job establishing her. Like, did she even have a voice actor? Or a name? All I'm saying is it was much easier for outsiders to get the Lisa revenge thing Dracula had going.

Also, how dare you joke about not being deaf and then have a villainous monologue, TV show.

Greta's a good girl. Well, outside of being an occasional homewrecker. Point is, she's competent and trying her best to save people in a bad situation, and anyone having issues with her is not to be trusted in the same way that you don't trust people who don't like Rochelle from "Left 4 Dead 2."

Look at me. Do not trust people who do not like Rochelle from "Left 4 Dead 2." Yes, her writing could have been better, but she's still a viable character. Let people Thunder Child their ships on the rocks of your better self. Got me?

Also, y'all really need to embrace more polyamory. Or understand the fact that Alucard's not going to love just one person in his life. Dude lives to be at least 600 in the game's timeline. For a dude who loves humans, constricting him to just one who may live to be 100 at best is cruel.

There are some interesting philosophical dialogues going on here, but I can see where some people may lose their patience for them. Considering one of Castlevania's most popular memes is a philosophy debate, you're just gonna have to suck that up. My personal favorites included the topic of acting versus reacting, as well as having agency in one's story.

Striga's battle theme was cool, but otherwise, the music was forgettable. Yes, that is a sin. Punishable by Death? In this series, maybe!

The gore's still over the top. Which, okay, fine. There's a bit of that in game. It's just generally a bit more reserved with it or uses it in crucial boss fights.

RIP doggie.

The Targoviste plot's a bit of a wash, but it doesn't feel as useless as Trevor and Sypha's previous plot predicament. It's just nothing of a surprise, considering how many times the writing has played the "authority figures are useless" and "dark secret surprise" tropes in this series. Like, Greta being reliable is actually more surprising than anything with this plot.

I cannot emphasize enough how boring I found Carmilla's interpretation and plot arc. You guys could have had a giant, naked lesbian riding a skull and spewing magic at people while her cat-eared girlfriend jumped them for extra damage. But no. Vanilla lady with a scarlet sword for you. So long. Farewell. Auf Wiedersehen. Good night.  

Gotta say, as much of a deviation from his source character as he is, Isaac really turned out well in this series. He's definitely evidence that you don't always need to stick to source material.

His Abel is fucking sick, dude. Way to go, king.

Also, I was expecting more violence from Hector this season. Oh, well. At least he got a teeny bit of a spine.

Look. I'm not an alchemist by any means. I'm just a bit baffled by this season's emphasis of obtaining a Rebis. Like, any time the game series has talked about the Magnum Opus of Alchemy, it's more been in pursuit of making a Philosopher's Stone (or at the very least, a Crimson Stone, as seen in "Castlevania: Lament of Innocence.") Pulling a Rebis out of the aether is…well. Could have been more interesting than it was. I mean, it was a bit nightmarish, but it really didn't do much.

Sypha's really never getting back to her family, is she?

Love the idea that the cross subweapon is basically a fancy chakram.

GERGOTH. BUDDY. FRIENDO.

Really appreciating the monster variety in these last two seasons. I mean, that's a big selling point of the "Castlevania" games. Not so much vampires standing around and bickering in dick-waving contests.

Breaking out of the bullet points to hit on the big subject of this season—that is, the ending being surprisingly happy.

There's been a lot of shit that's happened over the last few years. Obviously, a pandemic. Konami's run by pricks. Then, there's the situation with the allegations of sexual coercion with Warren Ellis. Additionally, the terrible ending of "Game of Thrones" likely impacted how this season was developed, considering it seemed to be chasing its progression in construction. (I mean, look at Carmilla and Daenerys.) I don't know how many people were happy with the last season of "Castlevania," but from my POV, it double-tapped itself in the foot with the way it pushed simultaneous sex and violence in its last two episodes. My point is, there was little taste for additional darkness, considering everything that has been happening. Society is drained.

A happy ending was what people really wanted. And man, did this pull through, in that regard. But, there's a conversation to be had in if this swerved too far or if it violates some artistic integrity to give people what they want. So, let's have it.

Look. Man. Have you seen a "Castlevania" ending? When you do it right, it's crumbled castles and rainbow-colored skies. If you do it really right, it results in a pretty girl holding the main character's hand. There is happiness in these games. Hope. Forgiveness and redemption. If this is supposed to be any bit an accurate interpretation of these games, it absolutely should end in such a joyful fashion. (Okay, maybe giving Dracula and Lisa a second honeymoon at the end was a bit much, but I get where people would want that.)

Did some items need to be addressed more? Absolutely. Alucard staking people and Hector getting sexually coerced into servitude are some pretty big topics to just wave away. (Oh, shit. That second part is even worse now with what Ellis was allegedly doing, isn't it?) I suppose I'm just glad the series didn't go full Sephiroth with Alucard. And at least Hector finally took some stand in his situation, even if it wasn't the bombastic, hateful revenge I'm used to seeing from this character in other stories.

I think the creators of this series were trying to save this show from the fate of "Game of Thrones." (To some extent, perhaps the "Voltron" re-interpretation as well.) There's so much media out there anymore that if a production team doesn't nail the ending, their creation gets wiped out of the collective consciousness. To that extent, I think the creators were successful in saving their series. Did it do damage to itself in yanking out of its construction and themes? A bit. But, in doing so, it pivoted back to being more like a proper "Castlevania" product. (And of course, by proper, I mean anything ignoring "Lords of Shadows." God, people need to stop chasing other products when developing "Castlevania" stuff and just let the series be as it is.)

I am very curious as to how much of this season was part of an original draft and how much was revised in backlash to everything that has happened. It doesn't seem like Trevor was intended to survive, but to some extent, Sypha had to. (I mean, until she has a kid, anyway. See "Lords of Shadows" series for dickery regarding that.) I'm also wondering if there was more intended for the Carmilla subplot, as much as the series was banging on about her invading locations. I'm not even sure St. Germain was intended to be a villain all along. Getting into a bitchfight with Death? Sure. Doing what he did here? That's a weird arc, dude.

If you come away from my POV with anything, it should be this: GO PLAY THE GAMES.

Do it. Do it, you ghouls. Go to the Steam store and download the "Castlevania Anniversary Collection." Boot up your PS3 or 4 or 18 or whatever and get "Symphony of the Night." Throttle Nintendo's stores until "Aria of Sorrow" or "Dawn of Sorrow" or "Harmony of Dissonance" or whatever rattles out of their moldy pockets. Find a ROM. Find an ISO. Just play a game. Especially, one of the ones made before 2010.

"Castlevania" as a game series isn't about hordes of vampires dick-waving at each other or edgy swearing or being grim and dark. Some of that stuff's there, sure. But, at its core, it's what game developers created when they looked at Universal Monster Movie creations and went "That's cool. Let's fight that!" It's a series about pushing technology in MMC chips to make rich, vibrant music. It's about flourishing artwork and layers of sprites dripping particles and gore onto players. It's sober and goofy and very pro curry.

The thing is, "Castlevania" players have their own unique connection to the series. We're the weirdos you see clapping their hands when a mutilated dinosaur shows up on screen. It's not because the monster alone is cool. It's that we've fought and struggled and bodied that thing through several floors like a goddamn "X-Men: Children of the Atom" stage. It's kicked our asses. We've kicked its ass. We've got a connection to it that you just don't get from passively watching it barf lasers through a computer monitor or TV screen. Like, you know how people go, "Well, the movie wasn't as good as the book?" It's obnoxious, sure. But, those who read the source materials have to go to the effort of constructing their own sets and people to understand what's happening. In a similar fashion, game players build up their own skill set to reach that next rung.

Maybe you don't always get a payout when you invest your resources into something. But, there is a sense of accomplishment, seeing what you can do.

There's a reason this series got an adaptation. I mean, outside of Konami's head executives wanting easy money. "Castlevania" is a fantastic video game series. Has it got a few problems? Oh yeah. Especially after outsourcing and pachislot machines became all the rage. But, there's a reason Simon and Richter Belmont are playable in "Super Smash Bros. Ultimate." There's a reason I spent a significant amount of time playing these games and writing or drawing fanworks for it. These games are wonderful. Beautiful. Difficult, but inspiring. Reasons I will still bang on about them decades years down the road.

When I get exasperated by layers of angst and edge lord content this Netflix series generated, I want you to know why. The roots of this show are good games held captive under poor management. Some people on staff know this. I wish they had more scenario and writing control. But mostly, I don't want to shit on them or their work. (Well, other than perhaps the obvious target.) I just want you to see what I love in these games.

And also to watch Crashervania. Because that's legit.

[sepublic]

Halloween Special: The Shut-In!

           So, this episode is SUPPOSED to be canon, I believe? Or the idea is that within the episode itself, the events take place after the Plantars return to Wartwood, but otherwise it isn’t canon? I’m not sure, I’ll have to go check. Either way…

           This was a REALLY fun, and surprisingly freaky episode, especially towards the end! I love the darker, pragmatic take on Halloween for Amphibia, and how the holiday is interpreted in this world as more of a doomsday preparation sort of thing, this show’s worldbuilding is always so fun. Let me tell you, I lost my mind when I saw human Sprig, Polly, Maddie, and Toadie! Is the implication that Toadie is actually, like, around the kids’ ages this entire time? That makes people shipping him and Mayor Toadstool, uh… VERY, er… But at the same time, I can see why everyone thought he was an adult- So an honest mistake and thus no harm done! And come to think of it, Polly seems to be about the same age as Sprig here. So, the ages may not necessarily match… But then come to think of it, it IS weird that the writers/animators chose to give Toadie a humansona, and not say, Ivy! Actually, Toadie is rather minor and feels oddly specific considering who else was excluded, so I have to wonder if there was some particular reason for this, of if the writers just felt like it?

           Anyhow, the humanized versions of our frog friends are adorable, Sprig and Polly are gingers, no surprise there, and the bucket over Polly’s foot is so cute! I love how Anne didn’t even TRY to change who she was, she legit just tied up her hair and that’s it. Her story was a fun premise, and I expected the video to actually be a jumpscare that pulls in its victims at the last moment. And I mean, sort of? It definitely takes a while for that Video Cat demon thing to arrive… But I loved Anne in this bit, how she’s so smug and proud of herself and really doesn’t want to care what others say about her skills, you go girl! You go write dialogue! And I just realized, but this is possibly the closest look we have to Anne’s actual home and bedroom, assuming things haven’t been changed up all that much in the ‘bootleg’ translation… So F-Annes, analyze!

           That Video Cat being unable to take criticism and literally dying to it is a mood. Also, either its eggs ARE boba, and/or they just taste like it… Either way, keep in mind that Molly legit took a huge bite out of one. Then again, more feral things have happened in Amphibia and ESPECIALLY with Polly, so I guess I’m not too shocked- Look at Anne, she wanted to eat that monster crab that almost killed Sylvia way back when! Are those cats invincible because they’re bound to no videos, or are they subject to regular criticism in general… Can they also be physically killed as well?

           WHY am I even asking, when we know this isn’t canon whatsoever and is never going to come up again!? Anne insists that this happened to her phone specifically, so I guess the gag is that the phone had a previous owner named Anna, etc…. Still, while it’s funny how Anne just gets away with completely making up a story, I do have to wonder if it’s like. Allegorical to a real-life experience. Probably not, given the presence of humanized Sprig, Polly, Maddie, and Toadie… Unless Anne is recounting something that happened in Amphibia, but then Sprig and Polly would’ve recognized what Anne is alluding to, given how they remembered those other past adventures (which was a hilarious gag that I felt nostalgic to recognize). I’m probably just overthinking it.

           Then, we’ve got Hop Pop’s story! He had LUSCIOUS locks, and he met the Grim Reaper- Again, allegedly. Not gonna lie I assumed that dude was Frog Lucifer or something, but this is kind of better? Either way that was pretty dark, and I love the implication that the Grim Reaper legit went out of his way to steal some rando’s hair. Poor Hop Pop, he never got his hair back! Are we going to call this canon? Does this confirm the presence of a Frog Grim Reaper?

           (Side-note, I feel bad for Wally! Imagine being born on a day where everyone has to be holed up lest they turn into Were-Amphibians! That must’ve been quite the scandal for the Ribbiton family, I have to wonder if this influenced his decision to go out and live his own life with how lonely Wally was…)

           Then we have Sprig’s story! I’m so happy to see Ivy again, I never realized how much I missed her and her adorable design, and her hair is so cute! Kind of reminds me of Anne with how wild it is, I want to see a one-shot of Anne bonding with Ivy over their messy hair now. I really appreciate that gag of Sprig realizing what Ivy’s about to say, about how everyone has knitting needles, and Ivy breaking down that door without remorse. This story was my favorite, not just for the comedy, but also…

           DANG, that was legitimately terrifying?!When I saw those slimy frog skins, knowing those were actual people, with Hop Pop even suggesting one of them could’ve been Gary… and YIKES, what happens to the flayed bodies?!? Legit I freaked out when I saw the Seamstress, this was straight-up Leather Face, the show wasn’t even trying to be subtleor dodge around it, those were actual people skins! This was some Wartwood Chainsaw Massacre…! Seeing all of those hanging skins and faces gave me the heebie-jeebies, I didn’t expect the show to go THIS far, and while I’m impressed and glad it managed to freak me out, still! That build up to the reveal of Ivy literally ripping off that ‘face’, us seeing a glimpse of the Seamstress before her skins fall off, and it looks like she lacks any skin entirely, and that’s why she wears others’!

           Only, she DOES have skin, it’s just clear- Fun fact, I watched this with my brother and he immediately recognized the Seamstress as a Glass Frog, by name, before Sprig did! I think it was a neat gag how for Sprig, he immediately calms down because for Amphibians, Glass Frogs are a somewhat normal and non-supernatural facet of life, relatively speaking. For us humans, well, it reminds me of this one myth about a woman whose head can rise from her body, unveiling her organs…

           I THOUGHT the episode was going to go the sweet route, even as I joked that the Seamstress still, y’know, KILLED people. And like Apothecary Gary, the show remembered this and we legit had the Seamstress burn to death in a classic horror movie finale, and I yelled when she made one last stand to grab Ivy by the leg and bite her! I get that there’s meant to be an allegory between Ivy not appreciating her own hair, and the Seamstress not appreciating her own skin, body positivity and all that- But mostly I was too freaked out to appreciate it. Ivy waddling around blindly in present-time was adorable, though.

           And, Polly! I LOVE the sort of lesson, the realization that her being gone was scarier than ANY story they’d heard that night (probably because this was real, at least I assume the other stories were fake but regardless). We get our twist of Polly turning into a Were-Tadpole, and then anticlimactically reacting while the others lose their minds as noises of ruckus are heard, implying that Polly immediately went feral afterwards, or the others just made a mess as they freaked out! Also, love the twist on the ending credits, that’s delightfully morbid…

           All in all, this was a great episode! Surprisingly scary, and definitely hilarious- It’s a much-needed break from this Amphibia hiatus, especially now that I’m also dealing with the hiatus for The Owl House and Infinity Train (the latter of whom may be permanent PLEASE watch the show on HBO Max), and Kipo’s ending. I do have Carmen Sandiego’s third season to watch, though. I wonder if there’s any speculation to be gleaned from the Blue Moon turning people into monsters, and how that can connect to Blue Energy for the Calamity Box relating to the virtue of Heart. Does the Blue Moon turn people into a monstrous form that reflects the darker sides/fears of their heart? I’m probably overthinking it. Either way, I’m really glad we got a classic Holiday Episode for this show- I always love those, ESPECIALLY Halloween ones!

[strangertheory]

It's pretty much a given that Dr. Brenner will be returning. Do you think he's in the states still trying to track down El? I always suspected that he may have ran away to Russia so he could continue his experiments and research (maybe that's how the Russians knew about the Upside Down). I've been trying to avoid any BTS photos that could provide any major spoilers so there could be news I missed.

From the way that you contextualized your question, I believe you might prefer to avoid spoilers and any Stranger Things 4 leaks or rumors.

I am going to offer you two answers: one which is in the first part of this blogpost, and one which you can choose to read at your own risk which is below the “read more” divider and that takes into account my current thoughts on a few leaked photos and rumors.

I don’t believe that Dr. Brenner or the Lab was necessarily trying to track down El throughout seasons 2 and 3. Even though the Lab assured Nancy and Jonathan that the people who “made mistakes” in the past are gone (presumably they are referring to Dr. Brenner) the Lab and Dr. Owens seem to have a few different mysterious arrangements with Hopper. What these arrangements might entail have been implied but never openly stated. We do see Owens giving Hopper a birth certificate for Jane and telling him to “give it a year.” We see Hopper getting into cars and having shadowy interactions with people that we can only assume are affiliated with the Lab. But now that Hopper is gone and presumed dead (as of the end of season 3) is it possible that the mysterious arrangement that Hopper had with the Lab and/or with Dr. Owens would be nullified and that El would become the target of the Lab’s interest again? It’s quite possible. And perhaps Dr. Brenner, if he is alive and still doing experiments and research, might return and look to find El again.

I’d like to discuss a second hypothetical reason why I expect we could see Dr. Brenner in season 4, too:

In my opinion El’s conversation with Kali in season 2 foreshadows the return of Dr. Brenner, or perhaps it foreshadows the return of someone who might represent Dr. Brenner in some way.

"Now you're faced with the same choice, Jane: go back into hiding, and hope they don't find you. Or fight, and face him again."

"Face who?"

“The man who calls himself our father.”

Dr. Brenner was conspicuously missing from seasons 2 and 3, but we are led to believe that we haven’t seen the last of him yet. (Dead? Not dead? MIA?)

I theorize that Dr. Brenner will make a return appearance in season 4 because I have been waiting for the writers to reveal the secrets behind El and Will’s shared mysterious connection to each other that is implied to involve (among other things) the Lab and Dr. Brenner.

I believe that El now living with Joyce, Will, and Jonathan sets up the opportunity for this intersection of El’s and Will’s storylines to finally be explored and revealed to us.

I have considered a few very hypothetical ideas regarding what we might see in season 4 based on a few alleged Stranger Things 4 rumors and leaks. Keep in mind I treat all leaks as inconclusive information that is highly unreliable, and I try to avoid making many theories based on rumors and leaks. But! I cannot stop my brain from thinking about the information and ideas being passed around the fandom, and I do have a few ideas and hypotheticals that I’m happy to share with you.

Potential spoiler alert! For the rest of this blogpost I will be talking about a few rumors and alleged photo leaks that have been discussed by fans online over the last few months which influence my thoughts and ideas:

There were photographs leaked of alleged Stranger Things 4 filming in front of a movie theater that listed movies from 1982 such as The Dark Crystal. (1982? Yes! 1982.) This would mean that we might get flashbacks or scenes set before the events of 1983 when Will went missing and El escaped from the Lab.

If we will be seeing events that took place prior to season 1: it is very possible that we could see Dr. Brenner again in flashbacks that are relevant to either El or Will’s history with Dr. Brenner and the Lab.

Could we see Dr. Brenner in the present-day? Maybe, maybe not. El told Kali “Papa is dead.” But perhaps he either A) isn’t actually dead B) will still be a relevant character from El’s past within the story and we will get to see her or other characters interacting with Dr. Brenner in the past.

I believe that season 4 is going to focus heavily in addressing the mysterious connection between El and Will and I also suspect that Dr. Brenner is involved in that in some way.

To refer to the alleged leaked photograph of the movie theater again: the theater name suggests that it is located in “Lincoln Square.” There is a Lincoln Square in New York City and there is also a Lincoln Square in Chicago. We have characters who have connections to both Chicago and New York City in the series, and so it’s hard to determine the precise location of this movie theater. Regardless: we can say with greater confidence that, assuming these leaked photos were of filming for season 4, that this scene they were filming might take place in 1982 and show us events from characters’ pasts. I’ve considered the possibility that since Kali and El pursued a Lab employee (presumably living in or near Chicago in season 2) that it is possible that the Lab might have offices in that city as well as Hawkins. This is one reason I lean towards the possibility of seeing scenes set in Chicago at some point either in season 4 or season 5. (But who knows?)

In season 2 Will expresses his dislike for doctors and tells Joyce “No doctors. You promised!” and Hopper also asks Joyce, while she’s stressing over what to do about Will, whether she wants to “take him back to Chicago.” One can assume from the context of that conversation that Hopper is referring to medical treatment that Will had in the past.

Could Will have been a former patient of Dr. Brenner or another division of the Lab prior to his appointments with Dr. Owens?

I think it’s quite likely.

I’m not convinced that Dr. Brenner is who we think he is, however. I think there’s more to Dr. Brenner’s role in the story than we officially know (yet.)

To return to El and Kali’s conversation again:

"Now you're faced with the same choice, Jane: go back into hiding, and hope they don't find you. Or fight, and face him again."

"Face who?"

“The man who calls himself our father.”

If, as I suspect, Stranger Things is about a DID System and Will and El are both part of it: I have been wondering for a while whether the reason Dr. Brenner has all the Numbers refer to him as their father is because he is in fact actually their father in a more literal sense than simply being the mad scientist raising them to learn to control their powers.

If El is indeed an alter in a DID System, then perhaps “Papa” is actually an NPC or persecutor alter in the DID System based on whoever “real dad” is. Maybe El’s memories of being isolated and abused at the lab is a trauma memory that she experienced as an alter, and Kali is another alter who had similar traumatic experiences.

Maybe when we meet “Dr. Brenner” again he won’t be who he was before, but embodied by a different character who is chillingly familiar to El.

As I mentioned in this recent answer to another Ask: I am curious how El might react if she ever met Lonnie and whether she would recognize him as someone she knows or not.

I realize that my thoughts about Brenner might be a little bit hard to follow: this is because I don’t have any clear-cut expectations for when and how we will see Dr. Brenner again. What I described above is purely speculative and I wouldn’t even consider it a theory. It’s simply a few ideas. :) I’m a lot more comfortable analyzing what we already know about the series and finding hidden connections within the episodes and content that we already have available. When it comes to speculating about super-specific future plot-points I see it as a less exact science and (for me, at least) it can easily become fanfiction. I might have an opinion on the general trajectory of certain character relationships based on foreshadowing that we have been given, but the specific way that they will manifest themselves in the story is beyond what I can say.

Thank you so much for your Ask! Dr. Brenner is a fascinating character and there’s so much that we still don’t know about him. Discussing hypotheticals about Brenner always interests me even though I don’t feel especially confident in any one possible route the story might take and I relegate most of my thoughts about him to the “maybe?” section. But I do think we’ll see him again.

[indestinatus]

Yellow Brick Road

TIVATOBER 2020 // DAY 17

↳ prompt: Scarecrow - rated T (1,726 words)

summary: Alone in the hideout from Sahar, Ziva finds herself doing something she didn’t expect, which brings back memories from the past. 

A/N: also known as - if you chose to read one story of this whole series, please let this be the one.

read it on AO3 🌾

Heavy rain poured down on the gray tiles of the sidewalk. There was enough water on the street to reflect the blurry traffic lights and undefined skylines, at least until a car passed by and splashed it all over the closed stores. Umbrellas piled up in front of a popular restaurant and some moved across the street, but Ziva’s vision was out of focus enough to only distinguish them as blurs of color, disappearing quickly.

It had been hours since she had passed the point of tiredness, now breathing only out of instinct. Her eyelids burned but she kept them open, watching the skies fall. 

It was rare for her to need a break like this, though it was turning even more frequent these days. She could only track Sahar down for so long - with just a name, the mysterious woman quickly vanished only to reappear again in another city a few weeks later - and after so many failed attempts of getting to her, Ziva decided to wait until they came to her instead. 

That usually didn’t take long. 

A taxi stopped just in front of her and a man rushed to open the door, motioning for a woman just behind him to enter ahead. She did so hurriedly, holding what looked like the man’s suit over her head as she disappeared into the backseat of the car. 

A second later, the man did the same, hastily running a hand through his wet hair before disappearing. Ziva thought she saw him smile to himself, but the car sped up and she lost track of them before she could confirm. 

Two strangers she would never see again, nor hear the end of their story. 

She didn’t really process how or why, but suddenly she found her reflection staring back at her, heavy bags under her eyes and hair dripping wet. Ziva blinked, realizing she had crossed the street and now stood in front of the glass door she’d been watching from the opposite side all evening.

Before she could change her mind, Ziva’s hands moved on their own accord and pulled the door open. Blaming the tiredness for her poor choices, she stepped into the movie theater, searching for the ticket booth.

The air conditioning of the room made her soaked clothes feel cold. She picked a spot near the exit, blending into the shadows. In a second she had memorized all viable routes of escape, but it had been more out of habit than from a real necessity. 

Her heart was in her throat when the main title started to play. It was this loud melody with a classic tune to it, the high notes revealing the passage of time. As the title appeared, nostalgia burned in her chest. It had been too long since she’d last seen it, way too long.

“I thought this was a colored one.”

“Do you really want me to spoil it to you, woman?”

“I’ve read the book, you know.”

“Then how come you always manage to quote it wrong?”

“How do you know they’re the right lines? Perhaps they’re different in the book.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Yes. Exactly. You would not know.”

“Don’t brag now. You’re the one who hasn't seen a movie that’s seventy years old.”

“I had other things to do.”

“That’s older than Gibbs.”

“That’s older than you.”

“Miss David. You hurt me this way.”

“Shush. It’s about to start.”

“You… Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Hm… Doesn’t she die?”

“You’ll have to watch and see.”

It knocked the breath out of her. She already knew it was coming, but the sudden change from sepia to technicolor was still a marvelous thing to see. Bright colors invited the viewer to enter this brand new world, and Ziva let herself get lost in the songs and the details. 

The room was almost empty, some people scattered across the rows ahead. She wondered if they had seen this movie before. Probably, considering how old it was. Though she knew the story by heart, it was because she’d read the book a dozen times while growing up, it being a classic in her mother’s personal library. 

He had teased her the whole day when he discovered she’d never watched it. She remembered it clearly—quoting lines and singing lyrics, he’d succeeded in driving her crazy enough for her to give in, which led to them renting a DVD copy on a free Friday night. She brought the beers and he led the place, the one between them who had a television at home. 

Tony’s selective memory always surprised her, though his insistence in getting under her skin was a force on its own. He would bug her until he got what he wanted, and she was used to it—most times great at fighting back—but some days she just wanted to give in and see that typical smile of his, the one that stretched over his face until the corners of his eyes got wrinkled. 

She could picture it so clearly, the image still imprinted under her eyelids.

It was a memory she visited often, that day. It had been one of those moments no one could know it would become a memory until it did. Their laughter, the sureness of safety and the genuine feeling of happiness were things that still warmed her heart, whenever she thought of it. They were so young and worry-free, she always felt a sting of regret for not cherishing the moment more when it was happening. 

Dorothy reached a crossroad, unsure of which path to go next. When the Scarecrow changed the arm that pointed where to go, some people chuckled, and Ziva smiled weakly. He had always been her favorite one of the group. There was something really endearing about his clumsiness and care. He was smarter than he would ever know, and it was a charming quality she rarely saw in people.

“How can you talk if you haven’t got a brain?” quizzed Dorothy, tilting her head.  

“I don’t know,” replied the Scarecrow. “But some people without brains do an awful lot of talking, don't you think?”

“Yes!”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah… Right.”

“What? It’s true. Plus, he’s cute.”

“He’s a scarecrow.”

“So…?”

“Don’t tell me you’re turned on by a scarecrow.”

“I did not say I was ‘turned on’. You are wiggling my words.”

“Twisting.”

“I thought it had been a twister.”

“Just… Watch. See? Now your scarecrow is also part of the narrative.”

“I like him.”

“Sometimes I just can’t respect you.”

“He talks a lot.”

“You say that to me all the time!”

“Well, you do talk a lot.”

“Are you admitting to like me, David?”

“I will call Ducky right away. We finally solved it - your brain is there, only it is made out of straw.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“Hm.”

Ziva felt her heart clench when the thought of Tony showing it to Tali crossed her mind. Had he done the same? Was he excited over little details and quoted its famous lines just like he did with her? Or did it remind him of them? Did they ever get the chance to watch it together or he avoided it? She certainly stared at the movie theater marquise for hours before she gave in, the tiredness making her too vulnerable. 

She missed him so much her bones ached from it. 

Ziva wondered if she would ever feel the same again. That flickering in her chest whenever they spoke in riddles, both of them catching each other’s stolen glances more frequently than not. They had always been good in sharing non-verbal cues, and even if they bickered until one of them got tired, the silence was the one thing she missed the most. 

To be able to be understood like that by someone else, it was the closest she had ever been to love.

“Oh,” confided Dorothy to the Scarecrow, “I think I’ll miss you most of all.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, saying goodbye. Both of them were too emotional to say anything else, Dorothy wiping the tears with her hand and him giving her a sad smile. There was something incredibly bittersweet to have known it would have come to this all along. 

Ziva struggled to breathe. She didn’t recall when exactly she had started crying, but she couldn’t see a thing now. There were only blurs. 

She tried to remember the last time she did cry. Her chest ached from keeping it silent, the loud beating of her heart the only thing she could hear. She knew it would happen as soon as she bought that ticket, but there was something quite soothing about being in a dark room where no one else knew her. 

She could finally be free, even if for a brief moment.

Ziva stood up before the credits started rolling. Hastily wiping the tears from her face, she exited to the street, hoping for once that she was really invisible, and no one would approach her now. 

The rain had stopped. It was much darker now, though the street lights seemed brighter. The line of people outside of the restaurant had disappeared, probably already inside. Some taxis were available at the other side of the street, but she preferred walking. She couldn’t take any risks now, knowing she could quickly become the prey. 

Ziva looked up to the sky, clenching her jaw. Letting the cold air inundate her lungs, she tried to ease her breathing. Tony and Tali were somewhere safe, far away from there, but at least they were under the very same sky. She wondered if it was raining there. She wondered if they were okay. 

Closing her eyes, she pictured them again. Happy. She needed them happy, even if it meant they had found happiness without her. There was no other way to keep her going, other than to imagine them alive. Even if it looked like nothing more than a dream, she needed them there, safe, tucked away in her heart.

When Ziva opened her eyes again, the sadness had already been buried. 

With Dorothy’s words still ringing in her mind, she ducked her head, following the gray brick road into an adjacent alleyway. 

There is no place like home, she had said. 

And wishing for nothing more than a pair of ruby slippers, Ziva David disappeared into the shadows.