#NOT TO MENTION THAT I SEE LEFT WING PEOPLE MOCK APPEARANCES ALL THE TIME

[nuvomica]

Fam like this has zero hate in it but how is gender affirming surgery any different from the ones you hate? It's literally purging the parts of your body that you or society can't accept and it's kind of just as devastating and sad. I agree with you that people should do whatever they want with their body but also like it's kind of awful to see someone suffer so much that they have to go to surgical solutions.

This is why it's so interesting to me!! And this post is super rambly with no clear answer because I'm me and I'm learning all the time!!!!!!

Your opinion is yours, but it is super interesting that upon the topic of surgery, your mind goes to 'purging the parts you hate'. Gender affirming surgeries aren't always 'cosmetic', aren't always found through suffering. Who am I to draw lines and cast aspersions? To me, it feels like as much of a grey area as most debates are, especially as I try to stay aware of my own inherent biases vs my personal issues with gender and appearance.

For example, breast surgeries. Done to combat cancer. Reductions because of back pain. Reductions for convenience. Implants for gender affirmation (for trans and cis ppl). Implants because of previous medical reductions. Or literally any number of reasons.

At what level is it 'okay' to get something done, if in my opinion, there is a level of 'not okay' at all? 'Okay' being a loose term as it is, because I certainly don't mean morally, but as a point of, say, condemning societal pressures on people. It would be presumptuous of me to ever look at something someone does for themself and say, "well that's not okay."

Is convenience a medical reasons or a cosmetic reason? Or is it neither. Is it that there is not enough clothing and aid out there for someone who is inconvenienced by large breast size? Is it that there isn't any clothing that fits cutely, that t-shirts stretch, that lingerie doesn't come in that size? Or is it inconvenient enough that it either causes their back to ache if they're too active for too long or with chronic pain that doesn't ease at all?

What about those who get surgery on their tubes or uterus, not for 'medical' reasons, but for comfort? For taking control back? For (here it is again) convenience? For gender transitioning? How could I ever hate a surgery like that?

Meanwhile, in my personal view, seeing someone get a nose job for purely cosmetic reasons is sad to me. Why did they feel they have to do that? What sort of pressure have they face throughout their life to take them to that point? But what right do I have to judge? None, other than that I am a part of the same society that made them feel their nose was not acceptable. I do not have a broad, hooked, high bridged, or flat bridged nose, so what standing do I have to judge at all?

What about someone who loves plastic surgery as they love art? For whom body modification is a joy, or as I said before, is about control. Should I be pitying them? I don't, right up until they change something I personally view as 'sad' to change. Isn't that strange? Where did I find this moral high ground from which to look down and feel pity? What arbitrary measure have I developed for what parts of the body are 'sad' to alter?

I wouldn't go up to a stranger in public and say, "I'm so sorry you got your nose done." So why do I feel comfortable pitying the actress who had a face lift? (Rhetorical, I know the objectification of celebrities is a core reason here, but it serves my point).

It goes further. At what point is a surgery 'just' a body mod? Someone getting an ear piercing to combat headaches or allergies. Someone getting their ears or genitalia taken off so they just have a hole. Someone gets bottom surgery. Someone getting their earlobe pierced. Someone getting their eyebrows tattooed because theirs don't naturally suit their gender expression 'right'. Someone getting the name of a loved one on their arm. Someone getting laser hair removal. Someone getting their eyeball tattooed. Getting their incisors capped to points. Veneers. Tongue splits. Acrylic nails. My view is already biased by a Eurocentric upbringing and the conservative nature of my town, so.

With my own biases, I do feel a hate for buccal fat removal. I do feel a hate for cosmetic nose jobs. I do feel a hate for brow lifts. I do feel a hate for hair transplants. I won't deny that. You're right, I do feel shitty that gender is so ingrained in appearance and the value therein that trans ppl can feel so devastatingly unhappy about their own bodies. At the same time, I don't feel someone getting top or bottom surgery is 'wrong' in doing so, and I do not pity them.

Oh not to even bring up teeth. This debate starts all over again at teeth. Cosmetic, comfort, medical.

My original post and my continued thoughts are never a condemnation of the individual undergoing a surgery, only on the pressures of industry and society. It's my frustrations with sexism, racism, transphobia, and fatphobia.

Gender affirming surgeries happen all the time for cis people, including very invasive ones, and I just want to be extra aware of the hypocrisy and more intense scrutiny towards trans people getting similar surgeries, you know? Especially as someone who experiences dysmorphia but not gender dysphoria.

It just comes down to all these questions, and then further still down to personal philosophy. As is the case for most of my personal philosophies, I find it hard to make blanket statements set in stone, because there's always context. There's always further understanding to be gained, if not in my own, then in hearing of how others understand.

What right do I have to feel sad? To hate?

Where is the defining line between cosmetic, comfort, and medical, if there is one?

[ducknotinarow]

Buddy's eyes widened upon seeing Richard and Bailey appeared with the large, photo album. Immediately, their feathers bristled up, from their head, to the tips of their toes. They rose from the sofa, glancing towards Rhodes and Charlie, before back to the book,

"Dad...papá...why do you have the album out?" Buddy asked quietly, before gulping, "Please don't show them the baby photos!!"

Rhodes and Charlie were going to be shown the photo album.

| Muse interaction

It was kind of a constant rotation on which house the boys would stay at. Sometimes a different one every night sometimes one only for the weekend. Buddy was always talking to one or both of them outside of school even with them and Charlie going to the same school. It was hard to say when Buddy never found a reason to mention the other two either. So it really never should have been that much of a surprise when romantic feelings got involved with them finally. Well short of both Bailey and himself thinking Buddy only liked ONE of the two boys they had befriend at last. Not that Buddy didn't have friends but at best they were only classmates. These two? No they were really friends to their son. Despite Bailey's over eagerness to want to basically adopt Charlie and Rhodes. Richard, did share in the sentiment though.

Richard just felt some relief in the fact Buddy had people there for him. It helped to set that worry that Buddy would be alone the day he and Bailey passed. They wouldn't live forever after all. But seeing Buddy had these two? Well it helped some parental worries settle.

"Bails? have you seen the photo album?" Richard asked knowing Bailey would likely been the last one to touch it. They were always getting lost in their sentimentality after all. As if Richard was anyone to talk seeing how he was the one couldn't looking for it. When asked he idly rubs at the side of his head slightly messing up his usual well styled dark locks. "Well i'll admit i'm still trying to understand this whole poly thing but I don't want my lack of knowledge to come across as being unaccepting. When I'm more just lacking in experience Then I remembered that time Sue showed me your baby photos." Richard stated a bit excited as he smiled once finally eyeing the one dedicated to Buddy. Richard holding it proudly to Bailey as if he found some hidden prize. "What better way to show support to this relationship that I may not fully grasp but accept and am happy for Buddy for even then following that same act?" Richard felt pretty proud for his line of thought so anything Bailey might say to mock them a bit went over his head in the moment. But Bailey wasn't any better when it came to their Duckling of course Bailey would agree with showing off those old adorable photos.

Heading back to the living room where they had left the boys at, they all seemed pretty content. Rhodes was of one end of the couch leaning over the arm slightly seeming to be giving more space. With Charlie on the other well half of the couch. Seeming to try to not take up too much space, but well that was pretty impossible with their size. And Buddy happily place in the center of the two of them. Buddy growing up was proving to be a struggle. Growing independent. coming into their own even. Not so much Richard's little side kick who hyped him up as this amazing bird all the time. Richard wasn't that idol figure anymore. Which is good Buddy at that age where well they should be in a sense finally moving away from that safety of their dad's shadows and stepping out. Getting closer to leaving the nest so to speak and spared their wings.

Richard opened the album looking for the photo of a much young Buddy in their little duck onesie, holding of course France in their arms well they had the old duck. But it seemed well Richard was busy looking back at their little duckling, the movement caught Buddy's eyes as Richard was leaning the photo album over for Bailey too look at the photo as well. Well Buddy suddenly stood up grabbing Rhodes attention.

"Dad...papá...why do you have the album out?"

Buddy's question went mostly unnoticed, as Rhodes had looked towards where Richard and Bailey were coming in. Seeing the photo album they were bringing along with them. If it wasn't obvious enough for Buddy's reaction the book alone gave away it was clearly a Buddy themed album.

"Please don't show them the baby photos!!"

And now Rhodes was even more invested, Buddy seemed hardly ever phased by literally any usual embarrassing thing a parent can do to you. Even Charlie could feel embarrassed when his aunt Maple called Charlie, Chi Chi. Sure Rhodes never said anything but every time they were around and she called him it Rhodes always gave him a smug smile. So only fitting they got to hear his own mother call him Roo Bear and embarrassing him with how over the top she can be. Buddy however? Never seemed effect like a normal teen. Parental nicknames? nah if anything it seemed rare for anyone in their family to ever use an actual name. Both towards Buddy and between their dad's. Over the top displays of affection? Nah Buddy seemed to eat up the affection from Bailey and even the more subtle ones from Richard. But this? was enough to get Buddy's feathers to bristle to put real worry in their voice even. Oh this was perfect.

"Mijo tone you are inside." Was Richard first response as he let his expression fall a bit before tucking the book against his chest wishing to keep it from his son. "I was simply only going to show them a few photos since we were talking about how your growth works and all." Richard defended.

"Oh really?" Rhodes spoke up suddenly turning to display his interest. "I would like to see about that, I know Dew drop here has mentioned their doctors in Duckburge before after all." Moving to stand up so he could make his way over to Bailey and Richard. Even better since the photo that was being shown was clearly a young Buddy dressed like a duck. "Aww wait that can't be him is it?" Rhodes continued on. It seemed enough to get to Richard's parental side as he lowered the book showing the photo of Buddy in his little duck onesie. "Aw Char look at this" Rhodes said pulling at the rooster so he could see as well. "Aww look Buds even got France with him." Rhodes continued to comment on.

"Cute uh?" Richard asked clearly fallen into Dad mode. "Buddy was just like a little duckling always following one of us around the house. So we thought this would be cute he loved it so much. Oh i have a photo of them holding Bailey's tail in it as well." Richard stated as he went flipping through the book to show it off.

[ithisatanytime]

DRESDEN ER

 in other less interesting news i watch a six hour long iceberg style video about columbine, bringing me up to speed with every single woman on this fucking website, i was just never all that fascinated by the story, even though embarrassingly the documentary bowling for columbine is probably more than a little responsible for my several years long stint as a leftist. i wanted to watch it because i assumed it would be fairly in depth and i wanted to see if any information presented would challenge my view on the shootings, which basically boil down to, there was a lot of over the top bullying at columbine but ultimately both shooters were just ethnically canaanite and acting on their natural satan given impulse to kill. klebold is the only one of the two shooters with confirmed jewish ancestery which he diminishes by saying hes only a quarter jewish on from his mothers side, but not only is this not how it works, its just not true, his mother is obviously more than half jewish but even if she were, if that half is her mothers side that makes her fully jewish as well as dylan, but its all beside the point because his father is among the most obviously jewish men i have ever layed eyes upon just look him up yourself if you think im embelleshing, not only that but klebold himself has strong jewish features that only typically manifest with high so called jew admixture. the other shooter doesnt have any confirmed jewish heritage whatsoever, but hes made fun of for his looks by other students frequently, even though if you just look at a picture of him a flattering one he appears at times quite handsome, so whats different about his looks what makes him stand out at all? he was mocked for being short, he has a fleshy upper lip, and a characteristically ratlike face, these are extremely jewish features on an otherwise pure white nordic looking person. there is some hubbub made about them being nazis, but even in their own tapes eric will mention that they like hitler, and klebold responds with “but im jewish” and jokingly eric harris acts surprised to this klebold adds “only a quarter!” its all played for laughs but a lot of people intentionally or otherwise ignore the clearly humorous nature of this exchange and pretend as though its to be taken literally that eric didnt know klebold was jewish despite mountains of evidence showing eric knew and they were obviously just joking. the two also frequently wore the communist hammer and sickle, and the only real nazi stuff in the entire six hour deep dive was them shouting things like “we like hitler” and “heil hitler” clearly they were just trying to be edgy though. but lets pretend they actually read mein kampf and believed in fascism or volk or whatever, they clearly didnt but lets just pretend, who fucking cares? i already wrote about this exact phenomena where these so called jews, who are alien to us inside, will have all kinds of different political views from both sides of the aisles, far leftist, authoritarian, far right, far left, but ultimately no matter how eloquently they describe the percieved political problems the solution is always the same, kill a bunch of random people! the right wing unabomber, the left wing tranny who recently shot up that christian school, in fact ive said before that if you look into the ancestory of most of these so called white (or even nonwhite in the case of elliot rodgers and a few others) you will find they were not white at all but so called jews. all the manifestos political or social posturing and philosophizing are just window dressing at best, for justifying what ulitmately they feel like they need to do, which is strike out randomly and violently. the phenomena of mass shootings arent nearly as murky a thing to understand as the media would have you believe, they are practical and racially motivated if even only on a subconscious level. here is a parable to try to illustrate whats going on.

  imagine there is a group of east asians who look ALMOST exactly like the chinese, with a few minor differences that a trained eye would eventually be able to pick up on with practice. lets call these people “wapanese” now suppose these wapanese while outwardly similar to the chinese were inwardly very different in temperament, more sexually forward and pervers, more inclined to violence, had their own religion and were very insular keeping to themselves and doing everything to remian a distinct racially and culturally pure people among the much larger and almost physically indistinguishable japanese population. suppose after centuries of the wapanese living among the chinese, you have wapanese kids in chinese schools who dont even KNOW that they are wapanese because culturally they were more or less raised chinese. but they arent chinese and those differences in temperament arent cultural but genetic in origin, so as much as these wapanese kids want to fit in, they just cant, and whats more they dont want to fit in, as perverse as the wapanese seem to the comparably reserved and cool chinese, the chinese seem boring and uptight to the wapanese, there are essential intrinsic differences in these two peoples that make creating meaningful relationships next to impossible for the wapanese living isolated amongst the much bigger chinese population. he might start to feel insane, why is he so different? is there something wrong with me? but these differences again are genetic he has no hope of changing really, eventually he starts to despise “Everyone” and come up with all kinds of gibberish as to why hes special and better and deserving of life while all his peers who reject him are actually in the wrong and deserve to die. when in reality neither party is in the wrong, the wapanese is just unknowingly completley cut off from his literal family (race is literally just family, there isnt a speck of metaphor in that statment it literally is just family they are synonymous) in tribal times, or any times really but well pretend this is just strictly relevant to tribal times because its less controversial, it would behoove a man in that situation to kill the rival tribe that hes surrounded by if hes at all able, and maybe take their women for his own. its not even madness that spurs these shootings, but cold hard evolutionary truth, tribalism. now the so called jews are a special murderous people in their own right and the wapanese metaphor really doesnt cover that but you get the picture, imagine being the only woman in a world full of men, only women arent a thing in this world so no one knows what to make of you, you are just a weird incomplete man, how isolating that would be, how that isolation would eventually turn to rage and hatred. its about being funedmentally different from your peers to the point you cant even begin to relate. 

 i also want to point out that eric was made fun of for being short, while dylan was made fun of for being tall... what gives? no one bullied ryan hemsworth for being tall im sure so why dylan? its because he wasnt just tall, he had an ugly rat like face and his arms and torso were in bad porportion to one another, remember what i said about so called jews varying from dwarves to giants and that ultimately what sets them apart isnt so much extreme height or lack thereof but a body (skeleton really) that is in some way in proportional disharmony. we were made in the image of our father, and our father is beautiful, they were made not in the image of their father, but in mockery of ours.

[fanficimagery]

Misery Business pt. I

Imagine moving in with the Molina's after an incident back home. Instead of being angry, you realize this is your second chance to be truly happy and you really hope it goes better than your first attempt.

Words: 6.1K Author's Note: I'm a sucker for three idiot ghost boys which is why I'm back, only in this imagine everyone is alive. Yes that includes Rose Molina as well :) Soulmate!AU too so have fun with that. FYI, Y/N will be "musically talented" but since I can't write music to save my life then "Y/N's music" will come from a little band that goes by the name of Paramore and by James Arthur.

Julie and three of her best guy friends are in the family studio outside, writing and jamming and just having the time of their life. Alex, Reggie, and Luke are about two years older than Julie, but the boys overlooked the teeny tiny age gap because her killer voice was exactly what their band was missing. The entire high school knew exactly who the boys of Sunset Curve were so they were all surprised when they took sophomore Julie Molina under their wing and rebranded their band.

Julie's family was very supportive of her music, especially her mother Rose, and she let Julie and the boys use her studio whenever they wanted so long as they all kept up their grades. They're usually left alone when Julie and Luke are in writing mode, so it's a bit of a surprise to see Ray and Rose entering the studio.

Alex is the first to notice them, nudging Reggie and gesturing to Mr. and Mrs. Molina, and then Reggie tosses a pillow at Luke's head to get his attention. Luke's rather rude remark is on the tip of his tongue, but his eyes widen upon seeing Julie's parents.

"Jules. Julie!" He hisses. "Your mom and dad are here."

"Hmm. What?" Julie finally looks away from her journal, her eyes widening before a beaming smile breaks out. "Mami! Papi. What brings you two here?"

"Hey mija," Ray says. "Can we talk real quick?"

"Of course!"

She glances at the boys and they're quick to start packing up, but Ray gestures for them to stay put. "It's okay, boys. You can stay for this."

Rose smiles. "After all, you are family too."

Every time Rose or Ray mention that the boys are family, they can't help but smile goofily. None of the boys have the type of relationship with their parents that Julie has with hers, so they're all grateful the Molina's accept them as if they were a Molina as well. Julie smiles as the boys, who are all practically older brothers to her, gather around her and Luke to hear what's going on.

On his way further into the studio, Ray grabs a chair for Rose and she takes a seat while Ray stands behind her, gripping the back of her chair. "Okay," he exhales a little roughly, "so you know the drama your cousin went through a few months ago?"

Julie frowns. "Yeah."

"Well it seems Y/N isn't doing so well," Rose says. "Your tía thinks a change of location is what's best for her."

"Y/N wants to move here?"

"Well not exactly," Ray says. "Y/N doesn't know. If we agree to take her in, then Y/N will be told of her relocation."

Julie nods, looking thoughtful. "Okay."

"Okay?" Ray muses. "What does okay mean?"

"Well I'm assuming you're only telling me because you never make a big decision without seeing what me and Carlos think," Julie says and then smiles brightly. "I love Y/N. Carlos loves Y/N, so I know he already voted yes."

Rose chuckles. "He did. I believe his words were I will throw down for Y/N any day of the week. Bring her home."

Julie snorts. "Of course he did." Then after glancing between her mom and dad, she nods with a gentler smile. "Whatever she needs. I'll even decorate the guest bedroom for her."

"That's nice, mija." Ray then looks over the boys, eyes settling on Reggie. "No flirting."

"I- what?"

"No flirting!"

Luke and Alex snort as Reggie gasps in mock outrage, but everyone knows Reggie is the one to flirt first and ask questions later. Ray and Rose laugh as they ready to leave the studio, Rose walking over to kiss her daughter on the temple before disappearing after her husband.

As soon as the teenagers are left alone, the boys whirl on Julie.

"So who's Y/N?" Alex asks, smiling innocently.

"And what was the drama a few months ago?" Luke wonders.

Julie glances between all three boys before sighing. "I'm only telling you this because it's highly likely she'll be coming soon." She has their full attention. "Y/N is my older cousin. Last year she met her soulmate."

"Aww," Alex coos.

"Or so we thought."

His smile immediately falls. "Oh."

Julie cringes. "Yeah. Apparently some new transfer student at her school liked my cousin so much that he decided he wanted to be her one and only. Really creepy dude," she says. "So somehow he figured out what her words were and made sure those were the first words he spoke to her." Their eyes widen. "When she spoke to him in return, he memorized the words and had them tattooed on. Then he refused to let her see the words, under the guise that they were in a private spot she couldn't see until they got to know each other better, until they healed."

"What the hell," Luke breathes. "That such a-"

"Dick move," Reggie mutters.

Alex nods in agreement. "Yeah. What they said."

Julie smiles sadly at her friends. "She was with him for a year before he met his real soulmate and then he tried to juggle them both. Y/N was really torn up about it."

"Who wouldn't be?" Alex says. "That is so messed up."

"It is. But if there's one thing I know about my cousin it's that she doesn't want people to tiptoe around her." Julie grins then. "So be yourselves like you are with me, just don't flirt with her."

Alex stares down his two guy best friends until they huff and nod in agreement. "I think they can handle that."

Stepping out of the Uber in front of your tío's house, you're grateful you stopped being annoyed with your mom for making you move long enough to accept the money she transferred into your bank account. The ride from the airport to the Molina household wasn't exactly a cheap one and you regretted not letting your family pick you up when you saw what you owed.

But now you're here, one duffel bag hanging from your shoulder and a medium-sized suitcase sitting by your feet. You only have a moment to take it all in before the front door is opening, and your tío and tía are exiting the house to greet you.

"You're here!" Rose smiles and is quick to pull you into a hug. "How was your flight?"

"Decent. Just a little turbulence. I might have barfed. Twice."

Rose and Ray laugh, and then Ray's tugging you into a hug of his own. "We're so glad to have you, mija. Julie and her friends have just about finished with your room. They're really excited to have you here."

"And I'm excited to be here." Pulling out of the hug, you're met with two identical expressions that practically say Are you really?. "Well now I am." All three of you chuckle. "I was a little upset at the short notice, but I'm totally over it. I am a little tired though, so yeah."

"Oh. Of course. Just head on up, mija. You know where the guest bedroom is," Rose says. "Ray and I need to go get some groceries for tonight. Does arroz con pollo sound good?"

You groan quietly. "It sounds fantastic. My mom could never quite make it like you do."

Ray laughs. "Well my sister is not the cook she claims to be. Now go on. Rest up and we'll see you for dinner."

As Ray and Rose take their leave, you grab your suitcase and drag it inside behind you. You can hear laughter coming from upstairs so that's where you head towards, and you're not surprised to see Julie, Flynn, and who appears to be Julie's bandmate Alex tacking up some fairy lights and draping them across your headboard. The bedroom, which was usually bare except for the bed and dresser, has many of your personal things scattered about that had been shipped a little over a week ago now. However the sheer black curtains, the maroon comforter bed set, and the lights they're hanging up are all new.

"A-hem." You clear your throat, smiling when all three teens freeze and turn towards you. "Are you guys seriously having fun without me?" The blonde boy grins as the two girls squeal, you dropping your duffel bag next to your suitcase just as Julie and Flynn launch themselves at you. Your arms are spread wide as they wrap themselves around you and you bring your own arms down around their shoulders to squeeze them in return. "Did you girls miss me?"

"Uh duh!" Flynn is the first to retort.

Julie pulls back just enough to look you in the face. "We're going to have so much fun."

"So much." You can't help but chuckle, your attention then sliding to the quiet blonde. "Alex, right?"

He smiles. "Yeah. Hi. It's nice to meet you."

"You too, man. I keep up with the band on Youtube and can I just say that you absolutely kill it on the drums? I mean holy shit. You're awesome!"

Alex blushes as Julie points at him. "See! Own your awesomeness. My cousin thinks you're cool, therefore you are cool."

Both girls finally release you, Flynn stumbling back to sit on the edge of what is now your bed. Julie stays right where she's at, arm wrapped around your waist as you both stare at her bandmate. You nod and smile at him. "You really are. We definitely need to jam some time."

Alex seems to perk up then. "Y-You're into music too?"

Flynn snorts. "The Molina's are all freakishly talented. I'm almost jealous."

You roll your eyes fondly at Flynn. "Shush. You're talented in other areas." Then looking at Alex, you grin. "I sing and write. Not as amazing as Julie, of course, but I can hold my own. I like to perform-"

"Just not in front of an audience," Julie muses.

"-and just let go. The rush of it all feels good." You turn to pout at your cousin. "And yeah, not in front of an audience of strangers." You stare at Alex once more. "Friends and family is fine, just not like a legit stage. I'll projectile vomit like that one girl in Pitch Perfect." All three teens snort, that movie having been popular with all of them.

Alex then grins. "We'll definitely have to jam then once you're settled in."

A brief moment of silence descends upon the room, but Flynn is not having it. She claps her hands once, garnering everyone's attention. "So before we get comfortable, lets address the elephant in the room." You groan as she smiles broadly. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine, guys."

"Really? Your sudden move states otherwise."

"Flynn!" Julie scolds. Alex seems to freeze, his gaze darting between you and Flynn.

Flynn grimaces as she seems to think she's crossed a line, but you merely roll your eyes. "What exactly did my mom tell your dad?" You turn to ask Julie.

"Um," she gulps and fidgets in place. "I was just told that you weren't doing so good after everything that happened."

You snort. "Seriously?" Julie nods and you chuckle, shaking your head. "Guys, I'm fine. Honestly! I got over the heartbreak like a week after it happened and then I was just pissed off. But my friends helped me realize some things and I'm good now."

"But then why did your mom say you weren't?" Julie wonders.

"I love my mom, but she's a moron," you say. You drag Julie over to your bed, kicking off your shoes along the way and crawl to sit against the headboard. Julie does the same and you gesture for Alex to join Flynn at the foot of your bed. He does, smiling to be included. Once everyone's settled, you say, "So Jerry, who was the guy pretending to be my soulmate," you explain for Flynn and Alex, "has been trying to get in contact with me ever since I blocked him on everything I could. A couple weeks ago while I was out partying with some friends, Jerry and his soulmate were at the same party I was at. I didn't notice them, but they noticed me and they somehow managed to come up with the idea that I was stalking them."

"What a bitch," Flynn immediately blurts. Alex nods along with her.

"Anyway, Jerry's soulmate confronted me and I was completely blindsided by how angry she was with me. I mean, Jerry's the one who tricked me! Not the other way around." You shake your head in annoyance. "She made some hella stupid accusations and she threw a punch."

Julie gasps. "She didn't!?"

"She did. Now I'm not stupid, so I let her hit me a couple of times before I took my first swing. Fortunately for me, she clawed me," you pull your shirt down to show them three marks just above your cleavage, "and she was arrested when the cops got there. After giving my statement and getting statements from the witnesses, they determined I acted in self defense and let me go home. Mom took the little altercation as me spiraling and acting out, so she shipped me off."

"Jesus," Julie sighs. "That's messed up."

"It really is. But oh well. What happened, happened, and now I get to live with my favorite people."

All four of you laugh before Alex gestures towards your chest, sobering up some. "I have some cream that you can use so it'll fade the scars. My soulmate likes to skateboard and he gets pretty banged up every now and then so I keep a stash of that stuff for him."

You smile fondly at him. "Yes, please. The first time my real soulmate sees the girls," you shimmy your chest just the slightest, "I don't want him to see my battle wounds."

Julie swats you with the back of your hand and you laugh at her exasperated expression as the other two break down into giggles.

Lounging around in your room, you ask Julie about her other two bandmates but Alex tells you they had family obligations they couldn't get out of. Carlos gets dropped off by his friend's mom and he joyously jumps onto the middle of the bed when he realizes you're finally there. So that's how Ray and Rose find the five of you, laughing and joking in your new room before dinner is ready and making plans to hang out the following day when everyone could meet up.

After explaining to your tío and tía the real reasoning your mother had you sent away, it was like a weight was lifted off their shoulders and they were more at ease in your presence. You laughed at their sheepishness, at how they thought they had a rightfully heartbroken teenager on their hands with no clue how to ease said heartache. But when all was said and done, everyone seemed to be themselves around you.

Alex had shown up that afternoon, soulmate in tow, and immediately you asked to play with Willie's hair. Both boys had laughed, Willie agreed and readily sat on the floor between your knees as Julie and Alex Facetimed Flynn about any upcoming open mic nights they could book. Willie had a box of random hair supplies in his lap and you saw how he kept running his fingers over a feather and some small silver hoops. Without even asking him, you grabbed a couple of silver hoops, a feather, and set them aside. You had him tilt his head and he did so without questions, closing his eyes as you started to part and section the hair on the right side of his head. Alex smiled every time he looked over at the two of you and you happily gave Willie three thin braids about five inches long before letting the rest of his hair hang loose. The two outer braids had the silver hoops clipped in and the braid in the middle held the feather you had braided in with a thin leather cord. When you were finished and then combed out Willie's hair one last time, you told him you were done and had to bite back a laugh at the way Alex gulped. Willie eagerly went to check himself out in the mirror, beaming at his reflection before turning around and pulling you into a hug.

While your tío Ray and tía Rose worked, and Carlos spent time at his friend's house, you and Julie ordered in some pizza for yourselves, Alex, and Willie. They had no plans at all for the day so the four of you went out to Rose's studio garage when Flynn finally showed up.

Flynn has the bright idea to do karaoke, pulling out the equipment and setting up a laptop Julie had in the studio for this occasion.

Flynn killed it on Nicki Minaj's Starships, you and Julie sang Mamma Mia and were joined by a very enthusiastic Alex. Willie absolutely refused to sing, but that was okay because he knew the choreography for Backstreet Boys Everybody and you eagerly pulled him up to dance with yourself and Julie. Tío Ray and Tía Rose showed up with Carlos in tow, and you and Julie laughed joyously as her parents sang through Journey's Don't Stop Believin'.

Everyone was laughing and having a good time, but as the sun was going down the parental figures went inside to talk through dinner ideas and clean up a little.

You ask Julie if she has any originals you have yet to hear, but as she goes to go grab a journal Alex speaks up. "What about you? You said you wrote, right? I need to hear an original."

"I, uh, sure." You shrug. You turn towards Julie, eyeing the laptop. "Are my instrumentals still on there?"

She grins. "Yeah. Can I choose?"

"Go for it." You get up to go see which song of yours she's going to choose, smiling softly when you see her choice. Alex is practically bouncing in his seat, Willie is shaking his head at him in fond amusement, and Flynn looks torn between recording with her phone. When you nod at her, she beams and gets ready to hit record on her phone.

"So before Julie hits play, I just want you guys to know I wrote this song while I was Jerry. He absolutely loathed it when he first heard it because he thought I was singing about someone else." You huff a laugh. "The song was honestly about a couple on a TV show I got fixated on, but he didn't believe me. So anyway, I might be a little rusty, but Julie loves it so here goes nothing.

Julie hits play. The violin starts and you smirk when you see Alex's eyebrows raise. Then the drums, guitar, and bass kick in and his eyes widen just as his jaw drops when your attitude completely changes.

"I'm in the business of misery, let's take it from the top. She's got a body like an hourglass, it's ticking like a clock. It's a matter of time before we all run out. When I thought he was mine, she caught him by the mouth."

You keep singing, singing to Julie, but then it goes silent before the chorus kicks in and you find yourself back to back with your cousin as she joins you. "Woah, it was never my intention to brag. To steal it all away from you now. But God, does it feel so good 'cause I got him where I want him now. And if you could, then you know you would 'cause God, it just feels so.. It just feels so good."

Willie whoops and you laugh your way through the next few lines, rocking your shoulders and even throwing in a couple of head bangs for good measure.

But then the music quiets just so and you face the boys. "I watched his wildest dreams come true and not one of them involving you. Just watch my wildest dreams come true. Not one of them involving.." You head bang now, twisting your head back and forth so your hair wildly flips back and forth. Julie plays the air guitar and you're laughing, having made yourself dizzy in the process. But then as one particular part comes up, you sidle up to Julie's side, your face just inches from the side of her own face as she stares forward. "Woah I never meant to brag, but I got him where I want him now."

Your chest aches from putting your all into your own song, sweat beading at your hairline as you jump around dancing. You're exhausted by the end of the song, but it's well worth it to see Alex's gobsmacked expression.

The studio falls silent, but it's Willie and Flynn who jump to their feet. Their utter amazement and joyfulness makes you a little sheepish, but then Alex is standing to his feet. "Holy shit."

"Right?" Julie cackles. "I've been begging her to play live with us for one song, but she won't."

"Are you frickin' kidding me?!" The new voice has your head snapping in it's direction, the boy in a leather jacket and red flannel wrapped around his waist staring at you in wonder. "What is it with you Molina's and your musical talents?"

Your face flames at his praise, eyes then darting to the boy with shaggy hair and a sleeveless shirt gaping at you. You chuckle nervously and Julie wraps an arm around your shoulders, grinning as she introduces you. "And here we have Reggie and Luke. Guys, this is my cousin Y/N."

"Dude, will you marry me?" Luke's words make everyone laugh out loud, but you freeze.

Julie, having felt you tense up, stares at you. "Y/N? Are you-"

But you cut her off, eyes solely on Luke as you say, "Bro, don't call me dude." Your mocking tone makes Flynn snort.

Not only is it Luke's turn to freeze, but so do Alex and Reggie. Their eyes widen as they stare between you and Luke, your heart beating triple when you realize just who this is.

"Oh my god," Alex mutters.

"Oh my god!" Reggie exclaims, smile instantly beaming.

"OH MY GOD!" Julie shouts, arm tightening around your shoulder. "Did he just- did you just say.." You nod, your breathing becoming a little erratic. Julie notices and turns you so she grips you by the shoulders and you're staring directly into her face. "Hey, it's okay. You're fine. Luke's one of the good ones."

You gulp. "I- it's not that," you murmur. "But he said.. and I need to see-"

Before you can finish, the presence of said boy is right next to you and Julie. You startle at his appearance, but then he's holding out his arm between you and your cousin and you glance down to see the words that have been stamped into his skin since the day of his birth. There on the space just below the crease of his elbow are the words bro, don't call me dude.

You laugh, a little wetly, but no one dares to call you out on it. Instead, you turn and lift your shirt so he can see his own words stamped on your ribs. A faint touch has you flinching away and giggling, and Julie snorts as you pout at Luke who seems to realize you're ticklish.

"OH MY GOD! YOU GUYS ARE SOULMATES!" Flynn shouts. "THIS IS SO COOL!"

And just like that the tension is broken, everyone laughing and cheering. You're having trouble holding Luke's gaze, his crinkled eyes and swoon-worthy smile making you want to reach out and hug him. So when you see his fingers twitch and tap out a beat against his leg before he clenches his fists closed, you cave and pull him into a hug. He hesitates a moment before he sighs, wrapping his arms tightly around you in return.

"Hey. ¿Qué está pasando? (What's going on?) Rose wonders. Apparently the cheering had caught tía Rose and tío Ray's attention.

You and Luke break apart, but your arms remain touching as you both stare at Julie's parents like you'd been caught doing something wrong. And since the two of you can't seem to form words, Julie giggles before filling them in. "Luke and Y/N are soulmates. They said each other's words."

Ray and Rose immediately look at you in shock, and you can feel your face heating up. Slowly, you smile at your tía's concerned expression and immediately she's beaming as she makes a beeline for you. "Mija! That's wonderful news." You laugh as she hugs you and then laugh even harder when you see your tío Ray clamp a hand down on Luke's shoulder. Then releasing you and turning towards Luke, tía Rose smiles as she opens her arms wide before moving in to hug him. "I'm happy for you too, mijo. Welcome to the family." Then pulling back, she says, "Not that you weren't already part of the family, but you know."

Luke chuckles, ears turning red. "Thanks, Mrs. Molina."

"Well this is a cause for celebration," Ray says. "Anyone feeling up to pasta?" Julie, Flynn, and Reggie all whoop in unison. "You going to join us, Willie?"

Willie, never usually around for long periods of time with Julie's family, is surprised to be invited. Alex beams at his soulmate and Willie knows he can't say no. "Sure, Mr. Molina. Thanks for the invite."

"Great," Rose smiles. "Well now that that's settled, I'm going to go make a reservation so we don't give the hostess a stroke when we all walk in. Everyone has two hours before we leave."

Tía Rose and tío Ray congratulate you and Luke one last time before they take their leave. Everyone follows after them, excitingly talking outfit choices, but Reggie remains by the opened doors smiling between you and Luke. A second later, Alex returns and marches a reluctant Reggie away.

Now that it's just you and Luke, the two of you laugh nervously.

"So.."

"So.." You both laugh nervously again and then you're groaning. "This is so weird, but like I'm also really excited."

Luke loses some of his nerves and his shoulders slump. "Really? You're excited?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

He turns sheepish then, averting his gaze as he shoves his hands into the front of his jean's pockets. "Julie might have explained the shitty thing your ex did and yeah. I would understand if you weren't stoked to meet me on your second day here."

He's so genuine in his explanation that you can't help but mentally swoon at this boy before you. You're not sure where the sudden confidence comes from, but you're grateful for it when you step closer and take his face in the palm of your hands so he's staring right at you. "Okay one, my mother didn't properly explain why she moved me here. I'll fill you in later, but I'm telling you right now it's not because I'm heartbroken or anything. And two, I am stoked to meet you. You wanna know why?" Luke can only nod as he pays close attention and you grin at him. "Because the moment realization sunk in, everything just felt.. it felt-"

"Right?" He asks, voice low.

You nod. "It felt right. There was no uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach, there was just elation. Like I found something I didn't know I was looking for until you uttered the words etched on my ribs."

Luke slowly smiles and you let your hands fall to your sides, leaning in and quickly kissing his cheek. "Now come on. We need to get ready for tonight."

His cheeks turn red almost immediately, but you don't say anything as you grab his arm and drag his hand from his pocket. Then clasping his hand within your own, you drag him out of the studio and up towards the house.

Dinner was quite the affair, everyone pushing you and Luke next to one another at the table and cooing over how adorable you two were. Even his parents, Emily and Mitch, had been invited along and everyone smiled throughout the entire dinner. The table was quite loud, but not a single customer nearby or the waitresses could blame you when Reggie loudly explained that they were celebrating newly found soulmates. There was even applause that had you and Luke turning red in the face and then trying to aim a kick at Reggie's shin under the table. Unfortunately, Alex took the brunt of both kicks.

When the weekend was over, Luke and the boys stood by your side on your first day of school. The band had quite the following and those fangirls of theirs were not impressed to see you and Luke hand-in-hand. It was a bit daunting navigating the hallways with a majority of the school's population looking down their nose at you, but then Julie, Flynn, and surprisingly Carrie Wilson (your cousin's arch-nemesis) came to your aide. You understood Julie and Flynn's protectiveness, but Carrie's was a shock and she merely flipped her hair over her shoulder while giving the excuse that no one should be shit on just because they found their soulmate. The girls were stunned, but shrugged it off and let Carrie do what Carrie wanted to do.

Tía Rose and tío Ray saw a lot more of Luke at their home, but didn't put up any fuss. The only thing they asked was that if they were alone in the room, then the bedroom door was to remain open at all times. And not wanting to disappoint them, you and Luke abided by their rules. Because being with Luke.. it was the complete opposite than being with Jerry. There were no nerves, no second guessing, and no jealousy. You were happy to be with Luke and vice versa, and either of you could go out with friends with no twenty questions about who you were going with and where (Jerry seriously did a number on you).

You became Julie and the Phantoms number one fan, alongside Willie and Flynn, and sat up in the loft with Willie while the band rehearsed downstairs. The times you did go downstairs after rehearsals and Luke bounded over to you like an eager puppy, you had to fight the urge to chuck something at Reggie and Julie when they cooed over how cute you were together.

Luckily for you, Luke wasn't into PDA other than hand holding or hugs. But it still didn't stop your friends from mockingly groaning for you to get a room when Luke would hug you from behind and stay there with his chin hooked over your shoulder.

Today is one of the rare days the band left Luke alone so he could spend the time with you, but you're stuck doing Algebra II homework and Luke is going through one of your old writing journals for abandoned lyrics to give him inspiration.

You've been stuck on the same problem for what feels like twenty minutes when you hear Luke sharply inhale. You glance up at him, watching him read through something that's clearly caught his attention. You can't help but grin at his look of concentration and then his expression falls and your heart suddenly aches.

Luke glances up and you gulp. "What's this?"

"What's what?"

He glances back down at the journal in his hands before looking at you once more. "Something titled Train Wreck. It looks like a completed song."

Your expression completely goes lax then. "Oh. That's, uh, I wrote that a while back when my mom and dad were going through their divorce." You close the math book in your lap and hesitantly meet Luke's gaze. "That was not a fun time for all involved. My mind was kind of.. messed up back then."

Luke gulps. "I don't want to seem inconsiderate of what clearly was a dark time for you, but this- this is really good, Y/N. Do you have a melody for it?"

You huff a laugh, shaking your head in fond amusement. Only Luke would be this invested in a song. "I do. I think it's on the laptop in a password protected file.."

His eyes light up. "Can I hear it? You don't have to, I just-"

"It's fine." You get up, heading over to the laptop and powering it up to find what you need. After a bit of searching, you find it and open it up. Letting the melody play, you look up at Luke. "I won't sing the whole thing, but I'll sing a portion of it."

He eagerly nods. "I'll take anything."

You smile at him, nervously taking a seat on a crate in the middle of the room. He finds another crate and places it close to you, wanting to be as close as possible. You close your eyes, smiling, and let the melody wash over you as the lyrics come back to you in a flash. Your heart beat is beating double, but you inhale deeply and let it out slowly.

Losing yourself to the music, you mouth the lyrics to yourself until letting your voice ring out. "Underneath our bad blood, we've still got a sanctum. Home, still a home, still a home here. It's not too late to build it back 'cause a one in a million chance is still a chance, still a chance and I would take those odds."

You open your eyes, chest aching as all those feelings from so long ago come rushing back and make your voice just that much stronger. "Unbreak the broken, unsay these spoken words. Find hope in the hopeless, pull me out of the train wreck." Luke grabs your hand and you squeeze it for all your worth as you keep looking forward. "Unburn the ashes, unchain the reactions now. I'm not ready to die, not yet. Pull me out of the train wreck. Pull me out, pull me out, pull me out."

You meet Luke's gaze then, a little surprised to see his eyes red rimmed and teary through your own blurry vision. "You can say what you like, don't say I wouldn't die for it. I'm down on my knees and I need you to be my God, be my help, be a Savior who can-"

Your voice cracks on the next word and Luke tugs on your hand, pulling you into a hug. A sob escapes your throat as you cling to Luke, but you quickly stifle it against his shoulder. As the melody plays out, you press your forehead to his shoulder before pushing back and sniffling. "I, uh, I'm sorry about that. Everything came rushing back and I-"

"Don't apologize." Luke catches your face in the palm of his hands, thumbs brushing away your tears before his lips press against your forehead. The action is so soft that your expression crumples momentarily, but you quickly mask it when Luke pulls back to catch your gaze. "That was amazing, Y/N! So amazing. And I'm sorry it brought up bad memories, but.. wow."

You huff a laugh, pulling back so you aren't hunched over. Luke, however, refuses to stop touching you and catches your hands within his own. "I should have guessed you'd be easily impressed."

"For you? Always."

You shake your head, grinning. "You're so freakin' cheesy, Luke Patterson."

He chuckles and again you're hit with a sudden boost of confidence that you lean forward, one hand finding the back of his neck so you can bring him to meet you halfway in a kiss. He smiles against your mouth, but the smile quickly falls the second you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Unfortunately, just as the tip of your tongue flicks against his bottom lip, you're interrupted.

"Can we come in now?" Reggie's voice rings out. "I really wanna give Y/N a hug after hearing that song."

"Reggie!" Julie scolds.

You and Luke pull apart laughing. You both straighten up and look towards the door just in time to see Reggie rubbing at the back of his head as he walks in with Alex and Julie behind him. Hand in hand, you and Luke stand up and chuckle at Reggie's put out expression.

Had you known that having a soulmate felt exactly as you feel right now, you would have known something was definitely up back home with Jerry. And though you will always hate your ex for tricking you the way he did, there's an ounce of gratefulness for the misery he put you through because had he not then you wouldn't have moved and met your true soulmate.

[my-soul-sings]

kiss the girl: ch 5

Fandom: Tears of Themis Characters: Artem x Reader

Summary: Armed with a trusty book, Artem Wing attempts to win the woman of his dreams.

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 2 extra (ft. marius) | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5

***

“Surprise him with flowers.”

It all began one morning, when you went to Artem’s office to look for a case file, and stumbled across a certain incriminating book that was hiding in his drawer.

The title said it all: “The Psychology of Love”. The contents of the book were even more damning—flipping it open took you naturally to the page where a plain black bookmark had been inserted, and you found yourself reading a chapter about practical tips for wooing a woman.

As you read the book, you’d periodically look over your shoulder every now and then in case Artem arrived and caught you red-handed (although you were technically only going through his drawer because you were looking for a case file that he had told you to find in his office).

You immediately recognised the practical pointers as the things Artem had been putting into practice lately. The flowers, the compliments, the dinner… What you’d initially thought was odd behaviour on his part suddenly all made sense, and it basically confirmed your suspicions that perhaps your boss did have feelings for you, and that yours weren’t one-sided like you had thought after all.

The revelation had your cheeks warming and your lips spreading into a huge grin. All that had to be done now was for both of you to confess and then you’d officially start dating, just as you had hoped for a while now.

The next question then was how to go about doing it. You considered asking him about the book directly, but that wouldn’t be any fun at all. Sure, you might get a laugh out of seeing Artem’s ears turn red and his words coming out in a timid stutter, but you wanted to be more creative with this.

And as you scanned through the book, a brilliant plan began to formulate in your mind. One that had your smile turning from gleeful, innocent and warm, to something a little more wicked. Just a little.

With all that Artem had been doing for you lately, naturally, it was only right that you returned the favour.

***

Artem’s morning routine hasn’t changed much as far as he can remember. In the mornings, he makes breakfast, a cup of coffee, then drives to work and enters the office building. He’ll greet his colleagues who are already all set up in the office and doing their work or rushing some prep work before going to court, and then settle down in his room to check his emails.

It’s not a particularly exciting routine, but Artem has gotten used to his life as a working adult; more routines, less surprises and spontaneity.

That’s why Artem isn’t used to being surprised, or having to figure out at 10am why his colleagues keep staring at him or greeting him with vaguely suspicious smiles on their faces. With every step he takes through the office he can feel their eyes on him, like visitors eyeing an animal in a zoo exhibit.

Artem wonders if it’s something about his appearance, but he’s wearing the same thing he usually does, and he has combed his hair like always. Besides, he also subtly checked to make sure his zipper wasn’t down when he first noticed his colleagues acting strange, so that can’t be it either.

His mind runs through the many possibilities for his colleagues’ strange behaviours, but can’t think of a reasonable explanation.

Thankfully, he doesn't need to think for long. He finds that explanation placed conspicuously in the centre of his desk, which is usually left clean and neat when he leaves the office for the night.

Artem is so stunned he doesn’t even realise that someone has knocked on his door until he feels a tap on his shoulder and hears a stifled laugh coming from his left.

“Everyone’s been going crazy since the flowers came. Did you send a bouquet of roses to yourself?” Celestine asks between giggles. Artem doesn’t blame her—the sight is quite incriminating. He can’t think of anyone who would send him flowers when there is no occasion to celebrate anything. Not to mention, roses? That’s quite the choice of flowers for someone who is single…

“Did you do this?” Artem asks, turning to her, although even he thinks the accusation is absurd.

“Me? Of course not. Do you know how expensive flowers are? I’d only spend it on my darling—”

“Enough,” he interrupts her, pinching the bridge of his nose and releasing a vexed sigh. First things first, he needs to do something about the flowers before more people see and start gossiping about him.

“You don’t look so happy for someone who just received flowers,” Celestine says, watching as he places his things down on his chair and desk before moving to inspect the gift. He’s eyeing it about as warily as one might a ticking bomb.

“Is it a secret admirer? Or— Don’t tell me, you’ve been making moves on someone else?”

“Of course not,” he hushes her, casting a wary glance towards the window of his office, in case they’re overheard by mistake. She’s not at her desk, and the anxious beating of his heart calms down slightly when he realises she probably hasn’t arrived in the office yet. That gives him some time to dispose of the evidence.

Turning to Celestine, he says in a low voice, “Don’t be so loud. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”

Celestine rolls her eyes, folding her arms. “She already saw the flowers.”

“What?” Alarmed, he looks out the window again, but there’s no one at her desk.

“She just dropped her things off on her chair and rushed to the restroom,” Celestine explains in a dismissive tone that does nothing to quell Artem’s concerns.

She’s seen the flowers. She’s going to think that he’s been flirting with someone else, or that he sent flowers to himself. Either way, it doesn’t look good.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Celestine remarks, scrutinising his expression. He supposes he does. How else should he look? Festive, now that he might have lost his chance at wooing the woman he’s had a crush on for so long?

“Get a grip, Artem. First things first, who are the flowers from?”

Right, right. He should confirm that first. There’s a small card sticking out from the side of the bouquet, and he fishes it out, reading it while keeping it out of view from the curious eyes of Celestine. She immediately fires off protests in response, but he’s taller than her and is able to keep it out of her reach by extending his arm all the way up.

I wasn’t sure what flowers you’d like, so I went with roses, because… well. You should be able to guess why. I’ll see you soon.

It’s a message straight out of a horror movie. Artem doesn’t want to see this person. He doesn’t want anyone to see him with this person, for that matter. He would be ruined beyond repair.

Unfortunately, the card isn’t signed. Not on the front or back, and there’s no other card to be found in the bouquet. So now, he has to deal with a mystery admirer who seems to know where he works or lives. Maybe both.

He briefly contemplates getting a personal protection order but immediately dismisses the thought; there’s no way. It seems his only option left is to wait for this secret admirer (or prankster; he still has his doubts) to track him down.

“Hey! I wanted to read that!” Celestine grumbles when the note is crushed in Artem’s fist and stuffed into his pocket.

“Read something else. You just told me yesterday that you’re drowning in work.”

Not sure where else he can put the bouquet, he decides to put it on the floor, in a corner of his room so it’s less conspicuous to anyone who passes by.

“From how you’re still panicking, I’m guessing the flowers weren’t from her after all?” Celestine asks, clicking her tongue.

“You thought they were from her?”

“Yeah. She saw the flowers in your office this morning and walked away looking quite happy.”

“Oh.” That’s strange, he thought she would be mad. But if she’s happy, that can mean only one of two things: either the flowers were from her, or she’s happy thinking that he has a partner now.

It looks like he’ll be playing a tedious guessing game for the rest of the day and the next couple of sleepless nights.

“I could ask her if you want?” Celestine offers, being helpful for the first time since entering his office.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll handle it,” he replies, clearing his throat and sitting down. He’s wasted enough time on this—he’ll worry about it after work.

Celestine takes that as her cue to leave, and this time, she graciously doesn’t leave a mocking remark behind when she closes the door.

continue reading on AO3 (see replies to this post) 

[ordinaryschmuck]

Let's Talk About Willow...

As many people have pointed out, Season Two of The Owl House severely lacks Willow-related content. Whether it's how she has yet to take center stage in an episode or does very little in her few appearances, there has yet to be anything that could satisfy the Willow fans everywhere. Gus at least had half of an episode to himself, but not her. Now, depending on your thoughts toward Willow's character, you could either see this as a huge problem, or you just don't care. But I'm not going to discuss that. Instead, I'm going to ask the one-worded question that I don't think anybody has asked yet (and when they do, it's with the equally simple response of "racism"). That question is "why?"

Why haven't we seen that much of Willow this season. And I have two theories.

My first theory relates to why she hasn't taken charge of an episode yet. Simply put...there's really no reason to.

And before you crucify me, give me the chance to explain! Ok? Ok.

First, let's start by looking at Willow in "I Was a Teenage Abomination":

She's shy and has little resistance toward Luz's scheme.

She's at the bottom of a class she sucks at.

She's ridiculed by her peers.

And she has a bad relationship with Amity, who we later learn used to be Willow's best friend.

Now, let's look at Willow in "Wing it like Witches":

She's confident in standing up for herself against Boscha and being more vocal about her feelings toward Luz's plan.

She's the most academically talented witch in Hexide, and we see how much stronger she grows with plant magic in each appearance.

Her peers respect her, and she even gains a fan.

And Amity is the first to tell Boscha to grow up when mocking Willow's talents.

In fact, the more I think about it, "Wing it like Witches" is an episode that brings Willow's story to a somewhat fitting end. She has everything she could want, and seemingly, her character growth has come to completion. I suppose we could get another episode that celebrates that same growth, like how Amity went against Hunter, who represents almost everything she used to be and could have been. Or maybe have Willow go up against her anti-thesis, like how Gus dealt with Bria, a character who wanted a shortcut to being the best instead of relying on years of hard work and dedication like Gus did. As for anything that could develop Willow further, that's not entirely possible because she's already fully developed.

But what about how she barely does much in episodes she makes an appearance in? Well, that brings me to my second theory. In which there's not much she could have done in the episodes she's been in. Er, or rather, she could have, but...let me explain.

Willow could have helped Amity stop the abomiton in "Escaping Expulsion," but it would take away how impactful of a crush Luz gains on Amity.

Willow could have tagged along with Gus and Luz to the library, but Gus needed a reason to prove himself, and Luz and Amity needed alone time for their relationship to develop. Not to mention that if Willow did tag along, she would have easily talked Gus out of joining Bria and her stooges to do some graverobbing.

Willow (and maybe Gus) could have tagged along with Luz to return Little Rascal. But it would slightly take away from the desperate times call for desperate measures situation Luz and Hunter were in and this sweet moment of them voicing their insecurities to someone they'd probably didn't plan to see again.

And Willow could have done more to help Luz's recovery, but there's not much to do in a short time that wouldn't cut important scenes like Luz learning about fools' blood or these discussions between Amity and Hunter (which I wouldn't cut down for anything).

As for Willow making an appearance in other episodes we've seen so far, all I have to ask is this: How?

...How could she have made an appearance? The best I could think of is that maybe she could help King and Luz train for Grand Prix. But even then, that still feels like a stretch. And do you really think that "Echoes of the Past" would have been better with more Willow? Because I feel like you have to be obsessed with her to think like that.

Like it or not, and I'm sure you don't, but there's not much to do with Willow in what we've seen so far. "So far" is the thing to take away from that sentence.

Again, this is only the first half of the new season. There are still eleven episodes left, and I'm positive that at least one of them will somewhat satisfy the Willow fans out there. Just know that if you're upset with how little we've seen of her, it's because there's probably more to it than you might think.

Not everything has a straight answer, and it's essential to look at something like this from all angles.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Advice Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains spoilers for a date, 讨教之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Outside the window, the wing of the plane slowly glides past layers of clouds, and glaring daylight illuminates the clear skies above the clouds.

Retracting my gaze, I look at Victor as he sits beside me. He’s wearing a formal suit, and is currently flipping through LFG’s annual report.

A week ago, both Victor and I received invitations to attend the annual media meeting in a neighbouring city today.

Among the list participants, there are a number of big shots in the business, as well as rising stars in the media industry. Victor and I are included. 

While I’m heading there with the goal of exchanging pointers with those in the same industry, Victor is making an appearance in the capacity of an investor.

Watching how attentively Victor is examining the report, I quietly turn off the video.

Just a while ago, the company produced a program which created lively discussion on the internet.

Even though a majority of the audience and those in the industry found the theme of the program original and with interesting content, a senior from the industry left feedback to the contrary.

In an “Aspects of the Film and Television Industry” interview , Producer Xia mercilessly criticised the sizeable number of issues in the industry.

While I originally agreed with whatever he said, I didn’t expect that in the next second, I’d appear in the list of examples given by this senior...

He commented that my program was sensationalised, purposefully created controversy, and that producers have completely lost their personal integrity and their "original aspirations” when making programs.

There were people who stood by me, mocking Producer Xia for simply resting on his laurels, and not following the times and being creative.

Yet, his words caused my heart to feel heavy.

At this thought, I release a sigh.

MC: Maybe I’ll be able to get some advice and experience from people in the same industry at the annual media meeting later...

Victor: Why aren’t you resting a little more on the plane?

Without warning, Victor’s voice sounds at my ear. Even before I have the chance to turn the video off, his line of sight has already landed on my screen.

MC: Cough. I’m learning from a senior in the industry, and also thinking about how to seek advice from those in the same industry during the annual meeting.

Hearing this, Victor lightly shuts the report in his hands.

Victor: Did you know that this producer would also be participating in tonight’s annual media meeting?

MC: !?

Victor: You could learn from him in person.

Outside the window of the plane are pleasant weather and blue skies. At this moment, however, there’s lightning, thunder, and torrential rain in my heart.

MC: ...Victor, could I stay in the hotel and re-conceptualise the variety show proposal you shot down last week?

Victor: No.

Before I can fleece all the possible excuses from my brain, Victor reaches out, pulling my knitted hat over my nose.

Victor: If it’s a problem you can’t resolve, don’t waste time on it. Who was the one who boldly said she’d gather her energy to get advice from those in the same industry?

MC: ...it was me.

Victor: In that case, set aside the program, and think about what you want to ask him later.

With this, Victor closes his eyes, minding his own business.

But he pushes the arm handle in between us, and reaches out to lean my head on his shoulder.

MC: Victor, you...

Victor: Close your eyes and think.

-

Mentally preparing myself to make conversation with people from the same industry, I step off the plane worriedly.

The private car arranged by the organiser of the annual meeting sends us directly to the venue, not giving me the slightest chance to struggle.

Stepping into the venue, the staff hurriedly rush over and speak to Victor in hushed whispers.

Victor nods at them slightly.

Victor: I’ll head over there with them, and will look for you later.

MC: All right. I’ll meet those in the same industry myself, and hope I can have the “luck” to interact with Producer Xia...

After Victor leaves, I stroll around the venue aimlessly.

I meet quite a number of familiar seniors in the venue. During our conversations, I obtain a lot of practical and useful suggestions.

Talking about the conceptualisation of works, and their experience preparing a program from start to finish... I learn quite a lot.

But the conversation topics inevitably end up with that dispute weighing on my mind.

Producer A: Producer Xia is just too inflexible. That’s just the style of current times. It’s not as though one’s “original aspirations” can rake in money.

MC: Actually, what Producer Xia said is correct. I’m still very green when it comes to going in-depth for programs...

It’s just that the reason why I’m brooding over this is because I don’t wish for the senior I respect to misunderstand that I’m a producer who has lost my original aspirations.

Producer B: Young Lady, being able to accomplish so much at this age, and being able to grab the attention of the audience is already considered a success.  

Faced with the kind consolation from everyone, I can only wave my hands in front of me awkwardly.

After bidding farewell to a few people from the same industry, I plan to make another round, but I feel vibrations in my pocket. Taking out my phone, I realise that Victor is calling me.

Victor: Why are you hovering around?

MC: Huh?

I instinctively turn my head to look around, but can’t see a trace of Victor.

Victor: Stop looking around. Lift your head.

After my eyes roam the venue, they finally halt on the French window of the private room on the second floor. I can’t help but wave in small motions towards Victor, who is standing behind the glass.

MC: I can see you now. But what do you mean by “hovering around”... I’m clearly learning very diligently, okay?

Victor: So, how’s your learning?

MC: It’s not bad. I just met a number of really incredible producers. They shared lots of tips when it comes to preparing and conceptualising a program!

Victor: Why don’t you talk to that producer you admire most?

Hesitating for a moment, I express my dispute with Producer Xia in a roundabout manner.

MC: Actually, I had some divergence in opinions regarding the production of programs with this senior a while ago... It wouldn’t be that good to go over so abruptly.

Victor: So, you feel nervous in such situations. Why don’t you think about how it wouldn’t be that good when you’re being fearless and bold in front of me?

MC: That’s not the same thing!

I retort him without hesitation, and a soft “hmph” can be heard at my ear.

Victor: Does he look even scarier? Or is he more worthy of you trying to figure him out carefully, and pondering and worrying about being too abrupt? 

MC: ...of course not! Just you wait - I’m going over there right now!

Taking a deep breath, I’m just about to hang up when a staff’s voice drifts from the other end of the line. 

Staff: Mr Victor, you’ll have to be on stage in about ten minutes.

Astonished, I lift my head in Victor’s direction.

MC: You’ll be on stage in a while? Why didn’t you mention it?

Victor: The organiser invited me at short notice. I just have to share my experience simply.

MC: Short notice??

Behind the glass, I see him lowering his hand to look at his watch, as though preparing to be on stage.

Victor: All right, it’s time for you to return to your seat.

-

When Victor heads to the stage, it dawns on me that I haven’t looked for my seat ever since entering the venue.

I hurriedly open the invitation card, looking around according to the seat number stated on it. Surprised, I realise that I’m actually sitting next to Producer Xia!

MC: It can’t be that coincidental, right?

Eyes widening, I once again verify the seat number. Even if I don’t wish to admit it, the person seated on my right is Producer Xia, whose words have troubled my heart.

But logically speaking, my seat should be a little further behind...

Watching as the guests take their seats in succession, me standing here is even more conspicuous.

I have no choice but to summon my courage and walk towards the seat, pondering on this unexpected “surprise”.

??: Is that the producer from [MC’s Company Name]? Tch tch, the one next to her is Producer Xia with the big temper.

Maintaining a smile, I greet the seniors at the table, pulling the chair outwards incredibly softly.

But hearing my movements, Producer Xia turns his head. The eyes that pause on my face put an end to my chance of feigning ignorance.

MC: Hello, Producer Xia. I’m MC, and I’ve been looking forward to meeting you...

Just as the rumours have said, his temperament is odd, and this senior simply nods. 

The atmosphere reaches an impasse. Slightly sullen, I recall what Victor said earlier-

“What’s so scary about you?”

That’s right. I’ve already signed a five hundred million dollar contract with Victor, so what else is there to be afraid of!

Perhaps the little Victor in my head gives me a buff, and I steel my heart, speaking bluntly.

MC: Senior Xia, to be honest, a large part of the reason why I attended this annual meeting was to obtain your advice. Of course, what I hope even more is to dispel the misunderstanding you have about me.

Producer Xia doesn’t say anything, and I’m unable to read his emotions on his face. But saying these things makes me much more light-hearted.

MC: You criticised my program before, saying that I’m too fickle, wanting to chase after trendy topics, and have lost the “original aspiration” of what it means to make programs. 

Producer Xia: So, what are you trying to say?

MC: There are indeed many flaws in my programs. This is an issue arising from my own inabilities. But “deliberately creating sensational topics”, “chasing after views”... These aren’t my intentions, nor my motivation for entering this industry.

Mustering my courage, I tell him about the very first conceptualisation of the program he criticised, and the difficulties faced in the implementation process.

After a very long time, he sighs.

Producer Xia: Is the old-fashioned opinion of someone like me very important to you? 

I’m stunned for a moment, not understanding the meaning in his words. However, judging from his tone and expression, he doesn’t seem enraged by my abruptness.

MC: That’s right. Because you’re a senior I respect very much, and I grew up watching your programs. As compared to those programs which are trendy for a while, your works are classics which have withstood the test of time.

Even before I finish speaking, the stage is suddenly illuminated. The surroundings quieten down, and everyone turns their gazes to the middle of the stage.

Under the eyes of the audience, Victor walks onto the stage. 

He’s attending the meeting in the capacity of an investor, and his speech represents the choice of the market, and also represents the hopes of the audience.

Victor’s voice is neither too fast nor too slow, and is steady with strength. 

Victor: ...they key to a successful program lies in being able to continuously release a different voice in this diverse world.

Victor: Innovation will bring friction, but when interacting with all sorts of perspectives, it could create space and opportunities for thought within the industry.

Victor: Always accommodating to the market and following trends could erode a program and make it lose its initial style, rendering it into yet another industrial product with no originality.

Perhaps talking about the current situation in the industry, a few seniors from the older generation who weren’t paying attention at the start have their attentions piqued.

Victor: But to strike a balance between following trends and maintaining valuable opinions...

Victor: This is a difficult aspiration that every producer has to face and be unwilling to give up on.

Victor pauses for a moment. In a trace, I even have the misperception that he’s looking straight at me. 

I instinctively start clapping, but the surroundings are completely quiet.

It’s only at this point that I realise the speech isn’t over yet. According to the plan, an expression of gratitude and concluding remarks follow after this...

But I didn’t expect that Producer Xia would follow me in applauding, very quickly dispelling my awkwardness.

With this senior leading the pack, the applause offstage very quickly turns enthusiastic.

On the stage, Victor politely expresses his gratitude. When the applause fizzles out, he ends with the concluding remarks. 

At this moment, Producer Xia, who has been silent all this while, speaks.

Producer Xia: A while ago, I heard that after a young junior heard my criticisms, she quietly went around interviewing all the related audiences and guests again. I initially didn’t believe it, but I can see that it’s true now. My views were too one-sided.

My face flushes.

MC: ...just as you said, my works don’t relate enough to real life, and lack insight. After calming down and pondering over it for a very long time, I could only think of this stupid method.

Producer Xia: Perhaps just as that young man said earlier, I should change the way I think.

-

The afternoon sunlight is leisurely, and the fragrance of coffee ferments in the air, leaving me in a daze.

After the annual media meeting, Victor and I have come to a nearby cafe. 

MC: I heard that the speech on stage was requested by the organiser at short notice. If it were me, I’d definitely be unbelievably nervous. As expected of you, Victor!

Victor: I could see it very clearly when you were making small talk offstage.

MC: ...those were just normal greetings between me and those from the industry. Producer Xia even said that you’re very accomplished. 

Victor: Didn’t you say that his temper was as equally large as his popularity?

MC: Those were all just misunderstandings. Senior Xia even answered many questions that I didn’t get an answer to even after cracking my head over them.

In our seats in the cafe, I’m engrossed in sharing what I heard earlier, and Victor lets out a resigned sigh.

Victor: ...you said you were going to treat someone to coffee, so why are you only sharing your own experiences?

His reminder brings me back my senses, and my gaze once again lands on the menu.

MC: But...

Victor reaches out to take the menu from my hands.

Victor: It’s just ordering coffee. Why do you look like you’re in misery?

But when he sees the words on the menu, he purses his lips.

Victor: ...

MC: Do you know why I looked like I was in misery now?

Victor: Are you sure these are names of coffee?

MC: Of course!

Picturing Victor reading out the names of the coffee with a dead serious expression, I await for that image to turn into reality with much anticipation.

So, I deliberately clear my throat, leaning closer to him.

MC: So, Mister, may I know if you’d like “Sweet Sweet Milk Coffee”, or “Puckery Pure Coffee”?

[Note] In Chinese, the names of the coffee are meant to be sound cutesy - “甜甜嗲嗲奶咖” (“tian tian dia dia nai ka”) and “涩涩呼呼纯咖啡” (“se se hu hu chun ka”)

Victor: ...

Victor’s brows furrow indistinctly, then he shuts the menu.

Victor: The second.

As expected, he doesn’t fall for the trap. I can only let my enthusiasm wane, and I order two cups of coffee.

-

Completing the day’s itinerary, Victor and I return to the hotel early.

After washing up, I’m just about to blow my hair when I realise that there’s an issue with the hair dryer in my room, and no one at the reception counter is picking up my call.

After a moment of hesitation, I drape on my jacket, and knock on Victor’s room next door.

Victor opens the door quickly. He has already changed into casual homewear, and the room is in a state of complete darkness, as though he’s already preparing to sleep.

Victor: What’s wrong?

MC: I’m here to borrow the hair dryer. The one in my room can’t be used.

Victor turns his body to the side, letting me in. When I step into the room, I sneeze.

MC: Achoo! Why’s it so cold here? Didn’t you turn on the heater?

Victor: I just had a bath. I found it a little warm so I turned it off.

While he speaks, I turn the heater and lights on in the room. Borrowing the bright lights, I notice the grey circles underneath his eyes. 

The end of the year is LFG’s busiest period. He definitely didn’t get proper rest over this duration.

With this thought, I pick up the hair dryer on the coffee table, planning to blow my hair dry in my own room. But when I turn around, I bump into his chest.

MC: Why are you standing behind me so quietly?

Victor: Who’s the quiet one?

Probably finding my stunned expression humorous, the corners of Victor’s lips curl upwards.

Victor: You’re borrowing a hair dryer, so why are you acting so suspiciously?

MC: ...I’m worried that I’m disturbing your rest! So I plan to dry my hair in my room.

Without a word, he takes my hand, pulling me to sit on the sofa next to the coffee table. Then, he sits behind me.

Not understanding what’s going on, I twist my head to look at him.

Victor: Be good and sit.

He takes the hair dryer in my hand, lifting the ends of my hair out from my jacket, then stops.

Victor: Take off your jacket.

MC: ??

Victor sighs in resignation, then pulls gently at a corner of the sleeve of my jacket.

MC: ?! 

Victor: Your jacket’s drenched from your hair. If you don’t want to catch a cold, take it off.

MC: [blushes] I see...

Victor: Don’t let your imagination run wild.

MC: I did not!

Face flushed, I remove my jacket. Suddenly, I feel a cold shiver, and realise that I'm only wearing a spaghetti strap top.

I can feel the blood on my face rushing to the top of my head.

MC: [blushing] I... I should keep it on! Or I’ll feel very cold...

Before I even finish speaking, I feel a warm, broad chest pressing against me.

Victor: Are you still cold like this?

MC: [blushing] ...nope.

Victor switches the hair dryer on, gently fiddling with my hair. 

My back rubs against his cotton t-shirt, at the area close to his heart. It seems as though I can vaguely feel his heartbeat. For a moment, I can’t differentiate if it’s my heartbeat or his.

He holds up the ends of my hair tenderly, his fingers occasionally touching my scalp gently. 

My hair dances in the air in a disorderly manner, following the direction of the hair dryer, and they fall on my cheeks and neck.

A ticklish sensation surfaces from behind and in front of me. I bite my lip, but finally chuckle, unable to hold myself back.

MC: Hahahaha -- it’s so ticklish!

Victor’s actions pause slightly. Then, he bends his forefinger and taps the top of my head softly.

Victor: Even if it’s ticklish, bear with it.

I tense myself up, sitting in Victor’s arms, trying my best to level my breathing.

Victor: Relax. Why are you so nervous?

MC: ...It’s not like I can relax just because you tell me to relax. Oh yes, Victor, did you assign someone to handle today’s seating arrangements?

Victor: Mm. Didn’t you find it a pleasant surprise that you could interact with the producer you admire?

Recalling the nervousness and awkwardness of conversing with Producer Xia, I can’t help but mutter softly.

MC: Yes yes yes, I’m grateful for the serious scare you prepared for me...

Victor: Looks like the both of you had a joyful interaction, and that you’re no longer preoccupied by the matter that troubled you.

Hearing his teasing remark, I lift up my head, the back of my head almost bumping into Victor’s chin.

MC: How did you know that? Did you watch the “Aspects of the Film and Television Industry” interview?

The hair dryer hums at my ear, but I can still capture the soft “hmph” he leaves in the air.

Victor: Whenever that senior was mentioned, your expression would turn very nervous. When other people brought up their opinions on your program, you’d start tweaking your ears and scratching your cheeks in anxiousness, deliberately evading the topic. The program proposals you’ve been giving me have fewer errors. But at the same time, your ideas have become increasingly conservative.

Victor speaks unhurriedly and with reason. When I hear this, I break into cold sweat, and shirk my neck in guilt. 

MC: So you could already tell since early on.

Victor: At first, I thought such changes would be beneficial to your growth. But when I saw a certain dummy becoming more and more roundabout, and having a more negative attitude, I thought she needed someone to give her a push.

MC: ...aren’t you worried that with such a violent push, I’d fall?

Victor: If that producer insisted on being at odds with you, what would you have done?

Victor’s counterquestion sounds above my head. For a moment, I’m left in a daze, and I give it serious thought. 

Actually, I’ve long since known the answer to this question. After all, from a very long time ago, Victor already told me that the opinions of others aren’t that important.

It’s just that when applying it to myself, I realise how difficult it is to follow through with such words. 

MC: It just means that I ought to work even harder, and use my subsequent works as proof... no, as a counterattack!

Victor: Being able to think this way means you aren’t beyond cause.

He taps the top of my head gently again.

MC: In that interview episode, Producer Xia said that the most important thing in making programs is to maintain that “original aspiration”. I think what that meant was - as producers, we not only have to maintain professionalism, but have to persevere in our own steps. The production of programs has always been an open-ended question. If I were to cater to the opinions of others, it would be going against my own “original aspiration”. So what I’m thinking is that perhaps from the very beginning, the question I should pondering on is how to better express and convey things.

Out of habit, I lift my head to meet his eyes, wanting to seek Victor’s affirmation.

Victor lets out a breath, gently tidying my hair. The friction from his finger pads brings with it an almost indistinct tenderness and patience. 

Victor: All right, your hair’s dry, and you’ve thought through the problem. You should go back.

MC: Huh?

Victor grabs a blanket from the side, covering my exposed shoulders tightly.

Victor: Or do you want to laze here for an entire night?

Tugging the blanket over myself to cover my scorching cheeks, I speak boldly.

MC: But the notebook on your desk is still lit. Are you planning to continue working? I want to advance together with CEO Victor, and re-conceptualise that proposal you find too conservative. After all, if Producer MC makes an excellent program, it’d be a good thing for its investment partner LFG, right?

I speak earnestly and sincerely, but Victor is tickled by my dead serious tone.

Victor: Lacking great wisdom and knowledge, but clever in trivial matters.

From the reflection in the glass of the French window, I can vaguely see a small smile on Victor’s lips. 

Victor: Since you said you want to “advance together”, you aren’t allowed to be timid. Being bold in front of me - isn’t that what you’ve always been good at?

-

Moments and Texts: here

🌹 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[cappymightwrite]

So I’ve just read your meta on the TWOW Alayne I sample chapter (it’s amazing btw!) and I noticed something while reading it that I wanted to share and see if anybody else has noticed - nearly every man Alayne dances with during the feast could be taken as a reference to Jon or the Night’s Watch.

Ben Coldwater -> Snow is, obviously, cold water, and Ben is a sneaky Benjen reference

Andrew Tollett -> most likely related to Dolorous Edd Tollett, Jon’s old steward and good friend

Ser Byron the Beautiful -> GRRM has described Jon as a Byronic hero

Ser Morgarth and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse -> these men are more dubious, I’m not really sure of the link with Morgarth. Shadrich is a callback from Brienne’s AFFC plot though, and a sign that Sansa’s cover isn’t as secure as she and Littlefinger think it is

Ser Albar Royce - a reference to Waymar Royce, he of the many Jon parallels and Sansa’s old crush, though she finds his cousin(?) stout and dull

The Sunderlands - their family are the lords of the Three Sisters. In ADWD, Davos is told a story on Sweetsister about Ned having to sneak across the Bite during Robert’s Rebellion, to get North and call his banners. A fisherman helped him but drowned when a storm caught their boat - but his daughter got Ned safely to the Sisters. The prevailing story on the islands seems to be that he left her with a bag of silver and a bastard in her belly, whom she named after Jon Arryn

Uther Shett - I was half-convinced this guy also had a relative on the wall, because his name (insulting pun aside) seems to be a reference to Chett, the prologue POV of ASOS who had a grudge against Jon for losing him his position as one of Maester Aemon’s stewards in favour of Sam

Ser Targon the Halfwild - Jon will likely be half-wild when he comes back from the dead, but he’s already been described as ‘half a wildling’ multiple times. Also Targon = Targ-Jon?

Ser Roland and Ser Wallace Waynwood - both are described earlier in the chapter as long-faced with brown hair, which are also Stark features. Alayne thinks of them as “horsefaced”, probably an Arya reference that also calls back to her and Jon’s shared Stark look. Wallace is even the same age as Robb, and thus Jon, would be.

So though Jon wasn’t mentioned by name in the chapter, I think he was very present... not just lemoncake-wise ;)

Thank you! :D Haha for a moment there I was like...wait which meta? Had to take my mind back for a sec there because I've written quite a bit since then! But yeah, doing deep dives into certain chapters is really fun — my next one that's in the works is Jon XI in A Dance With Dragons. Great to hear you enjoyed my Winds one :)

Ooooh that is really interesting and a mighty fine catch! Definitely the vibe I got whilst reading that chapter, after having analysed Alayne II, AFFC (which chronologically precedes it), is that Jon's presence or references to him are made subtly throughout the chapter(s) — especially whenever Winterfell is alluded to because Jon is the "Snow of Wintefell", the "blood of Winterfell", etc. But also vice versa, Sansa is very much connected to Winterfell in Jon's chapters as well — "Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa."

But let's take a look at those names you listed below the cut! Big post ahead, so buckle up kids!

So, I hadn't noticed the significance of those names on my reading, but I can well believe what you're suggesting because it plays very much into how I interpreted the subconscious goings on of that chapter — that you have these rememberances/reminders of Winterfell and Sansa's Stark idenity at crucial moments within the chapter’s narrative pacing, especially prior to moments with Harry the Heir. Not to sound too crass, but it's sort like a marking of territory, and this is made even stronger by that goddamn phallic as hell Giant's Lance lemoncake (aka Jon's peen). It's all quite neatly buried, but when you start matching up the imagery...I mean, I guess wolves are territorial beasts, so...checks out? (George...why are you like this?)

It is interesting that we get that iconic entrance of the Giant's Lance lemoncake prior to these dance partners, i.e. a claim has been staked essentially, and it ain't from Littlefinger, which is what could be interpreted on first inspection. And let's not beat around the bush, as uncomfortable as it is (because Sansa is ONLY 13/14!!), this is a sexual claim being made owing to the phallic symbolism and the general tone of the chapter being about Alayne's betrothal/marriage:

And best of all, Lord Nestor’s cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar.

For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out.

I legit just snorted re-reading this: "splendid subtlety" MY ASS! What follows is a whole lot of gift-giving, which come to think of it, in combination with this bloody big cake...well, it reads quite a bit like a wedding breakfast to me, followed by dancing, in addition to a possible nod to a Stark bridal cloak, masked by the Arryn colours:

There were gifts as well, splendid gifts. Each of the competitors received a cloak of cloth-of-silver and a lapis brooch in the shape of a pair of falcon’s wings. Fine steel daggers were given to the brothers, fathers, and friends who had come to watch them tilt. For their mothers, sisters, and ladies fair there were bolts of silk and Myrish lace.

Because if we compare this "cloak of cloth-of-silver" with previous descriptions of Sansa's maiden cloak, we see this obvious recurring inclusion of either silver or grey as one of the Stark colours:

Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. "Your father's colors," said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain.

A maiden's cloak. Sansa's hand went to her throat. She would have torn the thing away if she had dared. – ASOS, Sansa III

"[...] and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back...why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright [...]" – AFFC, Alayne II

This is all very in keeping with the theme of the chapter, which is meeting Alayne's betrothed, Harrold Hardyng, so obviously a future marriage/alliance is very much a prevalent theme here. Furthermore, the mention of "Myrish lace" for the "ladies fair" does somewhat remind me of Alys Karstark's wedding garb:

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

"Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. – ADWD, Jon X

I think some other people have mentioned before how even though Jon makes a conscious comparison between Arya and Alys — "reminded Jon so much of his little sister" — the romanticised, flushed cheeked imagery very much points towards a subconsious allusion to Sansa (ETA: anyone spoken on this got a link?). With that in mind, we could see this as foreshadowing of not only Jonsa, but a Jonsa wedding, and Sansa as Queen in the North — "a frosty crown" "Winter's lady" — with Jon as her king/consort. In my current Jon chapter analysis I've been working with the idea that actually as soon as Jon starts romanticising a girl, which is notably different from just noticing someone's physical beauty (e.g. with Val), that is when the subconscious comparisons to Sansa really jump out.

But anyway! Onto those names...or rather, Jon Snow stand-ins.

Rising, [Ben Coldwater] offered Alayne his hand. “Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?”

“You’re very kind,” she said, as he led her to the floor.

He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor. After Ben came Andrew Tollett, handsome Ser Byron, red-nosed Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse. Then Ser Albar Royce, Myranda’s stout dull brother and Lord Nestor’s heir. She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. Uther Shett appeared to pay her slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet, but Ser Targon the Halfwild proved to be the soul of courtesy. After that Ser Roland Waynwood swept her up and made her laugh with mocking comments about half the other knights in the hall. His uncle Wallace took a turn as well and tried to do the same, but the words would not come. Alayne finally took pity on him and began to chatter happily, to spare him the embarrassment. When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

If I've counted that right, that's 14 men? Alright, here we go.

First up...Ben Coldwater

I think you're right that Ben Coldwater feels very much like a nod to Ben-jen Stark, who is referred to as Ben a few times I think, and Jon Snow (cold water = snow), both men of the Night's Watch. House Coldwater also traces its lineage back to the First Men, and are sworn to House Royce, who are also notably descended from the First Men, have previously married into the Stark family and still maintain close connections to the current house through Ned's fosterage in the Vale. So, through the Royces, we see another possible connection to the Starks and Jon Snow...Jon Snow who was named after Jon Arryn.

I would also add that we have Ben make this inquiry prior to his dance with Alayne:

“Are there no singers?” asked Ben Coldwater.

I don't know, maybe I'm reaching but...singers feature quite a lot in connection to Jon, for instance:

Mance Rayder, who infiltrates Winterfell disguised as a singer called Abel, an anagram of Bael, aka Bael the Bard;

Bael the Bard and the Blue Rose of Winterfell — a story told to Jon by Ygritte, which very much evokes the tale of Rhaegar and Lyanna;

Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon's real father, was a notably skilled lyre player, whose singing supposedly made Lyanna cry — "The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle," (ASOS, Bran II). He is also theorised to have written the song Jenny of Oldstones, possibly for the Ghost of High Heart, Jenny's friend.

Ygritte — when Jon starts to find her more attractive, when he starts to romanticise her, he observes that "sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him," (ASOS, Jon II).

Val — again, we start to see Jon begin to warm to Val, to see her in more of a romantic + typically feminine light, because of her singing to the baby Monster: "I have heard you singing to him," (ADWD, Jon VIII).

Sansa — oh, my sweet Sansa...when remembering his family, not quite in his dying moments, but a little bit prior to that, Jon thinks "Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow," (ADWD, Jon XIII).

I think it's clear that Jon loves a good song and you know what? He'd probably be asking about the lack of singers too! One final detail perhaps worth noting is the seat of House Coldwater:

[...] the Coldwaters of Coldwater Burn [...] – TWOIAF, The Vale

Obviously, the "song of ice and fire" is not a person, but more the elemental and destructive forces of the Others and the dragons, yet nevertheless, through Jon's parentage, as well as his actions (burned hand, etc.), plus his personality to a certain extent (hot-headed then repressing emotions) you do have this duality of hot and cold, of fire and ice...Coldwater Burn? Could be something.

Ser Andrew Tollett

So, like you said, the name Tollett immediately puts us in mind of Eddison Tollett, also known as Dolorous Edd, who is like Jon, a black brother of the Night's Watch. And he is a good brother to Jon, voting for him in the election for the Lord Commander, as well as becoming his loyal steward for a time, before being sent on a mission to Long Barrow. Interestingly, Dolorous Edd, as well as the Tolletts in general, do have a bit of a Stark vibe to them...

Like a typical Stark, Dolorous Edd is described as having a "long face" (ACOK, Jon III), a face like a mule's to be exact, but also notably a horse's as well:

"[...] Me, I have the mules. Nettles claims we're kin. It's true we have the same long face, but I'm not near as stubborn [...]" – ADWD, Jon XII

He only wished he had time to kill Tollett as well. Gloomy horsefaced fool, that's what he is. – ASOS, Prologue

He is given the nickname Dolorous Edd (dolorous = mournful), and is referred to several times as being "dour" (ACOK, Jon II, Jon III, ASOS, Jon V, ADWD, Jon XII, XIII), an attribute not entirely out of place when we consider some notable Starks and their disposition, as well as their house words:

He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. – AGOT, Tyrion II

Winter is coming. The Stark words had never sounded so grim or ominous to Jon as they did now. – AGOT, Jon VIII

I gave my maidenhood to this solemn stranger and sent him off to his war and his king and the woman who bore him his bastard, because I always did my duty. – ACOK, Catelyn VI

Ned was shorter and plainer of face, and so somber. He spoke courteously enough, but beneath the words she sensed a coolness that was all at odds with Brandon, whose mirths had been as wild as his rages [...] And after the war, at Winterfell, I had love enough for any woman, once I found the good sweet heart beneath Ned's solemn face. – ASOS, Catelyn V

So, not unlike Jon, Arya and Ned, Dolorous Edd has a "long and solemn" face (AGOT, Arya I), as well as a "dour" personality. Furthermore, even House Tollet of Grey Glen's sigil and words have Stark vibes, since according to semi-canon sources, their shield is "pily grey and black" and their words are "When all is darkest," which arguably carries the same ominous, Long Night warning of "Winter is coming". In addition to this, like the Coldwaters, the Tollets are sworn to the First Men descended Royces.

But beyond this, if we take a look at some legendary and historical Tolletts...we actually have two notable names:

Torgold Tollett — also known as Torgold the Grim, though ironically, because he was famous for riding into battle laughing, and naked from the waist up:

The songs say that Torgold knew no fear and felt no pain. Though bleeding from a score of wounds, he cut a red swathe through Lord Redfort's staunchest warriors, then took his lordship's arm off at the shoulder with a single cut. Nor was he dismayed when the sorceress Ursula Upcliff appeared upon a bloodred horse to curse him. By then he was bare-handed, having left both of his axes buried in a foe's chest, but the singers say he leapt upon the witch's horse, grasped her face between two bloody hands, and tore her head from her shoulders as she screamed for succor. – TWOIAF, The Vale

Ser Jon Tollett — In Fire & Blood, Jon Tollett is recorded as a member of King Maegor the Cruel's Kingsguard. After the king's mysterious death, his successor, King Jaeherys I, offered Maegor's surviving Kingsguard a choice between execution or taking the black. Jon Tollett chose the latter. This somewhat parallels Ned's decision to take the black, to a certain extent.

You could argue that there are more than a few similarities, or future foreshadowings, between these Tolletts and Jon Snow...

Ser Byron the Beautiful

Like you mentioned, Jon Snow has been described by GRRM as a "Byronic, romantic hero". I'm so annoyed with myself, because I had written up some good stuff on how Jon really does possess certain Byronic traits but as I was inserting a gif it ended up deleting most of what I wrote...so I'm still a bit bitter over that, but will rewrite it at some point soon. Take my word for it though, Jon Snow is 100% more of a Byronic Hero (a la Byron's own Manfred), than Sandor Clegane, for example:

GRRM: “Well who wouldn’t want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love.” [source]

Ser Byron, as well as being described as beautiful, is also notably very gallant, the perfect knight:

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders. – AFFC, Alayne II

We all know that Sansa appreciates a bit of genuine courtesy, and in fact, she's taught Jon well in that regard:

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. – ACOK, Jon III

I think this Jon stand-in does rely mostly on Jon's connection to the Byronic Hero. So, if anyone is still a bit dubious on that (because Rochester and Heathcliff are trash), just hang in there for my eventual meta on the subject, which focuses on Lord Byron's OG Byronic Hero, rather than the later Brontë/Victorian iterations.

In fact, in terms of Jon's parentage and future romance with Sansa, there's one Byronic tale that may be a particular source of inspiration — The Bride of Abydos. This poem notably includes a romance in which half-siblings are revealed to be cousins...sound familiar?

Ser Morgarth the Merry

Another hedge knight, like Ser Byron, who is sworn into the service of Petyr Baelish. I've got to agree with you here, red-nosed Ser Morgarth's connection to Jon is quite a bit harder to decipher! I have done a little digging though, and it is possible that the Garth in Morgarth is a reference to several Garths that appear in Jon's chapters, as well as Garth Greenhand, the alleged ancestor of legendary House Stark founder...Brandon the Builder:

Garth of Oldtown

Garth of Greenaway

Garth Greyfeather

All of these Garths are rangers/members of the Night's Watch at the same time as Jon, though I think by Dance it is presumed that they are all dead, or at least missing — in fact, Garth of Greenaway kills Garth of Oldtown. Garth on Garth violence!!

Haha, oh god...I think I just got the pun...Morgarth = More Garth! More Garths the merrier! Get it?! More Garths everybody!

George, I hate you.

Ok, so that's what that is. It's literally just a dumb pun, yet it also connects Morgarth to the Night's Watch Garths, and therefore Jon.

Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse

I think you're right that Ser Shadrich's presence connects us to Brienne's quest, as well as foreshadowing potential shit hitting the fan at the tourney of the Winged Knights. But he also notably makes some interesting remarks, both to Brienne and Sansa, which we can connect to Jon Snow's secret Targaryen heritage:

"Where?" Brienne slapped another silver stag down.

He flicked the coin back at her with his forefinger. "Someplace no stag ever found...though a dragon might." – AFFC, Brienne III

On the surface, in response to Brienne's questioning about the whereabouts of the Stark sisters, Shadrich is talking about a monetary bribe. However, beneath that explicit meaning, is an implicit reference to a stag (Joffrey) failing, where a dragon (Jon) will succeed. Others have talked about this line in more detail elsewhere, but it seems like a pretty good allusion to the foils, Joffrey (a prince who is really a bastard) and Jon (a bastard who is really a prince).

In this exact Winds chapter, however, we also see a conversation between Alayne and Shadrich, which hints at his possible plans to uncover and abduct Sansa Stark in return for a lucrative reward:

“A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that’s not likely, is it?”

This "stumbl[ing] on a bag of dragons" could also be seen as an implicit nod towards stumbling upon Jon's Targaryen heritage later in the novel, something that is more "likely" than anyone would expect. That claim might be a reach, were it not for the implication that when Shadrich talks about money, i.e. dragons...he isn't actually talking about gold coins, he's talking about Targaryens, but more than that...he's talking specifically about Jon Snow.

Ser Albar Royce

"Myranda’s stout dull brother and Lord Nestor’s heir." I think like Ser Morgarth, the physical appearance of these stand-ins doesn't always play a factor, because it would be kind of unnerving if they all had solemn long faces... So, what is important here is, like you say, the name Royce and his relation to Ser Waymar Royce, Sansa's first crush, who just happens to resemble and parallels Jon quite a bit:

She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. – AFFC, Alayne I

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife. Mounted on his huge black destrier, the knight towered above Will and Gared on their smaller garrons. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather. Ser Waymar had been a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch for less than half a year, but no one could say he had not prepared for his vocation. At least insofar as his wardrobe was concerned. – AGOT, Prologue

Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast. – AGOT, Bran I

"They're not my brothers," Jon snapped. "They hate me because I'm better than they are." – AGOT, Jon III

Although, it is worth noting that the Royces, as a whole, do somewhat resemble the Starks in appearance, at least in terms of their eye colour:

Bronze Yohn Royce, the current head of House Royce of Runestone, has "slate-grey eyes" as well as a "solemn face", (AFFC, Alayne I).

Ser Robar, his second son was "comely in a rough-hewn way" (ACOK, Catelyn III), with "pale" eyes (ACOK, Catelyn IV), possibly grey like his father's.

Ser Waymar, Yohn's third son, as mentioned, was "grey-eyed" (AGOT, Prologue).

It isn't as clear whether or not their cadet branch, which Albar belongs to, tend towards grey eyes as well, though we know that Myranda has brown hair, specifically "thick chestnut curls" (AFFC, Alayne II) — typical looking Starks, like Ned, Arya, and Jon, all have brown/dark hair.

As previously mentioned, the Royces are also descended from the First Men, have kinship links to the Starks, knew Ned when he fostered in the Vale, and Bronze Yohn even "knows" Sansa Stark:

"Bronze Yohn knows me," she reminded him. "He was a guest at Winterfell when his son rode north to take the black." She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. "And that was not the only time. Lord Royce saw...he saw Sansa Stark again at King's Landing, during the Hand's tourney." – AFFC, Alayne I

His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa's memories of his time at Winterfell. She remembered him at table, speaking quietly with her mother. She heard his voice booming off the walls when he rode back from a hunt with a buck behind his saddle. She could see him in the yard, a practice sword in hand, hammering her father to the ground and turning to defeat Ser Rodrik as well. He will know me. How could he not? She considered throwing herself at his feet to beg for his protection. He never fought for Robb, why should he fight for me? The war is finished and Winterfell is fallen. "Lord Royce," she asked timidly, "will you have a cup of wine, to take the chill off?"

Bronze Yohn had slate-grey eyes, half-hidden beneath the bushiest eyebrows she had ever seen. They crinkled when he looked down at her. "Do I know you, girl?" – AFFC, Alayne I

They also have the house words "We will remember", which somewhat evokes the recurring refrain "the north remembers" (ASOS, Catelyn, ADWD, Davos IV, ADWD, A Ghost in Winterfell, TWOW, Theon I), as well as a possible remembrance of the Long Night, similar to the Starks’ and Tolletts’ words. All in all, as well as evoking a certain Starkness (and Jon-ness), the Royces seem set up to be staunch allies of the Starks going forward.

All Three Sunderlands

Since these Sunderland brothers aren't given names, we can assume what is significant about them, in relation to Jon and Sansa, is their Sunderland name. As you noted, the Sunderlands are the reigning lords of the Three Sisters, and in Dance, through Davos' pov, we hear about Ned's time there during Robert's Rebellion:

"At the dawn of Robert's Rebellion. The Mad King had sent to the Eyrie for Stark's head, but Jon Arryn sent him back defiance. Gulltown stayed loyal to the throne, though. To get home and call his banners, Stark had to cross the mountains to the Fingers and find a fisherman to carry him across the Bite. A storm caught them on the way. The fisherman drowned, but his daughter got Stark to the Sisters before the boat went down. They say he left her with a bag of silver and a bastard in her belly. Jon Snow, she named him, after Arryn.

"Be that as it may. My father sat where I sit now when Lord Eddard came to Sisterton. Our maester urged us to send Stark's head to Aerys, to prove our loyalty. It would have meant a rich reward. The Mad King was open-handed with them as pleased him. By then we knew that Jon Arryn had taken Gulltown, though. Robert was the first man to gain the wall, and slew Marq Grafton with his own hand. 'This Baratheon is fearless,' I said. 'He fights the way a king should fight.' Our maester chuckled at me and told us that Prince Rhaegar was certain to defeat this rebel. That was when Stark said, 'In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true…but what if we prevail?' My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. 'If you lose,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.' " – ADWD, Davos I

This passage has one of my favourite asoiaf quotes of all time..."In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true...but what if we prevail?" Truly iconic. So defiantly hopeful.

But, yes, you're right that this story, and the Sunderlands, connects us to Ned, but more importantly...to Jon Snow. Really, Jon has quite a few Vale connections, all things considered, and he is named after Jon Arryn after all!

Uther Shett

Well, along with his buddy Ossifer Lipps (ass for lips), Uther Shett (utter shit) is an example of George having some pretty lowbrow fun with punny names. During their dance, Uther paid Alayne "slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet"...so not the best partner!

But from one shit to another...I think you're probably right that Uther Shett is meant to recall Chett, indeed, if we take a look at his description in Winds:

The one on her left was no more than eighteen, and skinny as a spear. His ginger-colored whiskers only partially served to disguise the angry red pimples that dotted his face.

His bad skin is somewhat comparable to Chett's boils:

Chett had a wen on his neck the size of a pigeon's egg, and a face red with boils and pimples. Perhaps that was why he always seemed so angry. – AGOT, Jon V

What is also noteworthy about Chett's prologue pov in ASOS, is that we get this linking of literal snow and Jon Snow:

Snow was falling.

He could feel tears freezing to his cheeks. It isn't fair, he wanted to scream. Snow would ruin everything he'd worked for, all his careful plans. It was a heavy fall, thick white flakes coming down all about him [...] The snow's taken it all from me...the bloody snow...

Snow had ruined him once before. Snow and his pet pig. – ASOS, Prologue

This makes any mention of snow beyond this point a bit more noteworthy, especially since Jon is referred to as "the Snow of Winterfell," (ASOS, Jon I), and we also have Sansa's famous "drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses" whilst building Winterfell out of snow scene, also in ASOS, (Sansa VII). So, Chett is very important when it comes to establishing this connection.

Ser Targon the Halfwild

Targon is only mentioned once and it is in that list of dance partners. He's not connected to any particular house, all we know of him is that he is a knight and that he "proved to be the soul of courtesy." This detail is interesting because it sort goes against his "Halfwild" moniker — he is courteous in spite of his half-wildness. Likewise, Jon is also courteous, chivalrous and knightly even, in spite of the stigma attached to being a bastard:

They still think me a turncloak. That was a bitter draft to drink, but Jon could not blame them. He was a bastard, after all. Everyone knew that bastards were wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit. And he had made as many enemies as friends at Castle Black...Rast, for one. Jon had once threatened to have Ghost rip his throat out unless he stopped tormenting Samwell Tarly, and Rast did not forget things like that. – ASOS, Jon VII

As mentioned in comparison to Ser Byron, Jon behaves courteously towards Gilly, calling her name "pretty", just as Sansa taught him. He also often refers to Val as "my lady" despite her being a proud woman of the Free Folk. Jon also clearly looks up to and wishes to emulate legendary knights to a certain extent, and behaving with courtesy and honour is very much part of that:

They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." – ASOS, Jon XII

Furthermore, Jon has this connection to the Free Folk, also known as the wildlings, having spent a fair amount of time with them:

"The wildling blood is the blood of the First Men, the same blood that flows in the veins of the Starks [...]" – ASOS, Jon I

"Some of your own Sworn Brothers would have me believe that you are half a wildling yourself. Is it true?" – ADWD, Jon IV

Mully cleared his throat. "M'lord? The wildling princess, letting her go, the men may say—"

"—that I am half a wildling myself, a turncloak who means to sell the realm to our raiders, cannibals, and giants." Jon did not need to stare into a fire to know what was being said of him. The worst part was, they were not wrong, not wholly. "Words are wind, and the wind is always blowing at the Wall. Come." – ADWD, Jon VIII

"A wildling. A filthy, murdering wildling." Cregan's hands closed into fists. The gloves that covered them were leather, lined with fur to match the cloak that hung matted and stiff from his broad shoulders. His black wool surcoat was emblazoned with the white sunburst of his house. "I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. You would deliver a highborn maid to the bed of some stinking savage. Did you sample her yourself first?" He laughed. "If you mean to kill me, do it and be damned for a kinslayer. Stark and Karstark are one blood."

"My name is Snow." – ADWD, Jon X

I am not the trusting fool you take me for...nor am I half wildling, no matter what you believe. – ADWD, Jon XI

If Stark blood is also essentially wildling blood, and Jon is half Stark on his mother's side...that would make him "Halfwild" in blood as well as in spirit. And like you said, Targon feels very close to Targaryen/Targ-Jon. So this name is there solely as a hint towards Jon's true parentage — half Targaryen and half Stark. But I think you could argue that the "Halfwild" element could allude to Jon's post-resurrection state as well. I do personally like the idea of Feral Jon™.

Ser Roland & Ser Wallace Waynwood

Like the Royces, and Dolorous Edd, the Waynwoods also bear some notable Stark physical traits, as noted by Myranda in this chapter:

“The first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare, I think. How else to explain why all the Waynwood men are horse-faced? [...]"

As we know, looking horse-faced, or in Edd's case, mule-faced, indicates a rather long visage:

Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. – AGOT, Arya I

[Arya] even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. – AGOT, Sansa I

Interestingly though, Jon is never referred to as being called horse-faced, although we know he has a long Stark face. You'd think that Chett, in the ASOS Prologue would have made that kind of dig, since he says as much about Dolorous Edd? This is why I tentatively believe that, although long-faced, Jon isn't as apparently "homely" as these Stark looking Waynwood brothers:

Ser Roland was the oldest of the three, though no more than five-and-twenty. He was taller and more muscular than Ser Wallace, but both were long-faced and lantern-jawed, with stringy brown hair and pinched noses. Horsefaced and homely, Alayne thought.

That being said, I don't think he's as "handsome" as Ser Waymar Royce, or "beautiful" like Ser Byron. But obviously, he's got something going for him because as GRRM says "all the girls love" him, and you know, he's got a good bod probably and if the Giant's Lance cake is anything to go by, as well as all Tormund's small penis jokes...um, well, maybe he's packing, I don't know! (Don't look at me like that guys...it's GRRM not me!)

But anyway! Like you said, Ser Wallace Waynwood is even of an age with Robb, and therefore also Jon:

Robb would be his age, if he were still alive, she could not help but think, but Robb died a king, and this is just a boy.

There is also a teeny bit of Stark blood, though obviously potent stuff, in the mix with those Waynwoods:

"No," Catelyn agreed. "You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son." She considered a moment. "Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest...it might have been a Templeton, but..."

"Mother." There was a sharpness in Robb's tone. "You forget. My father had four sons." – ASOS, Catelyn V

Shit — "all of whom wed Vale lordlings" — that's probably where all these Stark looking mother fudgers are coming from. So, all in all, I think there's some strong parallels.

And finally...Ser Harrold Hardyng

But let's not forget this bitch.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

Prior to Harry, who notably fits into the Ashford pattern of Sansa's suitors, we have all these Jon stand-ins, or references to Jon. We can actually separate them out into their different functions, though there is some overlap with Andrew Tollett:

Those who reference Jon's Starkness/the Stark Look™:

Andrew Tollett

Albar Royce

Roland Waynwood

Wallace Waynwood

Those who reference his position/location at the Night's Watch:

Because in the Alayne chapter prior to this one, Sansa learns that Jon has been made Lord Commander:

[..] Oh, and the Night’s Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark’s.” “Jon Snow?” she blurted out, surprised. “Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.” – AFFC, Alayne II

So, it is interesting that you then have a number of dance partners connected to members of the Watch:

Ben Coldwater

Andrew Tollett

Morgarth the Merry

Uther Shett

This could be read as foreshadowing for Sansa's future journey north, and specifically to the Wall, where she believes Jon to be.

Those who reference his true/uncertain parentage:

Byron the Beautiful

Shadrich the Mad Mouse

The Three Sunderlands

Targon the Halfwild

All these guys get a dance, but when Harry asks? He is denied. It is only after some A+ dragging by Alayne, and begging by Harry that the latter gets his dance. Yet don't be fooled into thinking this is a win for Harrold:

"Should we ever wed, you'll have to send Saffron back to her father. I’ll be all the spice you’ll want."

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

"You may not. It is promised to… another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

First off, we have this reminder of the betrothal, but there is a lack of certainty there — "should we wed" — and I would argue that's because...they ain't gonna. Remember all that wedding breakfast imagery, including an umcomfortably phallic lemon (wedding) cake, gift-giving and nod to a bridal cloak? Remember how that was followed by several dances with Jon stand-ins?

"[...] It is promised to… another."

Oh, I wonder who that could be? Honestly...GRRM has very clearly, for those who care to really look, stated someone else's claim here, and it ain't Harry's. In fact, it is the very same person who also evokes Valarr Targaryen in the Ashford pattern.

...it's our boi, Jon Snow.

“Jon Snow?” she blurted out, surprised.

“Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.” – AFFC, Alayne II

You "suppose", Myranda? Honey, I'm certain.

[iwillbeinmynest]

The Next Move - Bucky x Reader(f)

Authors Notes: So this takes place between episode three and four of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. It deters from cannon a little but I tried to bring it back. Also this isn’t a romantic pairing... at least, not yet.

Word Count: 1.8 K

Notes/Warnings: Attitude and Sass. Mentions of nightmares and dream violence, drinking. I don't think there are any show spoilers in here but I’ll tag it with spoiler tags just in case.

Masterlist

Sharron pulled up to the country Italian home. She parked in the driveway and paused before looking to the three men in her car. “She’s not going to be happy we are here and she’s really not going to be happy when she sees it’s you guys so, maybe don’t talk.” Sharron unfastened her seatbelt and swiftly got out of the car.

They looked at each other before following her up to the quaint little house.

Bucky noticed how Sharron was smiling and looking way too casual.

As if she read his mind she looked back at him, Sam and Zemo and said, in an erie sing-song voice. “Look like you're happy to be here.”

Zemo smiled immediately and Bucky wished he hadn’t seen it. Smiling Zemo was creepy.

Still, he fixed his expression from cautious to pleasant and nodded to Sam who grinned back at him.

This was ridiculous.

Sharron rapped her knuckles five times on the wood frame of the screen door.

“Solo minuto!” A voice from inside the house called in Italian.

They could hear footsteps heading towards the door.

A girl appeared into the hallway holding a bowl and spoon, she hadn’t looked at her front porch yet but froze mid bite when she did.

She locked eyes with Sharron and let her spoon clank back into the bowl. Her jaw tightened as she shook her head and began to turn around.

Sharron knocked again, “Wait, Y/N, please! This is important. I’m calling in a favor.”

Y/N stopped and let her shoulders drop with an exhale. “You only have one left. You sure you wanna use it?”

“I’m sure.”

Y/N straightened her spine and made her way to the door. She unlocked it and held an arm out, gesturing for them to all come in. When she closed the screen door she also closed and locked the front door, making the hallway dark. She pushed past all of them and headed for the living room.

When she made it to the drink cart she turned on Sharron. “ I have two rules Sharron. Two!” She opened a decanter of amber liquid and poured herself a tall glass. “You broke them both and you brought him with you. Of all people, Sharron!”

None of the three men knew who she was referring to.

Sharron nodded. “I know. And you know that I wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t important.”

“And why deliver them yourself, huh? You’re doing pretty well out in Madripoor, I hear so why leave?” She finally took a drink.

“Y/N, please if you’d just let me explain-”

 Y/N hissed at the sting of the liquor. “I have to move now! I finally have a good client base here and a house I’m actually comfortable in and now I have to leave. Why? Because you broke rule number two.”

Sam leaned into Bucky, “Wonder what the rules are.” He mumbled.

“The rules” She cut in, “Are that one: you call me first. I don’t really do drop in’s. And two: you don’t show up in the daytime.”

Sam nodded. Yeah, they’d broken those rules. “Look, I don’t know who you are but-”

“I know you don’t but the real question is do either of you?” Y/N crossed her arms and looked between Bucky and Zemo.

Suddenly, Bucky realized that she looked familiar but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t place her face.

Zemo took in a breath of subtle epiphany, “Y/N. Y/N Ross, right?”

Y/N’s face soured but she nodded.

Zemo turned to Bucky. “She’s the one who let the two of us meet for the first time.”

He still didn’t recognize her.

“I did my job. You tricked everyone in the building.” She argued.

“This is true.” He nodded with no signs of remorse.

Y/N looked to Bucky then to Sharron. “Why are you here?”

Sharron explained everything. Looking for the serum, finding the doctor before running for their lives, the Power Broker, the Flag-Smashers, all of it. “They need the next move and I don’t have it.” Sharron finished.

By now everyone had settled into a chair or onto one of the couches.

“The next move being?” She nudged the conversation forward.

“We need to get in contact with Karli.” Sam spoke up.

“I don’t have a way to contact her. I don’t deal with people like that.” Y/N said plainly.

“You have contact with people much worse than her.” Bucky guessed. “Which means someone you know has contact with her.”

Y/N studied Bucky for a moment while she decided how to respond.

Sharron cut in before Y/N had the chance to start another argument, “You know a lot of people, Y/N. Surely someone can get them to her.”

Y/N looked at Sharron for the millionth time. “You’re really willing to stick your neck out for these guys, huh?’

Sharron nodded.

Y/N finally relented and sighed.

The trio visibly relaxed. She was going to help.

“How long do you need to stay here?”

“As long as you can give us.” Sharron said.

“Three days. I’ll have to be gone after that.”

“Three days then.” Sam agreed for everyone.

           *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Y/n sat in her desk chair in front of half a dozen computer monitors and holographic screens. She sat and worked there for hours. Reaching out to whoever she could toget this task done for Sharron and she’d made it clear that she was only doing it for her.

Bucky and Sam sat in the dining room watching her from a distance.

“Do you remember her at all?” Sam asked.

Bucky shook his head. “She looks familiar but...not really.”

Sharron brought the two of them a cup of coffee, went back for her own and joined them at the table. “Y/N worked at the Joint Counter Terrorism Center in Berlin. Her uncle is Agent Ross, who took her in after her parents died during the battle of New York. She supervised Barnes when he was detained. It was her job to make sure he ate, had water...and she was also in charge of approving who made contact with him. Zemo slipped in and she only realized something was wrong when she looked through the small window and saw him reading the words from that book.”

Bucky looked back at Zemo who was reading on the couch.

“She didn’t know what to do so she ran to find me. In the chaos, she ended up near the cafes where you- or not you,” She looked to Bucky, “Came stalking towards her.”

Bucky got a sinking feeling in his gut. “I don’t remember her.”

“Because she wasn’t your target. You’d been given a different directive. She stood in your way, she told me that she hoped to possibly stall you a bit.” Sharron huffed a single chuckle. “She’s got guts if anything.”

“What did I do?” Bucky felt that familiar guilt creeping up.

“The Soldier,” Sharron specified, “Threw her through a wall.”

Bucky closed his eyes. He felt like he should remember that.

Sam wanted to console him, to remind Bucky that he and the soldier were two different people, but he knew it wouldn’t change how Bucky felt.

“She later helped me steal the shield and your wings.”

“And that’s why she’s on the run.” Sam realized, “Same as you.”

Sharron nodded.

“So why is she here in Italy? Why not Madripoor?” Sam asked.

“Because she hates big cities!” Y/N called from the other room.

Sharron chuckled and Sam looked around, shocked that she was listening.

     *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *  

Later that night Bucky jolted up from a nightmare, this one about Y/N. He was back in Berlin where Zemo had read the words to him and he came up on her in the cafe. Only this time he shot her. That’s what made him wake up.

He silent padded to the kitchen in hope of getting a glass of water. When his bare feet hit the cold tile he noticed the faint sound of the tapping of a keyboard. He turned the corner and from the doorway saw Y/N still at her computer.

“You’re up late.” She said without looking up.

“Have you been working this whole time?” Bucky asked, turning back to get his glass of water.

“No,” She called to him. “I watched two hours of t.v. around midnight.”

Bucky smirked at that. He returned and pulled up a chair near her desk. “Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all.” She yawned.

Bucky sat in silence as he studied everything she was doing. She was in several dark web chats -in multiple languages- with users he didn’t know. All while simultaneously running tracer programs and reviewing satellite images.

She worked for nearly a half hour before she finally spoke again. “So what woke you up?”

Bucky shook his head. “I was thirsty.”

“It’s none of my business, sorry.” She knew he was lying.

“Where will you move to?” He changed the subject.

 She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “I’m looking at moving to Koh Chang.”

 Bucky nodded but felt like it was his fault that she had to uproot and leave.

 “But it’s time to move anyways. I was getting too comfortable. Besides I think I’m nearing the ‘escape to a tropical island’ stage of my life.” She said with a grin. 

“I-” Maybe it was the exhaustion or maybe he was actually making some progress but either way he needed to say something, “I’m sorry for what I did to you... in Berlin.”

“I know.” She stopped and looked at him. “I’m sorry for being so cold. I’ve been told I have a bad attitude.” She mocked herself.

Bucky chuckled but sombered pretty quickly when he noticed a scar on her shoulder. “Did I do that?”

Y/N followed his gaze, “Yeah,”

As hard as it was to hear, he appreciated that she was honest and didn’t seem to pity him.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated.

“You don’t have to be.”

He looked up at her, finally tearing his eyes away from the mark he’d unknowingly left on her.

Y/N shrugged. “I let him in. If anything I should be apologizing to you.”

“Lets just call it even, then.” He offered a weak smile.

She took it and returned one. She took a breath to say something when her computer made a soft chime. She whipped her head over and exhaled. “Gotcha. She’s in Riga, Latvia.”

Bucky sat up. They were getting closer.

Y/N stood from her sat and with a swipe of her hand through the air, all of her computers went black. “It’s time for me to get some sleep. I hope finding her helps you find some peace.”

He nodded and looked down at his empty glass. “Thank you.”

She smiled and patted his shoulder as she passed. “I know I was a bit bitter when you first showed up but...most of that was towards Zemo.” She let her hand fall and softened her voice. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

Bucky sat there as she walked away. No one had ever said that to him before.

He went back to his room and pulled out his little notebook. He wrote her name down on the list of people he needed to make amends with and then immediately ran a line through it.

Then, for the first time in a long time, he slept peacefully.

 *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

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[elriel-oblivion]

So I started this in the last week of 2020, and I'm ready to post it 😊 I've still got a couple other wips I'd started before this one but I haven't been bothered to finish those lol so I'm putting this one out first. Anyway, this'll be 6 parts long; I'll prob put up the next part in three or four days.

I'll put word counts so you can gauge how long each part is and if you wanna read it 😅 Also lemme know if you'd like to be tagged

Word count: 2.2K

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part I

__

The shadows were colder than usual tonight. On better days, their chill wrapped Azriel's bones in an icy embrace, a comforting freeze numbing any semblance of feeling in his wasted heart.

But this miserable night, they were searing cold, the kind of cold piercing the highest of mountain peaks; the kind of cold that penetrated the brain itself. He shivered as he travelled through those shadows, dark mists and wisps coiling like vines about his head.

Maybe he was deliberately searching for the coldest areas. Maybe he wanted a complete absence of feeling: physical, emotional, spiritual. It would certainly be easier to feel nothing than trying to quell the frigid rage inside. How could an avalanche be stopped once it started?

Further and further he moved through his shadows, dawn chasing him from a few hours away. Mountains and villages surged past through those charcoal mists, making way to depthless forests and ravines. He clenched his jaw tight against the cold, memory guiding him home.

But the fresh blood he'd seen earlier, and the mutilated remains of that little girl, one wing torn off and lying bent at the edge of the dirt path ... Her unseeing eyes were glazed, that shine as bright and true on his mind as the glint of moonlight on the blade of Death. And her scream. Cauldron, it curdled his own blood.

He'd been but a minute late. A matter of seconds were all that stood between him and the sadistic bastard who'd brutalised that child. Barely a heartbeat in his lifetime.

He blinked once to rid himself of her stare. Twice.

The image remained, muddying with his path home. His hands clenched and unclenched, nails biting into his skin, but the girl's hazel eyes and her ashen skin and the fingers outstretched for that severed wing remained an imprint on his vision.

Why was this affecting him so much? It wasn't the first time he'd seen horrors like this. But if Azriel wanted to be honest with himself, some days were harder than others simply because they were. Some days, the despair rattled his core and tossed him far out - because he was a person and emotions, feelings, these things were too abstract to be boxed in.

Everything had a limit. Had Azriel ever truly reached his?

Sometimes Azriel himself didn't understand how he kept it all in. How he didn't react or display any sign of having seen or heard the things he did. Sometimes he was repulsed by himself because of it. At least Cassian and his rare vomiting showed some of the humanity inside.

Azriel gave away nothing. Was there even humanity in himself? Everyone but his family looked at him like he was an unhinged monster imprisoned by his Illyrian skin. Like he was moments from escape and they would be his first victims.

Or - not just his family. Her. Elain. Did he consider he family? Perhaps it was too early, or even too inappropriate to do so.

Either way, how could he stain the sudden image of her with himself, with the horrors he'd just seen, had always had the displeasure of seeing? She was lovely and warm and beautiful and he was dark and cold and hideous.

Elain. Something inexplicable stirred in him at the thought of her.

He tried to calm it, this heat, this single star in his midnight sky. But it remained. And it grew.

And he was disgusted. Ashamed. He was not worthy of her.

And it ached. Another unrequited love.

That word snapped something in him. Mocked him.

Love.

A choking sound ripped from his throat and he welcomed it, let it mount into a scream, let it tear through his body and soul. Like that monster was finally breaking free. It was invigorating yet scorching. It burned him from the inside out but the cold of those shadows permeated his mind so heavily, he forgot the essence of corporeality and only his soul seemed to drift.

His ragged breathing sounded, throat parched. Where was he? Through the shadows, all around him, there seemed only darkness. Was he flying? No, the shadows sang their usual baritone thrum as opposed to the high harmony of the wind.

Above, no stars glistened. His eyes strained but nothing peeked through. It wasn't often that his shadows became this thick; usually thin and wispy, they now shrouded his being, coalescing over, in him. He became the cold, a shadow, darkness itself, floating through the ether, higher and higher like ashes on the wind.

But even ashes settled down at some point.

Unless his soul truly were ascending, unless this truly were death. It almost seemed too easy. All the battles, those two great wars, the poison that shot through his veins and stole his breath as per Hybern's whim. Poison that sometimes woke him up in cold sweats, a phantom memory of its iciness picking through his body as though he were being cut up by the sharpest blade ...

Sometimes it even felt like his own blade.

No, this couldn't be death. A mere scream, the image of lives lost, a bloody fight - he hated to admit that these were commonplace among his memories, his life. But in doing so, he knew death was too easy an aftermath for what had happened tonight.

Death, an ascent. But he was sure when his time came, his stained soul would descend like the demon he was.

So he grounded, drifting down weightlessly until the solidity of rock steadied him. He would not go to that darkest of places yet. But he was still exhausted. So damn tired of everything. He feared that if he dropped into a slumber right now, he'd not get up for a lifetime. As it was, his legs almost gave out, but he forced some remaining strength back into them. All he had to do was get home now.

He stepped out of his shadows; Devlon's camp was quiet around him. A fire to his far right sputtered in the harsh winds and Azriel swept himself back into his shadows.

This time he travelled faster, composing himself, locking his muscles and bones up, clenching his jaw. He let that familiar cool comfort drain his rage, cleaning it through his veins before it settled in the frozen lake of his heart where the rest of his darkness lay, inescapable through the impenetrable foot of icy wrath and sorrow. He savoured his shadows, a confidant in their own right, thanked them for their understanding and the escape he found within them.

But they were growing warmer now. Azriel squinted through them as they shifted him across land and water - the scape of Velaris and its brilliant lights greeted him. Closer to home now, he could breathe with a looser chest but this was still unusual; his shadows shouldn't be warmer, they should be cool and refreshing, like the autumn night breeze beyond.

His wings rustled, body reacting to his shadows' autonomy before his thawing mind caught up. 'Where are you taking me?' he murmured.

Mist swirled about him and the shadows deposited him at the far edge of the dimly lit back garden at his High Lord and Lady's riverfront estate. Why would they bring him here? Rhysand and Feyre were at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were together in Illyria and Mor was at the Winter Court. As far as he knew, Amren was at her own apartment so the only person left was -

'Azriel!' came Elain's voice. It was distant in a way it shouldn't be.

Azriel leaned against a tree, pretending to fiddle with the Siphon atop his left hand. Breathing was difficult but he swallowed and exhaled in a shudder.

He needed to fully compose himself before anyone saw him like this. If only his damn shadows hadn't taken control for those last few moments, he'd be in his own home and lying in that swirling darkness in peace. Though, he supposed, it was his own fatigue that had yielded that control.

'Azriel!' Elain cried, stopping in front of him. Her face was caught between a frown and a wince and her arm was raised slightly. 'You don't look okay.'

As always, he was momentarily stunned by how unafraid this small female was of him. Here he was in his full armour, every bit the monstrous warrior that sent his people scurrying into their homes and locking their doors, and yet Elain stood strong before him. Like she saw not a killing machine but a person.

She never even commented on how his shadows made to disappear around her. Perhaps she hadn't noticed.

He swallowed before he let out what he thought was a light laugh. 'I'm fine, don't worry.' But he could hear the hoarseness of his voice, now facing the consequences of that scathing scream. And his limbs felt even heavier than before, like someone had injected liquid lead into them.

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she whispered, lowering both her gaze and arm.

He paused, trying to catch her gaze. The constant light in her eyes whenever she looked at him was a balm to his soul. He could use some of that right now.

He reached out an arm, so impossibly leaden right now - if he could just get to sit down -

'Can I wash your hair, please?'

He started. 'You want to wash my hair?'

Elain's eyes flicked back up to skirt over his, up to his hair, where they stayed pinned. 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

Shit. He hadn't even thought of his appearance after that bloody fight earlier. How that had slipped his mind? He ran a hand through his hair, and surely enough, crumbs of dirt rained down.

Although, he really hadn't expected to turn up here of all places. In the privacy of his own home, he wouldn't have cared if he were missing a whole damn limb, if only it meant he could sleep like the dead.

Not to mention that sleeping with a little mud was the least an Illyrian warrior's problems. But Elain's care was something of a punch to his gut. When was the last time someone had truly tended to him for reasons that weren't battle or holiday related?

'You've managed to get some on your face, too,' she said, brow furrowed as she stared at his cheek.

Her eyes were so deep and focused, he wished they would just meet his once. But of course, that level of scrutiny he'd come to learn from Elain meant shyness. Just shyness. She was so endearing, he could've laughed with such fondness if he weren't so damn tired. He wished this whole damn night would be over already.

His leg faltered slightly and he stumbled forward.

'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

He raised his brows at her, but she simply took his arm and began leading him towards the house. She looked so small before him but didn't slow despite dragging his bulk behind her.

Halfway across the garden, he pulled her to him with his free arm, his shadows saving the both of them the energy of walking through that mansion of a home.

'My bathroom,' she murmured. Elain didn't balk through the five seconds of that darkness, didn't even look surprised. She showed no sign of hearing the spike in his pulse either. Thank the Mother.

He set them in her bathroom, and she didn't look at him once as she flitted around the chamber, pulling a chair from her bedroom to the sink and grabbing a towel, soap and a jug from the cupboard. Standing there, his breathing began to smooth out.

The window was open, a chill breeze sweeping in. The faelights were dim and their placid light sent a dusky illumination over Elain's features. Some bottles of oils and herbs sat on the edge of the bathtub. Azriel had heard of people using oils for bathing, but herbs? Perhaps they were like flower petals, used for their scent.

Towel in hand, Elain waited at the sink, placing the soap and jug down. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this.'

Azriel nodded, tapping his Siphon. Within seconds, that second skin of cold scales and gleaming wrath was safely stored away. Just his plain black trousers and tunic were left.

Elain's eyes caught every moment of the transformation. 'It's beautiful, all of it.'

He didn't even know if she was speaking of his armour or the basic clothes underneath or what, but his face warmed slightly, wings rustling.

'Please sit,' she said, gesturing to the chair. As he did, she wrapped the towel around his shoulders, fingers hovering above his forehead for a few seconds.

Those seconds felt perennial. He almost shuddered as her fingers made contact with his skin. Her hands were so gentle as they pushed his head back, and he shifted in the seat. He lowered his wings, and she stepped into the space he provided. She was still as he got comfortable, only turning the tap once he was settled. There was a slight crease between her brows, and he clenched his fists to keep from smoothing it out.

Sounding so much like his own mother that his throat tightened, she whispered, 'You can close your eyes.'

So he did.

__

Feedback is welcomed, thanks for reading 😊

[pepperpills]

The Harvest - RE8 Fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Notes: heey, so here is Part III, hope you all enjoy it! i'm thinking of starting a new story soon, once this is ended, probably focusing more on world building and Karl and reader relationship hehe

Warning: NSFW content

Part I - Destiny (1) Part I - Destiny (2) Part II - The Lord

Part III – The Hunt

Getting to know the factory turned out to be a fantastic experience. You had never seem so many different paraphernalia in your live, the closer you had ever got to that was when you were a child poking around your dad’s storeroom, but there were only some tools, agriculture products and inherited ornaments from your cabin family – these last ones were your absolute favourite.

Heisenberg’s factory, on the other hand, was full of interesting things, some of them you had no idea what were used for. You even found a suspicious “torture” room, but couldn’t dig into it, once he was nearby. Still, you found his journals narrating his experiments, his audio reports and some guide books on mechanics that had you intrigued for a long time while reading them. He was a madman, you were convinced, but at the same time, that secluded part of you was growing a little each day you explored his life.

Lord Heisenberg was nicer and quieter than you would imagine. He basically lived in his various offices across the factory, mostly he would be trying new mechanisms on bodies and seeing how they reacted with the Cadou, the strange parasite the villagers mentioned only on rare and veiled conversations. As far as it wasn’t you, or your family, lying cold on one of the stretchers, you didn’t care. As a matter of fact, you felt tempted to try some things with the gears yourself as you deepen your studies in his books.

At your first days there, you got worried you would have to share the bed with him, which would be much more proximity than you had ever had with another person. The man had already seen your half naked and that was enough. However, he didn’t sleep there with you and you wondered why, once he so enthusiastically mocked you about it when you arrived. Actually, you started doubting he ever slept at all.

You were still a bit scared, though, never knowing if he would play a prank on you, so you were very careful to avoid him for a while - that didn’t endure –, believing you should give him space to get used to your presence after the mood he got into after your reception.

He was disturbed, indeed. His work was getting closer to a crucial point that involved Mother Miranda. He musted be discreet, but it was proving to be a real trial with Soldats activating and running around as lost beasts. Also, having you around actually gave him a new problem.

Lord Heisenberg would walk around the factory looking for material, testing the Soldats and cursing a lot, some of these swearwords you didn’t even know, but started liking how he used them, almost cartoonish. It was never directed to you, of course. He acted like you weren’t there most of the time, in others, when he was more chilled, with less work to do, he asked “how is the mess at the wing, buttercup?” laughing at you blushing at his indiscreet platonic flirts.

You had to find your way around the factory. That place was a labyrinth and a map would come handy, so you drew it on some clean papers you found lying around, loving not to get lost anymore. You hadn’t been face-to-face to one of his creations yet, just saw them on the production lines on the overview of the factory and on some specific rooms. You also avoided it due to fear.

He told you where the wing to be cleaned was and you found it after an hour. It was so incredibly packed with mechanical parts that you could barely come inside to take a look. Huffing, you thought that he could solve that without moving a muscle. It made you mad, but also made you wonder what you were doing there. You cleaned it anyway, as it was your duty and used that waste to build some minor projects.

At the end of your expedient, your hands were orange because of the rusty irons you were moving all day long and you had little cuts here and there, but nothing really bad. As it was going, it wouldn’t take long for you to finish cleaning and could even decorate it for him, making it feel more like home to you too.

You were liking it there. Of course, it was dusty, grey, sometimes rusty and hot all the time, but it was also very different from everything. Once you said goodbye to the cabins, then to the Village and maybe being away from Miranda’s dominance made you feel lighter.

You found some red fabric lying around somewhere, appearing to be forgotten, made some nature sketches on blank papers and put yellow lights on the bedroom and on Karl’s soon-to-be new working room. It looked cosy. You hoped he would appreciate it when he met the reformed wing, until then, you would keep quiet not to bother him.

Though, shortly after you finished decorating the bedroom, an event destroyed your plans of avoiding Heisenberg. On your daily route to what you would now call your wing, you crossed the kitchen and found an overcoat-less Karl trying to prepare a sandwich. He had any chef’s nightmare happening in that place. There were blunt knives flying around, a metal cup chasing the kettle spilling hot coffee all over the floor as he tried to open a bottle of whiskey and, finally, hot coffee hit Heisenberg’s chest and he screamed and cursed like a sore animal.

“FUCK!” He thundered, his word echoing in the corridor where you stood.

You couldn’t ignore that scene even if you tried. You were getting tired of not talking to him, you lived together now and all your few friends were slowly becoming distant memories. You would be happy to hear his voice, something else than gears rumble, even if it was cursing your predecessors.

As a powerful person, he would try to use his powers to do simple things and do a real mess instead. You felt compelled to give him some support, maybe it was a part of your mother’s care for others that lived in you too. You entered the kitchen headstrong, holding a laugh at his misery looks. Now he was stroking his shirt with a cloth and only noticed you when you were getting around the island.

You didn’t know, however, he never “never noticed” you. He felt your presence at the corridor before you saw him and he felt ashamed of you seeing him failing at a stupid task, and so forth his reaction was to be boorish.

“What?” He asked in a rude tone.

“Just let me help.” You offered, placing your hand in the air between you two. It wasn’t really an offer, you were just being polite, you would help him one way or another, you would have your small talk, but he wouldn’t give up so easily. “Please.” You asked, making the sweeter voice you could.

He huffed and threw the wet cloth on the sink. You took another cloth from one of the drawers – you were getting used to the utensils’ places –, wet it a little with water and looked at him, your head slightly tilted to the right.

“What is it, kitten?” Heisenberg questioned, roughly playful then.

“It is your shirt.” You pointed.

“Yes, it is dirty. Weren’t you trying to help?” He started to lose patience.

“Yeah, I am. It is just… You will have to take it off.” You let it out unpretentiously, although in your mind you were revengeful.

“Oh.” He understood and immediately took it off with so much easiness you wondered how many times he did that when you were so uncertain of it at your first day.

You had never seem him shirtless. To be quite sincere, you hadn’t seen many shirtless men in your life. The Village was a very cold town, once it was deep into a forest in the mountains, so even in the summer there wasn’t a hot weather, so people tended to keep their clothes on. Because of this, when he took it off you instantly blushed at his scarred chest.

He has what you would call a dad body. It isn’t really sinewy, although still very strong with thick arms and defined muscles. He has some belly, which means he isn’t a skinny person, but he isn’t fat also. And maybe you took too long looking at him like that and feeling weird feelings you would think about later that night.

“You’re almost drooling there, buttercup.” He teased you and when you quickly, but gently, started cleaning his chest with the cloth, so you wouldn’t have to answer, he gave up a deliciously loud laugh.

You laughed with him, making him laugh even harder. You didn’t want to admit it, but you liked it, this casual connection between you two. The laugh died a gradual death and you started moving you hand on his chest, feeling its warmth below the cloth. You could almost swear his breathing was getting faster and you saw he was biting his lips, maybe because you were taking too long. You didn’t want to finish, but you both know there wasn’t much coffee on him anyway.

You put the cloth with the other one in the sink and as you watered them, you saw him going to get his shirt that had been laying on the island.

“No, no, no.” You said, taking it from his hands kind brusquely, making him confused. “I need to wash these.”

“I see.” He said, raising his hands to show he wouldn’t try again, as a peace offer that made you grin.

“I can finish your sandwich for you, it will only take a minute.” You added, embarrassed to be so bossy with him.

“I will be at my office.” He told you and left without looking back.

You thought he got mad at you because of the shirt situation. It made you sad, you started having a nice approach. To compensate you made him a really good sandwich with the meat and vegetables you found in the refrigerator. Searching for food there you considered asking him to go see the Duke and buy supplies, maybe even hunt, because you didn’t have enough provisions. Anyway, you also prepared the coffee, poured a glass of cowboy whisky – sipped one, two or three times yourself – and cleaned what was there to be cleaned. It took more than one minute, but less than teen.

You were heading to his office when you heard a muffled noise. It sounded guttural and made you shiver. Electricity running through your body, making you feel hopelessly exposed, only that countered by the alcohol it felt good. You stepped carefully as you got closer to the door. You considered not knocking, but the noise made you knock.

“Just…” He gasped. “Leave it at the door, please.” Heisenberg was painting, but he asking “please” was what made up your mind, that politeness wasn’t usual, so you did what he requested.

You wanted to be around him on that day, but chose to respect his privacy. You didn’t imagine that his mind was blowing with you, he desperately wanted to continue the kitchen talk, but couldn’t give himself the chance once he was so close to perfecting the Soldats.

To ease your thoughts, as you were no longer requested at the factory, you tested your stealth skills and slipped to the forest behind it, caring your bow and arrows determinedly.

You were familiar with that area as you have hunted all around the Village, thus, you knew where to go to find good preys. It was by the lake were the deer stopped to drink water. It was far from the factory entrance, but again, you knew exactly what you were doing. When approaching the lake, you climbed a tree and waited.

It didn’t take long until a lonely deer appeared, unsuspicious. It leaned its head so it could reach the water level and started drinking it. You positioned one arrow, held your breath and did the physics magic. The arrow nailed its left eye. It didn’t scream, it was over very quickly.

You climbed the tree down, came closer to the body and tied it with the rope you brough from the factory. Your way back wasn’t effortless, you were slower due to the extra weight and the lycans sensed its blood, their sounds were all around you. They wouldn’t hurt your, though, somehow, they knew you were with Heisenberg.

It was past four in the afternoon when you reached the factory, panting with the effort of bringing the deer. Heisenberg was poking around for something in his front yard. He noticed you just as you appeared in his peripherical vision. He walked towards you, with an intrigued expression that transformed into an impressed one when he saw the deer.

“Some gifts you have there, kitten, ain’t gonna lie.” He commented, squatting to take a good look at the animal. “How did you do that?” It was clear he didn’t mean to offend, quite the opposite, he was genuinely curious.

“A girl has her secrets.” You answered, when you finally stop panting, shrugging when internally you are fulfilled someone knew about you hunting and didn’t seem mad at you.

He wasn’t even angry you left the factory without his permission, which made you happier. He stood below you with the animal for a few seconds more, than got up on his feed, laid his hands on your shoulders, well, on your skin hunting jacket, and said “You are really something, kitten.”

You fell for his words. You never wanted to feel that dependant on someone’s appreciation for you, but with him it was lighter. Karl took the weight of the world off your shoulders by bringing you there and kind off supporting you even though you had only spent little more than a month together.

“Thank you, my lord.” You spoke.

“Stop it. Call me Karl.” He said roughly, but good hearted. “Now, do you know how to clean this deer?” Heisenberg asked.

Usually, Duke would do it for you, although you knew the theory, you hadn’t much practice.

“I was hoping you could help me with it, Karl.” You suggested, toasting him a malicious smile.

“For fuck’s sake.” But he cursed laughing.

He cleaned this table at the garage and disposed the deer there. You helped him doing the messy job, learning with him what you only saw the Duke doing. It wasn’t pretty, but you were comforted by his presence and obstinacy. He probably did it often as it showed, but didn’t bother to take it slower so he could teach you.

Heisenberg enjoyed that night more than you could imagine. He didn’t care for the Soldats, they could wait, it was nice being around you for a change, not running away from your hair, your smile, your presence. For the first time in his life, he actually had someone who wanted to be around him.

Later your prepared venison, demi-glace, potatoes, a fresh arugula salad and both of your enjoyed dinner at the kitchen island with bottles of dark beer. He was funny, he was tripping over words a little, due to the alcohol, but his stories, oh man… He was a real brat. You told him about the cabins and the hunting. He listened carefully, never judging you and laughed at your silly manners, at your etiquette and, over all, loved your cook.

He slept in the bed with you, tired, amused and drunk, he sunk in his dreams. You stayed up a bit longer, resisting your lazy eyes temptations just to appreciate his scent, it would smell like burned wood.

[miracle-sham]

In the Atelier's Glow the Pupa Phoebus will Eclose.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 10: Light} |

Chapter 2 of Sheltered by Darkness not yet Moths to the Flame.

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] | | [Chapter 1] |

———

| Even when everything you know splits. When it splinters and shifts, like a chrysalis or a damaged cable. And you're left unfurling your wings, unable to yet fly—circuit broken, fuse melted—grounded, earthed. |

| The rest of the world keeps the current flowing through the wires of everyone else's circuit wings, and they're able to keep fluttering, unfettered by your frayed and exposed wires, even despite the threat you pose to their safety. Too blinded by the luminescence of those with power. |

| Word Count: 7,220. |

| Warnings/Tags: Cyberpunk/Criminal/Gang Au, Explicit Language/Swearing, Hacking, Breaking and Entering, Mentions of Guns, Gun Violence, Mentions of corrupt/shady businesses, Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting, Brainwashing, Implied Brainwashing & Torture, Injury, Threats of Violence & Violence, Akumatised!Marinette, Fluff & Angst, Hurt with some Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Gang/Team as family/family dynamics, Found Family. |

———

| A/N: First things first, make sure you've read the first chap before reading this. Second things second, this chapter is a chapter and half. And it's the final chapter! I hope this being 7k more than makes up for it being a day late to posting! I put a lot of love and time and effort into this, so I really hope you all enjoy. And for peak atmosphere, listen to Wonder World by Inova (first song on the playlist) during the first two parts, for optimum atmosphere! Not necessary if you'd prefer not to of course, but still. There's also a ton of light and butterfly symbolism stuffed in this, so try and see how much you can spot! |

| On a sidenote, this fic is dedicated to my friend Saf who listened to me ramble about this fic, and in turn rambled to me whenever I gave her sneak peak snippets. This wouldn't have ended up half as good as it did without her support! Also thanks to Weird for the support, compliments, reaction to the snippets, and kind words as well! And finally, thanks to everyone on the discord who was supportive and kind whenever I rambled in my author's channel! <3 |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Even when everything you know splits. When it splinters and shifts, like a chrysalis or a damaged cable. And you're left unfurling your wings, unable to yet fly—circuit broken, fuse melted—grounded, earthed.

The rest of the world keeps the current flowing through the wires of everyone else's circuit wings, and they're able to keep fluttering, unfettered by your frayed and exposed wires, even despite the threat you pose to their safety. Too blinded by the luminescence of those with power.

Broken wires cause lights to flicker and dim. They don't glow as brightly as they could—as they should. They crackle and buzz and burn and scorch and smoke, causing only destruction; when light should only be used for creation.

That's why the Atelier Agreste specialise in fixing broken wings and wires. The brightness of tomorrow splinters the darkness of today, the business proclaims.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng is merely the latest of the poor misguided larvae, with their shade-like masks and unfortunate frayed wires, to be rehabilitated into an enlightened pupa under Gabriel Agreste's watchful care.

Truly, the discarding of a mask that kept the Pupa in the dark, and the Pupa's embracement of the Atelier's radiant glow marks a wondrous occasion indeed.

How glorious it will be, an unveiling of the newest Atelier Agreste designer's début? The welcoming of a new Papillon among the ranks, especially one that shines so brightly. Phoebus, like the butterfly and the god of light. What a fitting name for the butterfly that will glow like the sun.

———

Marinette—no, not Marinette, she is Phoebus. She is light, and her glow has been fixed.

Stitch by stitch, she sews herself a collection of chrysalises. To represent her transformation that has been nurtured by the Atelier, Monsieur Agreste had said.

Stitch by stitch by stitch. She must make him proud, he's done so much for her. He saved her from the darkness, showed her the light and how to glow just as brightly herself. She owes him everything.

Stitch by stitch by stitch by stitch. Lila—no, Rubi, after Macrothylacia Rubi, the Fox Moth—visits sometimes. She's pretty, and likes to keep Phoebus company, telling her all about the incredible things Rubi has done and people Rubi has met. She's like Phoebus, taken in and nurtured by the Atelier Agreste. Phoebus hopes Rubi will be one of her chrysalis models.

Stitch. And anchor, and anchor, then up. Snip. Snip. Snip.

Phoebus hears the sound of the studio door opening but she does not stop. Her chrysalises must be perfect, she must finish them in time. Thread the needle and anchor.

Footsteps stride across the studio floor but still Phoebus does not stray her attention from her work. Stitch by stitch.

“Good morning, Pupa, I hope the final preparations for your début are going accordingly.” Monsieur Agreste greets.

Her hands still, work halting. The Pupa Phoebus turns away from the fashion piece before her, and smiles, as brightly as her namesake, up at him. “It is.”

There's a hollowness inside her. And smiling at him makes the hollowness ache but Phoebus does not know why. Monsieur Agreste does not like it when she asks bad-dark-broken-frayed questions like that, so she says nothing more and nothing less. She will be his perfect protégé. He said so, and so she must.

He nods approvingly. “Good. I expect only perfection from you and your work. Do not forget, once the fashion show starts it will mark your eclosion into my Atelier once and for all.”

The Pupa Phoebus nods her head, eyes shining almost too brightly in the studio's lights.“I will ensure everything is to perfection for my début.”

Her actions and words are as doll-like as her title. For she was once named Marinette, which is close to Marionette. Marionettes are dolls. And Pupa once meant doll. Like a doll, she is so painfully hollow inside. But like a doll, she is perfect. She must be.

Monsieur Agreste does not sneer at her but his lips curl in a way that makes the darkness inside her claim he is mocking her.

“The set designers have informed me the catwalk has been transformed into the river Lethe. Isn't it rather fitting?” He pauses, watching her with sharp eyes for her reaction.

She nods. That is what she is supposed to do. It is fitting because he has said so. And Monsieur Agreste is always right.

“After all,” he continues, seemingly satisfied with her response, “it was once believed that the dead may only be reincarnated upon drinking from the Lethe and giving up their memories. And you gave up your memories of pain to be reformed as a butterfly that will shine ever so brightly, my protégé.”

“Oh,” Phoebus responds, tilting her head to one side as her smile wavers for but a fraction of a second. There's something flickering in the back of her head, behind her eyes; splintered memories, nothing substantial but the ghosts—Fantômes, the darkness whispers—of them linger.

The taste of iron, harsh white lights, cold glowing white strands chaining her fragile wire wings to the ground, lights—so many dancing lights, and the sharp electric zaps. She shouldn't try to parse what they mean, what they herald. Remembering the Before is bad, when she was a poor unfortunate Larva who fell through the cracks into the shadows and gutters. She is a Pupa now, and Pupa change. They become better, brighter, than they ever could achieve as Larvae.

Monsieur Agreste picks up on her moment of lapse, his eyes narrowing in what must be concern. “Is something wrong, Pupa?”

Phoebus shakes her head. “I am just anticipating how my début will go.”

He hums, unconvinced.

Understandable—she is not meant to lie, not to him. It is not how a Pupa should act.

“Perhaps you should take a break so we can ensure you've not damaged your light by working so hard. It wouldn't do to have your glow flicker and dim mid-début.” Monsieur Agreste states, pulling his tablet out already to schedule a check-up.

The Pupa Phoebus widens her bright yet hollow smile. “Oh, that is a good idea! A break would be most appreciated, Monsieur Agreste!”

Monsieur Agreste does not laugh but he huffs in what must be amusement. “How unfortunate that it took so long to rescue and take you under my wing. You will do well as one of my Papillons here.” He pauses to adjust his glasses, the light shining on them in a way that makes the lenses appear opaque. “I didn't think I'd get another specimen such as yourself, so perfectly adapted for becoming a Pupa and then a Papillon.”

His not-sneer unfurls into a grin, one that makes the darkness whisper danger. He steps around her, to get a different angle view of her work, and stares pointedly at the fine detailing. “It is a great shame that my son and my nephew have both become wretched larvae like you once were, instead of wonderful Pupae like you've now become.”

“You deserve a better son and nephew, Monsieur Agreste.” Phoebus recites from the script burnt into her mind, though she does not remember when or why she memorised it.

“I do, don't I.” Monsieur Agreste considers in contempt. “That can easily be achieved as soon as my men rescue him from the clutches of those vile Larvae. We believe the ones who held you captive and forced you to work for them, are the same ones who hold both my son and nephew now.”

“Oh.” Phoebus responds, getting the feel that Monsieur Agreste is testing her. Perhaps to ensure no feelings of Stockholm Syndrome remain for her previous captors? Yes, that must be it. How thoughtful and caring of Monsieur Agreste. “That is awful, hopefully, they can be saved soon!”

Monsieur Agreste hums, seemingly in agreement this time. “Hopefully indeed. And once we rescue them, they can then be taught to embrace the radiance my company brings to this world, just as you were taught.”

He places a hand on her shoulder, and squeezes. “And you, my dear Pupa, can help my son and nephew stitch their Chrysalises. For they are both models, like Rubi. Wouldn't that be nice, two additional fellow Papillons for you to befriend, wouldn't that make you very happy?”

Phoebus nods at a perfectly acceptable speed to relay her happiness and excitement. “Yes! That would be wonderful! I would be so happy if that were to happen!”

And yet, the darkness inside her wails and grieves as she utters each word but Phoebus does not understand why.

“Good,” Monsieur Agreste states, “that is very good to hear. Now, I shall return when your break is ready.” He turns around and strides towards the door, stilling at the threshold. “My wife will prepare high tea for you to join her at, once your break is ready.”

The Pupa Phoebus nods, fingers twitching as she turns back to meticulously stitching her chrysalises. “Thank you, Monsieur Agreste, I cannot wait!”

He huffs in what must be amusement again, “I would hope so, Pupa.”

If she didn't know better, the Pupa Phoebus would wonder why the silver butterfly necklace feels more like shackles than a gift. Why the darkness begs her to break the chains.

———

Three months. Three fucking months. Of nothing. Not a whisper on the news or in the underground, no public proclamations of the capture of one of the co-leaders of the most notorious gangs in the city. Nothing, abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Three fucking months she's been gone and not a word about what happened.

Jason sits crouched on the sofa, head in his hands. A coffee is placed on the table in front of him, he can tell from the smell, and the sound of the liquid sloshing about inside the cardboard cup.

“Marinette used to like coffee…” Jason bemoans, half-serious, half-jokingly.

Something shatters in the next room over, the kitchen most likely from the sounds of it.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God. Jason!” Alix hiss-screeches, from the same place as the shattering, like an angry kitten on roller skates. “You've said that meme every day for the last month! I'm going to murder you!”

Adrien, who's been sitting on top of the side cabinets, throws his head forwards and barely manages to stifle the laugh by slapping a hand over his mouth. He wheezes for a few seconds as he gets his laughter, and breathing under control again.

Félix snorts from where he's curled up in a cushioned armchair. “Alix has a point, you know. We understand you miss her but as do we.”

“Shhh! You'll disturb him!” Roy shushes, grinning mischievously as he stands behind the sofa. Putting on his best David Attenborough impression, he begins to recite, “here we have the rare Jasonarches Toddamentum brooding in his natural habitat. Lamenting the loss of one of his pack, specifically his co-alpha—”

Jason whips around to face Roy and launches the nearest pillow from the sofa at him, before he can continue the mockumentary. “Co-alphas? Really? That's the best you could come up with! C'mon man!”

Yelping, Roy ducks but not quick enough as the pillow smacks him in the right shoulder and flops onto the floor.

Nodding mock sagely, Félix sighs. “We expected better from you, Roy.”

“Yeah, Roy.” Kori teases, passing a second coffee in her hands over to him.

Placing a hand over his heart, Roy gasps. “Wow! The betrayal!” he complains as he grabs at the coffee and cradles it to his chest with the other. “And thanks, Kori! For the coffee, not the betrayal!”

“Ah, friends?” Markov calls cautiously as he hovers into the room, anxiety lacing his robotic voice, claws fiddling with the corner of what looks to be an envelope.

Immediately the jovial atmosphere splinters and everyone stills. Everyone except Artemis and Alix who walk, and roll into the room respectively, at that precise moment. Both hovering by the respective door frames they entered through, coincidentally opposite each other. Artemis crosses her arms, whilst Alix grabs the door frame with one hand to steady herself.

Jason tenses and glances over at the little AI. “Everything okay, Markov?”

Markov fretfully swings his claw arm around. “One of our couriers was handed a letter.”

“Did they bring it here?” Jason questions, brows furrowing in worry.

Markov shakes his head. “The courier handed it to a third-party forger, and created the forgery I am now holding. It is addressed to Adrien, and Félix.”

Adrien sucks in a sharp breath, he turns to exchange a look with Félix. “You don't think it's…” He trails off, unwilling to say it out loud in case it makes it any more likely.

Grimacing, Félix nods. “It has to be. It was rather publicly known when you were "kidnapped",” he states, making quotation marks with his fingers as he stressed the word, “by this gang. Less so when you spearheaded my "kidnapping", with them.”

“Yeah… that's. We didn't think that through.” Adrien admits, scrunching his mouth up in concern. “But! If that didn't happen, I wouldn't have gotten to use Cheval Mallet as my vigilante name, which is a plus at least!”

Félix huffs bitterly. “Oh, because getting to use a vigilante name that fits thematically is completely and utterly worth getting targeted by the Big Butterfly himself?”

“In my defence—” Adrien starts, only to shut his mouth again as words fail him. “Nevermind, you've got a point.”

Jason clicks his tongue. “More importantly, we need to decide what we're doing about this.”

“We need to actually see what is inside the envelope, first.” Félix counters, marching over to Markov.

Markov dips in the air in lieu of a nod and extends his claw-arm to hand Félix the envelope. “Here you go, friend!”

“Thank you, Markov.” Félix responds, nodding his head to the little AI as he takes the extended envelope. He marches back over to Adrien and slips out the disguised knife pen out of his pocket, before carefully slicing the top of the envelope open like one would do with a letter opener. Plucking the letter from inside, he holds it at an angle so only he and Adrien can read what has been written.

Seconds pass.

Swearing under his breath, Adrien glances up at Jason with panic clear in his eyes. “It's… it's from Kagami. She's been compromised, the Big Butterfly knows she was in contact with us. He and her mother have forced her to invite us to the Big Butterfly's upcoming fashion show…”

“She's worried that it's a trap, to capture us both so that they can… do to us what they did to my mother, and all of his Papillons.” Félix continues in Adrien's stead, barely able to conceal the dawning horror on his face.

Artemis moves towards them and asks as softly as she can, brows furrowing in concern. “And what exactly, did they do to your mother?”

He swallows a breath of air thickly. “Adrien's mother went missing a few years ago. And so my mother and I visited Adrien and his sperm donor as we were all grieving. However, I started to notice things seemed off and before either of us realised, the Big Butterfly was parading my mother around in front of the news and media pretending she was her twin sister instead. Even at home, she started treating me like Adrien's mother had.”

“What the fuck! Are you saying the Big Butterfly brainwashed your mom?” Jason exclaims, eyes wide with a mixture of horror, disgust, and alarm.

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. The Big Butterfly brainwashed my mum into believing she was Aunt Emilie, purely so that he could keep appearances up in front of the cameras.” Félix confirms, hands balled into fists and shaking ever so slightly. “When Adrien got out and joined here, I stumbled across the Big Butterfly's plans to replace Adrien by doing the same to me. If you all hadn't helped me get out in time…” He chokes up, unable to get the next words out of his mouth.

“That is truly despicable. I'm sorry.” Artemis apologises, looking equally disturbed by the information.

“Shit.” Roy mutters, glancing between Félix and Adrien. “What do we do? We can't just let another innocent get fucking brainwashed!”

Kori purses her lips. “I think,” she starts, giving an understanding look at the two, “we should let Adrien and Félix decide. They are the most familiar with the Big Butterfly, this Kagami, and the situation as a whole.”

Clearing her throat, Alix roller skates a little closer to others. “Guys, you don't think…” she trails off, trying to find her words but also torn over whether saying it out loud will make it true, “you don't think that's what's happened to Marinette? It would explain why we've heard nothing from her or Roaar since she disappeared.”

“Holy fucking shit! I'm going to burn that fucking bastard and his fucking fashion show to the ground if he fucking dared!” Hisses Jason, his eyes flaring toxic green as the fury of the Lazarus Pit burns in his veins. He digs his nails into the fabric of the sofa and his lips curl into a near-frenzied snarl.

“Woah, woah! Jason, calm the fuck down! That might not be what's happened!” Roy intercepts, grabbing Jason by the shoulder.

Jason turns to glare at Roy. “But it also might be what happened to her!”

“We should go.” Adrien cuts in sharply, “Max can get the rest of you in via hacking. Félix and I will be the distraction, and I'll bring Kaalki so we have a quick escape in case things go wrong. Whilst everyone else who goes to the show needs to focus on getting Kagami out. Then once that's done, we can try and look for anything that suggests they've got Marinette. And if we find Marinette, we get her out as well.”

Félix nods. “That's a good enough plan for me.”

Smiling bitterly, Adrien tilts his head to one side. “So, who else is up for crashing the show?”

Kori, Roy, Artemis, and Alix all exchange glances before nodding.

“Max and I are in!” Markov pipes up, hovering up in a swing.

“That leaves, who's telling Luka, and Bizarro they're holding down the fort this time?” Jason mutters.

“Dibs not it!” Everyone but Artemis calls out.

She rolls her eyes at the antics of the others. “I will tell the two of them their roles for this mission. Don't worry.”

Jason hums. “We could also probably call in a favour with the Sparrow kid that you,” he nods towards Adrien, “and Marinette befriended. Not to hold down the fort but to help cover us at the fashion show?”

“Oh! I'm sure Sparrow will be more than happy to help! That's a great idea!” Adrien cheers, perking up slightly.

Moving over to the coffee table, Félix places the letter down in the centre. “Right. Let's get ourselves ready to crash a fashion show.”

———

Adrien and Félix both don a light disguise. One that's easy enough to recognise them on a closer inspection but subtle enough to not attract immediate attention.

The others, in heavier disguises, had arrived early and gotten in already—split between two teams. One with hacked tickets, and the other through breaking and entering, the gang's speciality. Sparrow had also been more than happy to help and had roped in a few others from their gang, the Quantic Kids, into helping watch the outside of the building.

Leaving Félix and Adrien to arrive together, separate from the rest of the gang; they make sure to arrive slightly late to try and avoid the worst of the crowds. Approaching the doors, they hand over their tickets and try to appear as nonchalant as possible.

The nearest android guard eyes their tickets and puts out a hand. “Wait.”

“Is there something wrong with our tickets, sir?” Félix asks, smiling sweetly enough to hide the undercurrent of threat.

The android guard nods their head at another then looks the two up and down in a scrutinising—analysing fashion. “We have explicit orders to escort anyone with these tickets to the seats.”

Adrien grimaces. “Understood, lead the way then.”

The android guards exchange nods once more, then the one slightly further away pulls out a radio and starts quietly reporting into it, too low for either Félix or Adrien to catch anything. Useful or otherwise.

“Follow me.” Says the nearer one as they start walking away.

Félix sighs and lightly knocks shoulders with Adrien as a reminder of solidarity as well as to get ready. Waiting for only a second, they both start following after the guard. Félix adjusts the secret mic and camera attached to his tie, ensuring that it was now transmitting its feed to Max and Markov, as well as Luka back at base.

Next to him, Adrien does the same with his own tie and attached secret mic and camera.

They're led down a few hallways, up a couple of winding staircases, and down a few more hallways before the guard stops outside a door with a metal sign on it reading: Private.

“Your seats are through here.” The android guard says, slotting a keycard into the door, causing a glowing keypad panel to open up in the centre. Then, the android guard scans a digital code into the door and the door swings open before it.

Adrien nods to the android guard and tugs Félix after him as he strides across the threshold, head held high.

There's a shriek, as they pass through the door, and a body slams into Adrien and it's only thanks to his vigilante instincts that he doesn't drop the body.

“Oh, Adrikins!” Chloé cries out, hugging him tightly. “I can't believe you're back!” She lets go of him for a second to step back and check out his outfit. “Urgh, you could do with some better clothes though. It's fine,” she says, waving a hand, “after today's show we can go on a shopping trip together!”

Adrien smiles awkwardly and unconvincingly responds, “yeah… it's nice to see you again too, Chloé.”

Félix, the traitor, snickers at Adrien's predicament and steps around the two to fully enter the room. The android guard does not follow, and the door shuts automatically behind them.

Inside, is a private bar and lounge with double doors on the far wall, opposite the 'Private' entry door.

Kagami glances up from her place from the sofa against the wall with the double doors. She raises an eyebrow. “It is good to see that you made it here safely.”

“As safe as we could.” Félix grunts, delicately dropping into the seat next to her on the sofa.

She hums, tuning out Chloé's screeching with practised ease. “How are the horse-related magic tricks you were working on going?”

“Pretty well, though I don't suppose Father will be all too pleased with the one I plan to practise tonight,” Félix responds.

Kagami relaxes her shoulders in relief for a split second. “Oh? And what sort of magic trick is it?”

“I've dubbed it: Call a Key. And it's like those pull a rabbit from a hat tricks but with a horse from a hoop.” He says, drawing a circle in the air. A circle that just so happens to be the same size and shape as Kaalki's average portals.

“I see,” Kagami says, nodding, “well, perhaps after tonight's show, you won't mind showing me it so far?”

Félix grins, “I'd love to, Kagami.”

Their conversation lulls into silence, so Félix hops off the sofa and goes over to the private bar to fix himself and Adrien some drinks. Seeing as Chloé was showing no signs of letting his cousin go at the moment. A potential hazard for the plan, he worries. With drinks in hand, he rejoins Kagami by the sofa.

An announcement rings out over the loudspeakers on the walls as the double doors swing open in a slow and controlled manner.

“That, is our cue that the show will be starting soon,” Kagami mutters to him. She takes a deep breath and raises her voice, “Chloé, Adrien, it is time we take our seats for the show.”

Chloé squeals, forcefully dragging Adrien across the private lounge and through onto the balcony where their booth seats are.

Sighing, Félix follows after the two with Kagami a few steps behind him.

“Oh, I'm so glad you managed to make it to today's fashion show, Adrikins!” Chloé exclaims, clutching at Adrien's arm like a hawk and gesturing wildly with the other. “It's so nice of your daddy to hold this show in the theatre so we could have a private booth together to watch the show! And it's going to be a really special show from what I've overheard, Gabriel's débuting a new and upcoming fashion designer! Isn't that so exciting, I'm sure your daddy will let you model for them now that you're back! After all,” she scoffs, “he's letting that peasant fox model for the designer today.”

“Is that so?” Adrien responds, glancing at Félix with deep-seated worry etched into his stare.

Félix clenches his fists and takes a deep breath.

Frowning, Kagami taps Félix on the arm and sends him a questioning glance.

“We'll explain it later.” He mumbles quietly enough for her to just hear.

Below them, the sounds of people taking their seats echoes. A few minutes pass, Félix and Kagami make minor small talk whilst Adrien is forced to listen to Chloé prattle on.

The main lights dim and then go out, plunging the room into darkness. The curtains rise, from the sounds of the heavy and large swathes of fabric moving on the pulleys.

Classical music starts playing—not unlike the music Adrien used to learn on the piano. And one by one, the lights in the shape of asphodels flicker to life on the stage, illuminating a sea of the flowers surrounding a catwalk designed like a river carving through the land. White marble Greco-Esque pillars and arches litter the flower fields. Framing the scene, is the blank white wall at the back of the catwalk and stage. The lighting shifts to cast spotlights on the wall behind the catwalk.

Félix tunes out the rest of the show starting, instead putting all his focus in searching for any security watching their booth, as well as for any sign of Marinette.

The show continues on, slowly models wearing pieces designed like asphodels, butterflies, and cocoons or chrysalises strut up and down the catwalk. The spotlights follow them, making the pieces and models appear to glow under the light.

Luckily, there's no obvious security paying attention to their booth. But that doesn't mean they're in the clear, for all they know, Gabriel could have bugged the place to the rafters. They had worked out before entering, that they'd have to leave before the end of the show. Otherwise, they'd most likely be captured and brainwashed just like Félix's mum.

A new announcement from the stage gives both Adrien and Félix pause, neither having fully caught what was said other than mentions of the reveal of the designer. They tense and try to hide the signs of their anxious anticipation. The flickering flame of hope in their chests threatens to extinguish from the worry that this could be what they feared it to be.

The lights and spotlights on stage all dim; whilst the music fades to a quieter volume. The almost deafening echoing clack-clack-clack of heels against the catwalk seems so much louder than when the models in heels had been walking across it.

Félix holds his breath and clasps his hands together tightly. Adrien leans forwards to get a better look over at the stage. They should be nudging Kagami and getting ready to go by now but they can't will themselves to look away. Like a tragedy; a car catching fire and about to crash.

A figure in a chrysalis dress steps onto the catwalk. Step by step by step, they slowly walk to the end of the catwalk. The faint glow of the lights still perfectly illuminates the figure's face though.

And Adrien's heart stops. “No!”

“What? Is that—?” Chloé starts, only to be interrupted by the cacophonous roar of a standing ovation from the rest of the audience.

Félix, Adrien, and Kagami all pale in horror.

“That's… that's Marinette.” Kagami whispers to Félix, her panic thinly veiled.

Stiffly, Félix nods and swallows a breath of air thickly. “So. Minor change of plans.”

“I can see why.” Kagami responds automatically, in horror.

On the catwalk below, the dress shimmers and appears to crack. Shadowy mist seeping from the cracks is followed by a blinding glow eviscerating the darkness. From the cracks, the outer layers of the dress splinter away, and the layers below begin to unfurl. Bright white, beautiful butterfly wings edged with black and the odd symmetrical red spots.

Gabriel Agreste, Papillon, joins her on the stage. “Isn't this such a momentous and wonderful occasion? Tonight, we have witnessed the eclosion of a new Papillon within the Atelier Agreste. And I'm delighted by the bright welcome Phoebus has received.”

At the call of her Papillon name, Phoebus bows.

Félix's heartbeat pounds in his ears, nearly drowning out Gabriel's words.

Before he, or Adrien, can react, there's a buzzing in his ear from the disguised earpiece comms.

“Félix. Adrien. Get Kagami and get out! Now!” Max's voice filters through, “they're sending a reinforcement of guards towards your location. I'll try to hack them but it'll be close!”

Standing abruptly, Adrien yanks himself away from Chloé's death grip.

“Wha—Adrikins!” She protests, still too shocked by the revelation of the new designer having been Marinette, to try and stop him.

Adrien backs away into the private lounge, flushing red with embarrassment. “Sorry Chloé, I-uh… need to use the men's room. Be-right-back!”

He turns heel and makes his way over to the opposite door and yanks it open.

Félix stares at Adrien in disbelief before nodding at Kagami and grabbing her by the arm. He does not so much run, as speed walk after Adrien.

The second all three of them are clear of the private door's threshold, Kagami kicks her foot back to shut the door behind them. The three then start sprinting down the halls.

The hidden earpiece crackles again. “You three and Jason are the nearest to the backstage where Marinette will be soon. I'll lead the four of you towards the location, just follow my directions and don't do anything stupid once Jason joins you.”

“No promises,” Adrien mutters in response. “I'm seriously considering committing patricide at this point.”

Max doesn't immediately respond, presumably having switched channels to help deal with the others, or get out himself.

Less than a minute later, the earpiece crackles again, but this time it's Luka who starts relaying the directions to the backstage whilst keeping them updated on both human and android guards as well as security camera positions.

“You're halfway there, Jason should be just through the third door on the right.” Luka informs, sounding calm but they know him too well to not hear the veneer of fury beneath every word.

Adrien yanks open the third door on the right open, and lo and behold, Jason is sprinting past the open door in the corridor it leads to.

“Wait up!” Félix hisses after Jason.

It seems Jason manages to hear him and skids on the balls of his steel-toed boots, scratching up the wooden flooring, to stare at them with his green eyes blazing. “Alix was fucking right.” He bites out.

“We are coming with you, to save her.” Kagami states, looking equally furious.

Jason cocks his head to the side. “Then c'mon, we need to run.”

The four exchange nods and glances and burst into a sprint down the hallway, following Luka's directions.

Direction after direction after direction. It feels like Luka relays to them hundreds of those endless directions before the four of them reach a long hallway with double doors at the end that has a large sign above it, labelled: Backstage.

Skidding to a stop again, Jason holds out an arm to stop the others as well. “As much as I want to run in, laser guns a-blazin', who knows what kinda fucking security shit they've got ready for us.”

Adrien grimaces. “But they knew we didn't know that they have Marinette. So why would they prepare security for us rescuing her when they're trying to capture us?”

“Have you forgotten how much security the Big Butterfly placed around my mother, after brainwashing her? Public spectacles like this always involve far too much security around the shining star of the show!” Félix spits acerbically, fists shaking, breathing shallow.

Adrien places a hand on his shoulder. “Worst case situation, we can get Kaalki to get us out and we can try and rescue Marinette another time.”

Jason scowls. “If we're forced to do that, I want to shoot that fucker's skull in first.”

“Technically, shouldn't Adrien get right of shooting him before you?” Kagami asks, half-smiling that awkward smile of hers.

Huffing, Jason nods to Adrien. “Fine, but I dibs second shot then. And if you go for the skull, I'm shooting that bastard in the fucking dick.”

Adrien makes a choking noise and doubles over, barely managing to stifle his laughter. He takes a few deep breaths and wipes tears away from his eyes. “Deal!” He wheezes, “please, I'd like nothing more than for you to get the second shot and do that!”

“Good fucking choice,” Jason mutters in response, a cheeky grin crossing his face for but a second before it falls back to the furious snarl. “Now, let's see what's behind the doors and get our anthill tiger back!”

The earpieces Jason, Félix, and Adrien are wearing, buzz again. “Might want to hurry up.” Luka smoothly informs. “Three human guards are coming your way. And as far as Max can see through his hacking, there's no android guards or drones backstage.” He pauses, “the rest of our gang won't be able to reach you four in time, neither will Sparrow's. You're going solo.”

The four exchange quick glances among themselves. “That's a risk we're willing to take if it means getting Marinette back.”

“I'll keep you updated on any changes. Break a leg or three, especially try to break the Big Butterfly's legs if you can.” Luka responds.

Jason snorts. “We'll try our best.”

The channel goes silent, as Jason quietly opens the backstage doors and the four of them sneak through.

———

The show has ended, by the time the four of them arrive through the backstage doors. Jason spots a rack of clothes and gestures to the others to follow him as he creeps over to hide behind it.

She's there. Marinette—or Phoebus, as the Big Butterfly had called her. There in the centre of the backstage. Standing stock-still. Still dressed in that fucking chrysalis—butterfly dress. Like a creepy human-sized doll.

Jason focuses on his breathing, in and out, in and out, in and out. Trying not to let the sickly radioactive green flood his vision and veins.

He freezes as he watches the Big Butterfly himself stride up to her and circle her like a vulture.

“You did very well today, Phoebus.” The Big Butterfly says, with a sneer on his face. “Unfortunately, my son and Nephew have so rudely absconded from their booth before the show ended.”

The Papillon Phoebus dips her head, and ever so hollowly sounding, replies, “that is most unfortunate.”

It takes all Jason's concentration to not be sick at how empty she sounds and acts. He glances at the others and Kagami, Adrien, and Félix all look sickened by the sight.

The Big Butterfly's sneer morphs into a scowl. “It is indeed. However, Mademoiselle Bourgeois was able to inform us of something very interesting.”

Tilting her head to one side, the Papillon Phoebus stares blankly at him. “Oh?”

“Apparently, my son had quite the reaction to the sight of you on stage, my Papillon. Isn't that interesting.” The Big Butterfly taunts.

She blinks at him then nods slowly and stiffly. “Yes. That is very interesting, Monsieur Agreste.”

His scowl curls into a victorious sneer. “That's what I thought, my dear Papillon.”

Jason shakes, he can't watch any more of this fucking creepy-ass bastard messing with his gang co-leader. He whips both of his recently upgraded guns from their holsters and grips the handles with whitening knuckles.

Before the others can think to stop him, Jason dives out of cover and shoots his twin guns. Pew-pew!

The laser bolts slam into the back of the Big Butterfly, frying two circles into his suit and melting the material to his skin.

The Big Butterfly screams in pain and fury. He pivots in place to turn and glare at where the shots had come from. The light flashes across his glasses again, making the lenses appear opaque. As his gaze latches onto Jason, his victorious sneer splits and twists and unfurls into a monstrous smirk. He starts to laugh, like poison bubbling and frothing from his lips.

And as the Big Butterfly does, Jason catches sight of the glint of small purple flapping around the Papillon Phoebus'—Marinette's—neck.

The bubbling and frothing poison of an Akuma's transformation swirls around her, staining every speck of her and forming a glimmering chrysalis once more.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Jason chants under his breath. Eyes wide with instant regret, he taps his earpiece. “We fucked up! Holy fucking shit, we fucked up!”

“What?!” Comes the frantic response from Luka. “What do you mean? What's happened? What did you do?”

Jason laughs nervously, “she's an Akuma! She's been fucking akumatised.”

“Hold on as long as possible, the others got swarmed by guards and can't reach you yet.” Luka frets.

At that, Kagami, Adrien, and Félix all burst out from behind the clothes rack, each with laser pistols also in hand. Zap-zap-zap.

The three more shots ring out but only one hits, Adrien and Félix both shaking too much for theirs to land.

“We shall try.” Félix responds to Luka.

The chrysalis-Akuma-poison coalesces around the Papillon Phoebus before cracking and dripping away. Revealing two large butterfly wings exactly like the dress. Phoebus wings. She flutters her wings and begins to float a metre or so above the ground.

“Fuck!” Jason curses, and behind him he can hear the other three echoing the sentiment. He stares at the purple butterfly chain around her throat. “Akuma is in the necklace!”

A bright light, not dissimilar to a flashbang, pops off. Immediately blinding all four of them.

“Capture them!” The Big Butterfly orders.

Kagami yelps.

The blindness caused by the light fades, and Adrien gasps. Jason swears under his breath again, and he and Félix both fire off more shots. This time towards the Akuma object, as the Big Butterfly has vanished.

Cocooned to the ground, Kagami squirms, trying to free herself from the Akuma's trap.

“Fucking shit!” Jason helpfully says on the earpiece channel. “She's trying to fucking capture us for the fucking bastard! And he's disappeared!” He bodily throws himself to the ground to dodge a mote of brilliant radiance lancing towards him.

The Papillon Phoebus tilts her head to the side, wings glittering with bright golden light like her namesake. Safely blocking the laser blasts towards her object with her massive wings.

Thankfully, only one of Kagami's hands is trapped. And not the one with the gun. As quietly as possible, she shoots the gun to slice through the cocoon and free herself.

The wings start to glow brighter and brighter and brighter.

“Flashbang!” Jason yells, diving behind cover in the form of a cluster of mannequins and slapping a hand over his eyes.

Kagami grabs Adrien and the two duck behind a different rack of clothes. Whilst Félix leaps over a stack of boxes and hides there.

The radiance flares once more, but fails to blind any of them.

“We need to shoot the object. I'll draw the attention at the front. Kagami, get behind and get ready to shoot her in the back as a distraction. Adrien and Félix, you two flank her on opposite sides.” Jason plans quietly into the earpiece channel.

Jason leaves his hiding spot first, vaulting over the cluster of mannequins and shoots a laser bolt at the Papillon Phoebus' necklace again. It's blocked by the wings, as to be expected.

Félix leaps back over the stack of boxes and flanks the Papillon Phoebus on the right. Whilst Adrien rolls out from behind the clothes rack and flanks on the left.

The three in position, shoot simultaneously at the Akuma, as to distract her.

Kagami bolts from her hiding spot and flanks behind the Papillon Phoebus.

The wings start to flutter and glow brighter once more.

“Now!” Jason yells.

Zap!

The blast slams into the Papillon Phoebus' back, right between where her wings connect to her shoulder blades. Instinctively she splays her wings out in pain and curls backwards.

Zap-zap!

Two more blasts slam into her, one in each wingtip.

Zap!

Finally, Jason shoots last and his aim is true. Crackle-snap!

The blast sears through the chain necklace, warping the metal and snapping it in twain.

The two parts of the object clatter to the ground and a purple butterfly claws itself out from the broken chains.

Jason spins his gun in his hand and shoots a final laser straight through the moth. Burning a perfect hole through its wings and killing it instantly. Purple Akuma-goop leaks from its injuries and then fades, leaving behind the scorched corpse of what was once a white butterfly.

He sighs in relief, and quickly taps his earpiece. “Akuma dealt with.”

As he says that, the Akuma de-transforms midair and Marinette collapses to the ground. Limp, like a puppet with their strings cut or a discarded doll—a cracked Pupa.

“Thank fuck.” Luka's responds over the channel, sounding tired.

Jason drags a hand down his face. The green poisoning his vision dissipates for the time being, and he hurries over to Marinette. Ever so carefully, he scoops her into his arms—bridal style—and pulls her close to his chest.

Kagami drops to her knees and breathes.

Adrien weakly punches the air with his gun in hand. “Wooh! Luka, we're calling a key home. Disable security please?”

Félix snorts, moving back to lean against the stack of boxes.

“No need, there's no security cameras backstage. I'll hear your songs when you back at base.” Luka relays, tone light with happiness and relief despite the tiredness. “The others have dealt with the guards, so they're on their way back too.”

Adrien transforms with Kaalki, becoming Cheval Mallet. He walks over to Kagami and offers her a hand. Félix, and Jason with Marinette unconscious in his arms join them.

The portal opens up before them, and they walk through together. Today, they've won another battle. Tomorrow they'll try to find out what has been done to Marinette. But tonight, tonight all the conscious members of the gang huddle together in the lounge. And among themselves, they build a pillow and blanket fort, and relax.

They're all together, and they're all safe, for once.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| So title dissection, Atelier meaning Fashion Studio comes from the Latin "Astula" meaning "Splinter", Astula also is the Genus for the flower Asphodel. Phoebus as mentioned in the fic is the god of light but it also means "Bright". Eclose is the leaving of a cocoon/chrysalis. Pupa is another term for cocoon/chrysalis when the butterfly/moth becomes soup and goes through metamorphosis. But it also comes from the Latin meaning Girl or Doll. So In the Fashion Studio's Glow, the Bright/Light Doll will be Released. |

| Fun Fact: Larva/Larvae mean Mask or Ghost in Latin. Also the suffix "Arches" means Leader/Ruler. So Jasonarches means Jason-Leader :3 |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[gaeilgeoirgay]

SpideyTorch Week Day Three Alternate Universe

For Day Three, I chose an alternate universe in which our favourite couple are the villains! This one is a bit darker than usual, and there’s a mild instance of torture, that isn’t explicitly described near the end, so do watch out for that

Ao3 Link 

@spideytorchweek

 they don’t question our violence

“Hello, Spidey. Nice of you to swing by.” Comes a mocking voice from behind him. Peter almost swears, his Spidey Sense hadn’t even warned him, the traitor! Clearly it doesn’t think of Morning Star as a threat despite the fact Johnny has tried to kill him on several occasions. Maybe. To be fair, the Dock Incident was Peter’s fault and Morning Star hasn’t attempted murder in ten months, coinciding with the new depths of their relationship.

And it’s not like Peter is a complete angel either. The Wolf Spider is a name synonymous with death and blood- at least Morning Star tends to stick with arson. Peter is a mercenary, it’s not like he can judge his pyromaniac boyfriend.

“Hi, starlight. I have a job for us, and we get to explode the place afterwards.” Peter says, turning around to smile at Johnny, who perks up at the idea. He lets his flames fizzle out and lands next to Peter, who gratefully accepts the kiss he’s given. It’s freezing right now, and even the slightest bit of warmth makes a difference to Peter’s non-regulating self. There’s also the fact he’s kissing Johnny. That’s a big factor.

He turns fully around to kiss Johnny properly, taking care with his fangs so his venom doesn’t enter Johnny’s bloodstream. He rather likes his boyfriend and he doesn’t want to kill him. Johnny eventually pulls back to smile brightly at Peter.

“What’s the job, Fangs? I like the sound of it already.” He says. Peter beckons him up onto the vent protruding from the building they’re on, hopping up himself to swing his legs childishly. Johnny joins him, feet tapping impatiently.

“I met Remy Le Beau downtown a few days ago. He mentioned that there’ve been a few disappearances lately, mainly mutant children living on the streets that don’t appear on official records. I did some digging and it turns out there’s a lab set up in the Bronx that’s been experimenting on mutant kids.” Peter explains, scowling now. “Officially, it’s a gene lab where volunteers donate samples to be studied for cures to various diseases. There’s about twenty kids there now from what I can tell. Remy can’t blow it to hell himself without attracting attention to Xavier but if we free the kids and then happen to torch it, people won’t question our violence.” He finishes.

Johnny is frowning now too. “What excuse are we giving for the attack though?” He asks and Peter laughs. “That’s the best bit. We’re not giving an excuse, we’re telling everyone they were experimenting on children. Their encryptions are ridiculously bad and there’s already been a call for an inquiry into them by S.I. They’re subsidised by Oscorp and it’ll damage their stocks once it gets out that not only did they block the investigation, they funded the lab too.” He explains and Johnny grins.

“Two birds with one stone. Save the kids and piss off Green Goblin. I’m down.” He says and Peter stands. Johnny does too and Peter challenges him to a race across the city. They may be supervillains but they can still have fun.

The building is near deserted when they get there, other than a few dedicated workers and the overnight security guards. The employees aren’t aware of where their samples come from, only the top scientists know about the mutants and the security guards were never told they were guarding people instead of chemicals so they’ve agreed to leave them mostly alone.

Johnny silently melts a window on the top floor and they sneak into the building, avoiding the admittedly meagre defences.

 They soon find a bright red door labelled DANGER and according to the blueprints that Peter acquired, the kids should be behind it.

They crumple easily under Peter’s enhanced strength and Johnny groans at the display. “I love it when you break metal with your bare hands.” He whispers and Peter smothers a laugh. They step over the ruined doors to find the kids in chains.

“Oh I can’t wait to set this place on fire.” Johnny growls harshly and Peter shushes him. There’s a computer terminal by the door so he plugs in a device he built himself that will copy the information on the mainframe to his personal store while deleting every other existing copy. He’ll probably delete his own copy once he goes through it, but he’d prefer to know if some sort of power-killing virus was made before he gets hit with it. Probably by Ross, may he die in agony.

The two of them set to work on the chains, Peter snapping them and Johnny turning them to molten slag. The kids are utterly silent, even when the two villains are reassuring them softly and Peter vows to hunt down every last disgrace to science that was involved in the lab.

Finally, the last chain clatters to the floor and all the kids are free. Remy had promised them assistance from two X-men who would be able to get the kids out of the lab so Peter and Johnny could get to burning it down.

They herd the kids to the window they broke in through and are met by the dark form of Archangel. The mutant’s normally pure white wings are covered in dark metal to blend in with the night but he’s still gentle with the children and they seem a bit less scared to see someone who’s so obviously like them.

Peter watches one little girl with red, scaly wings looking in awe between herself and the hero and smiles. He glances at Johnny and a thought comes to him. He wants that. Him and Johnny, with a kid each, maybe one girl and one boy or two of the same gender.

Hmm. That’s something to consider later. For now, he watches Archangel fly the kids one-by-one to a nearby safehouse where Nightcrawler is waiting to bring the kids to Xavier’s mansion the next morning. They deserve a good nights rest before moving somewhere completely different to everything they’ve ever known.

Archangel returns after the last child has been delivered to Nightcrawler and perches on the windowsill, regarding Peter and Johnny with a slight measure of respect.

“I met Nightcrawler in a mutant fighting ring. Neither of us wanted to be there but we never got the chance to escape. I got hurt and Mystique spirited him away but we never knew what happened to the ring. These kids though, they’re not gonna have that.” He plucks a metal feather from the edge of his wings, the edges razor sharp.

“Hurt those monsters and hurt them well. Maybe some of the more sheltered mutants at home won’t understand but I do. Slit their throats with that and leave them to choke. It’s more than they deserve.” Archangel says solemnly, rage glinting in his eyes. Peter exchanges looks with Johnny and then grins.

“Maybe heroes can’t be caught torturing people but there’s a reason I walk the other side of the line. We won’t make it quick.” Peter promises and Archangel returns the smile. Peter has no doubt that any scientists he and Johnny fail to find will turn up with mysterious wounds soon enough.

Archangel flies off to join Nightcrawler and Wolf Spider and Morning Star stalk back into the labs. The head scientists have been staying in a penthouse apartment above the labs while they run their tests and that’s their destination.

The elevator lets them up after a few key strokes from the Spider and they emerge into a wide-open space, the complete opposite of the small room the kids had been chained in. There are doors off of the main room and the Spider quickly matches them up with what he found in their database.

The third door to the right should belong to Henry Lawson, the torturer in chief. Morning Star melts the lock and they slip into his room silently. The bastard is sleeping peacefully in his bed but it won’t be long before that changes.

Morning Star fingers the metal feather Archangel gave them and slowly starts to heat it up. It’s made of strong stuff and even though the metal is glowing red it’s not metal. It serves as a rude wake-up call when it’s pressed to Lawson’s jaw.

He squeals like a stuck pig and the Spider thanks God for soundproofing. They’re nowhere near done with Lawson just yet.

An hour later, Lawson is thoroughly deceased and they move onto their next target. All six die painfully and Wolf Spider takes a twisted pleasure in it. Still, they have a job to do and they can’t spend as much time on their other targets as they did on Lawson.

Johnny plants his favourite explosives and Peter carelessly pulls the fire alarm. They find a good vantage point on the building across from the lab and wait until the last heat signature leaves the building and emergency services are seconds from the scene to trigger the bombs.

Johnny floats in front of the lab for a few seconds before he unleashes a torrent of flames into the already-blazing building. It only feeds the raging fire and Peter knows it will take quite some time to put it out, Not his problem. He’s too busy planning their next hits on the scientists that hadn’t lived above the lab.

Johnny lands on the roof next to him with a sharp exhale and Peter drapes himself over his back. “Twelve people left on the list, starlight. I vote we eat, have a fantastic night in bed and then brutally murder them all. Their dirty secrets are set to be released to the public in four and a half hours, just in time for the news cycle.” Peter says, tracing letters on Johnny’s back.

“You give the best presents, my Spider. I can’t wait to hunt.” Morning Star replies.

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Three: Budding Relationships

AN: Each chapter I post I gain more and more readers, and I thank you all!

Word Count: 3.7k

Trigger Warnings: violence, mention of hate crimes

Chapter Four: Enter Sebastian Shaw

Today we had the day off, since the teenagers proved to Charles and Erik they were not prepared to go along with them to ambush Shaw. So, I was once again approved as being the babysitter while Charles, Erik, and Moira go to Russia. I shook my head and chuckled at Erik's and I conversation before he left with Charles and Moira.

Erik laughed mockingly and clapped his hands together, "Are you sure you want her as a babysitter Charles? She did such a horrible job last time,"

Irritation filled me, and I glared daggers at him "Careful, Erik," I said with mock sweetness. "Or you'll find yourself crying like a spoiled two year old," I threatened.

He grinned boyishly despite my threat.

I was currently sitting on the couch with the others in an identical hangout room with another book in my hand. Except this one had a pinball machine, and overlooked a statueless courtyard. Plus, this room had all its windows. Angel, Hank, Raven, Sean, and I were all sitting on the leather couches. Honestly, it didn't surprise me when Sean sat with the girls and I, he just wouldn't give up. Alex and Darwin were playing on the pinball machines, and Alex was beating him rather badly.

"Jesus man, you are KILLING me." Darwin complained, as Alex focused intently at the pinball machine.

"Don't beat yourself up, I had a lot of spare time,"

Alex's last remark confused me. Hank had said that he'd been in prison for the last four years, and I don't think they gave their prisoners meaningless arcade machines. The thought quickly leaves my mind as I heard two CIA agents talking loudly.

"Oh, I didn't know the circus was in town!" an arrogant CIA agent caught my attention. "Hey, come on honey, give us a little uh..." doing a terrible impression of Angel's wings, I could hear her mutter 'no' under her breath, I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. "No? Come on, let's see the foot," the agent jeered.

I could feel the anger starting to rise up inside of me, as I felt the happiness in the room subsided. Hank got up and walked to the button that closes the curtains.

"There it is, come on Big Foot. Let's go," Hank saluted the man mockingly, as the curtains closed."Hey, come on. Hey!" As Hank sat back down, the room fell silent, except the soft pinging of the pinball machine.

"They're just guys being stupid," Raven comforted, just realizing how much this actually upset Angel.

"Guys being stupid I can handle. Okay, I've handled that my whole life!" she snapped. "But I'd rather a bunch of guys stare at me with my clothes off than the way these ones stare at me!" Angel snapped again, disheartening Raven, who still wasn't completely over last night's events.

More silence.

"At us," Raven added sadly, Angel turned away guiltily, for lashing out on Raven, but there was no way she was going to apologize for it.

A flood of self-consciousness and self-loathing assaulted me, I tried to focus on my physical surroundings, rooting my thoughts enough to sort out my emotions and bring them under control. My hands balled into fists, my entire body tense. I brought my hand to my temple and massaged it with two fingers in an attempt to ease the pain.

Raven's soft voice called across from me, "Sorry, Claudia. Did we bother you?"

"Bother her?" Angel scoffed, voice dripping with attitude. "How could we have bothered her? She has an invisible mutation, no one could ever bother her,"

I forced a smile. Her attitude was merely an obnoxious mask for her fragile heart. I set my copy down of Jane Erye onto the table.

"You're right, Angel. The only thing I have to be bothered about is people wanting to see me swing from a tree," I quipped darkly. "And you know, gaining basic civil rights," I added, my eyes narrowed slightly.

Our bitter conversation is brought to an end by the abrupt sound of a thud coming from outside. We stared at each other in confusion before I stood up, sensing danger. We stayed still for a moment, listening to the thuds, there's silence and then there's a whooshing sound.

"This doesn't feel right," Darwin muttered, before striding over to the curtains and pressing the button to open them. Alex gives the pinball machine one last flick and then followed him. Outside, there was nothing. We gathered around the clear, glass window looked at each other, confused. I waited tersely, my eyes darting back and forth.

"Do you sense something, Claudia?" Raven asked.

"Something's wrong," I whispered, but only Raven heard me. She shot me a curious glance, but was stopped from saying anything by Alex.

"What is that?" Alex demanded, pointing at the black figures blocking the light of the moon.

The light made it only a silhouette, preventing us from seeing what it truly was, all we could see that a silhouette was holding up another silhouette.

And then it isn't.

I cried out in pain as I felt the fear and pain of a man dying strong in my mind. I tried to relax the man, but he was already dead. Just as I opened my eyes, a body came crumbling down to the ground and smashing instantly right in front of the window causing causing all of us to jump back in surprise. I let out a gasp as Angel and Raven let out a scream in horror, clutching tightly onto my arm. I heard more screams and felt more pain as more men started to fall from the sky.

Suddenly, the roof lights flickered on, the sky is littered with falling bodies crashing in various sights around the buildings, the sound of screams and smashing glass, filling our ears. Guards rushed out of the buildings, positioning themselves surrounding the window, blocking us from harms way. They signaled for us to move out of the way, as more attacks proceeded. I searched for the mind that kept killing the CIA agents, but couldn't seem to keep a right mind. Raven let out another scream as an agent tumbled from the sky and into the glass roof outside

Terror filled the room, seeping into my every pore.

"Get back! Get back! Do not leave that room, we are under attack!" A man without a gun shouted.

In a flash of flames, the red man dressed well in a suit appeared in a puff of smoke and we all screamed for the agents to turn around. Taking them by surprise. The guards taking a few moments for it to register before beginning to shoot at him. It was too late, he was gone.

The glass shattered as a bullet hit the window, and we rushed to duck behind the sofa, screams filled my ears. Darwin stood closest to the edge, his arms stretched out to shield us from the oncoming storm. A tornado appeared, swiftly making it's way around the other side of the building, ripping apart what Hank had called 'Cerebro'. I didn't want to watch Hank's pained expression, when he saw his hard work torn away, but I could feel Hank radiating sadness and frustration.

"Stay here, my ass!" Darwin shouted to us, making his way towards the door. Running out into the corridor, we were stopped by some more guards.

"GET BACK!" the agents screamed at us.

"We can help! We can help!" Darwin tried to plead, but we're just pushed back.

Deep down, I knew Darwin realized that we couldn't.

Raven's hysterical, a complete mess. I managed to calm her emotions down with my empathic powers, but she somehow overruled that and became anxious once more. A wave of heat hits me, followed by an immense explosion. Raven screamed as agents are sucked into the flames, and we run back to where we were. Met with more destruction, back into the room, the tornado was moving closer and most of the guards were dead, falling down, one by one. Raven sobbed louder and screamed again when an agent is launched through the only remaining window by the hurricane. I can't be the only person to notice that we've completely backed ourselves into a corner.

The red man stabbed the last agent and Raven whimpered. A good looking Spanish man and the one that closely resembled most people's portrayal of the devil, stepped over the window, entering the room, one on each side. We were closed in.

Someone fired another shot and Raven screamed again.

"Wait, wait! You want the mutants? They're right through that door! Just let us normal people go! We're no threa-" a muffled voice is cut off and Raven's face changed into one of disgust.

A helmeted man, who was easily in his forties, walked through the door. To be honest, he looked kind of stupid.

"Where is the telepath?" The man in the helmet asked, as if it were no big deal that they just killed hundreds of men.

"Not here," The devil looking man noted, you could tell who was in charge there and it definitely wasn't him.

"Too bad," The other man smiled. "Well, at least I can taking this silly thing off," he stated, pulling the helmet off and ran his fingers through his long hair, pushing it back into its place.

At least we agree on something, he does look entirely silly.

But how would that helmet protect his thoughts from a telepath like Charles? No one in the room could read his mind, but I could read his emotions and I knew that he was bad news, there was a danger radiating from him, anyone could feel that. My mind filled with the echoes of his thoughts tied to one specific emotion. Hatred. War, survival, the strongest race. He was thinking of things beyond what we were anticipating.

"Good evening," he addressed us. "My name's Sebastian Shaw. And I am not here to hurt you,"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, "Liar. Your little sidekicks just murdered a fleet of CIA agents," I thought.

A lone agent appeared across the courtyard.

"Freeze!"

"Azazel?" Shaw lazily ordered

He disappeared, appearing again outside, swiftly killing the man and teleported back.

Shaw turned back to us, "My friends," He took another step towards us, handing his helmet to the Spanish man. "There's a revolution coming, when mankind discovers who we are, what we can do. Each of us will face a choice: be enslaved, or rise up to rule," His eyes lingered on me for longer than I would have liked. But Shaw was not done yet. "Choose freely, but know that if you are not with us then you are, by definition, against us,"

"So. You can stay, fight for the people that hate and fear you. Or, you can join me, and live like kings," he looked to the boys, none of them attempting to make a move. Then he looked to Angel, standing in front of me. "And queens," He holds his hand out to her and Angel took it with almost no hesitation. I couldn't help sending her a look of pure disgust.

"Angel..." Raven's voice dropped in disappointment, although I didn't particularly like her, it didn't mean I wanted this to happen.

"You kidding me?" Sean's face dropped, he enjoyed flirting with Angel the most, but I never imagined he would be this crushed.

Angel looked back at us, "Come on," she commanded, gesturing towards us. "We don't belong here and that's nothing to be ashamed of,"

Darwin reached out to her, but Angel turned away, ignoring us.

"We have to do something," Raven insisted.

Alex and Darwin exchange a few harsh whispers. Alex pushed Darwin in the side and Darwin turned away.

"Stop. I'm coming with you," Darwin announced, stepping over what was left of the window. Angel smiled, clearly pleased someone had listened to her speech, even Shaw seemed momentarily pleased.

I watched in disbelief as Darwin moved towards the line of mutants. Shaw stepped towards him.

"Good choice. So tell me about your mutation," He said slyly.

"Well I adapt to survive," Darwin explained, Alex lead us into the center of the room. "So I guess that means I'm coming with you," Darwin finished.

Shaw nodded, "I like that," Shaw signaled for him to join Angel and Darwin stood next to Angel.

"ALEX!" Darwin yelled, forming a rock solid barrier and dipping Angel to protect her.

"Get down!" Alex shouted, shoving us out of harms way, sending rings of energy, launching at Shaw, Alex grinned momentarily before his face dropped.

We watched in horror as Shaw had somehow absorbed his energy. I raised my hand to send a telekinetic blast towards Shaw and that's when everything else became a blur, and before I knew it Azazel vanished, and appeared right in front of me within a blink an eye. His tail wrapped around my throat, I yelped lightly when my feet left the floor, kicking out blindly, but my five five frame wasn't really doing anything to stop this man who was nearly a foot taller than I was. I clawed at his tail so air could fill my lungs again, but it was a futile effort as he only tightened his grip

"Protecting your fellow mutants? That's a noble gesture," He shivered slightly, who wouldn't after absorbing that much power. Darwin got up, confused, and Angel moved back towards the Spanish man. "Feels good," Shaw shrugged his shoulders a little and let out a smirk.

"Azazel drop her," Azazel did as he was command, air filled my lungs but only momentarily. As soon as Azazel dropped me, Shaw's hand clasped around my neck, and brought me up off of my feet. I gagged on his choking grasp, my hands once again trying to claw it off my neck. "Now who's this?" Shaw wondered aloud a small sinister smile on his lips, his eyes scanning my body over.

The very air that he gave off was dangerous and intimidating. I mean that was obvious when he first walked through the doors, but it was made all the more clearer now that I was only inches from his face.

It was his eyes. Those eyes that looked right through me and held no warmth.

"Her name is Claudia," Angel spoke up. If Shaw wasn't choking the life out of me right now I would be livid with Angel telling him my name and for betraying us. "She can manipulate emotions, she could come with us," Angel suggested, with a rather large smile on her face.

"Yes, she could," Shaw agreed, nodding his head. "With your abilities, I'm sure you'll be very valuable to us. Your power is very interesting, Claudia," Shaw stated, and a shiver went down my spine when he said my name.

"No...it's not," I managed to utter out.

"Oh to me it is," Shaw disagreed, a menacing smile on his face. "With your abilities, I'm sure we'll be able to control anyone at will. We'll make an army. We'll be unstop-"

"No!" I hissed.

"What?"

"Go...to...hell!" I wheezed out.

"Hmm, it's too bad really, a beautiful woman like you..I saw so much potential in you," Shaw snarled gleefully, then swung his free hand, as it connected to the right side of my face, some of the energy from Alex's power thrown with it, causing me to see stars on impact. He threw me into the wall, my limp body collided with the drywall.

The room seemed to fade, leaving stars in my eyes and I felt my adrenaline crash, but surprising felt more energy than I ever had before.

Shaw turned sharply to Darwin. Darwin goes to throw a punch, but is quickly blocked. Shaw grabbed his mouth. "Adapt to this," Shaw whispered, and we watch, horrified expressions on our faces, as he puts all of Alex's energy into Darwin's mouth.

I watched as darkness slowly crept into my vision as Shaw, Azazel, the Spanish man, and Angel disappeared into a burst of flames. That's when I see Darwin standing there, convulsing.

Darwin tried to find different ways to adapt, but Alex's power was able to destroy the barrier. I watched him turn to platinum, then rock as the plasma burnt within, the orange-red glow peeking out of the rock like lava until he turned to solid rock. Then he realized it just wasn't going to work. He faced Alex and the rest of us, the blonde's eyes widened with terror, as he watched his new friend slowly die. Darwin looked over at Alex with black eyes, as he reached out, wordlessly and the stone started to break apart again. Then the cracks of Darwin's form brightened, and he exploded into only bits and pieces.

And just like that, he was gone forever.

Everyone all stood for a few moments in silence. Then the whole cataclysm sunk in, and everyone began scrambling around. Hank ran out the door saying he was going to find a first aid kit for me, Sean and Raven took baby steps towards where Darwin had diminished, and Alex rushed over to me, examining me. I already felt my face was swelling black and blue, a little shadow of blood remained under my head.

My vision was almost completed darkened, but my eyes met Alex's and in that instant, I knew how much he was hurting. He practically killed a man. Just as the thought crossed my mind, Alex spoke.

"H-He's gone. I k-k- I-I kill-killed him," Alex stuttered, his expression full of devastation.

"No, you didn't," I whispered, feeling even more drained as the seconds passed. "Trust me,"

"Claudia!"

I heard someone yell. But I couldn't tell who it was, for I slipped into unconsciousness and let the darkness envelope me before the person could call my name again.

~~~x~~~

When I awoke my body was no longer on the cold, hard ground of the rec room, but instead on the lumpy mattress I've become used to. Someone must have carried me. I managed to sit up a little less than an inch before my head started spinning and pain shot through my spine causing me to lie back down and gasp loudly.

Pain.

It's a slightly indescribable sensation; all one can really use is a mix of adjectives and synonyms, and even then one couldn't fully describe what they were feeling. Just what the pain feels like, using personifications and such. Right now, I felt like someone had beaten the tar out of me, which is what exactly happened. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to blink, it even hurt to think of even possibly moving again. I couldn't open my eyes, as they were held close with hard crust. I tried to push them open, but could only pry open my left eye, as the more I pushed myself in opening the right one, the more it hurt.

My brown orb peered around the room, my vision was still blurry. It was two o'clock in the morning if I read the time right. It had been fours hours since Darwin's death.

A tear rolled down my cheek, wiping it away. I couldn't tell if it was on my own volition or if I was just channeling everyone's emotions. I didn't want to cry, but I could no longer control it, when tears kept effortlessly sliding down my face. I looked through my tears, and I knew I wouldn't be sleeping for the rest of the night. I touched my head lightly, as I felt a long bandage wrapped around it. It was so sore, and gave little jolts of pain every time I picked up on someone's feelings.

I slowly slid out of the comforts of a bed that wasn't truly mine and let short, loud cry of pain as I moved. I stood up too quickly and a wave of dizziness hit me like a truck, causing me to plop back down onto the bed until it passed. I pushed myself up off the bed again and trudged to the door and into the hallway, I was put in a room at the end of the corridor that seemed to remain untouched by the events, I realized nobody would dare go back to our old rooms, they were just rubble and dust.

It was everywhere. The scent of burned flesh made my stomach turn, and the smoke stung my eyes. I felt sick to my stomach, but there was nothing to vomit. I could feel sweat trickle down the back of my neck, mixing painfully with the open wounds there, but I didn't close my eyes. My stomach was twisted into knots, and it was all I could do not to break down and cry. The pain from everyone else was what was kill me.

Fear. Anger. Despair. Disgust. Malice. Painpainpainpainpain-

I threw myself against the cold, concrete wall in effort to keep myself upright and placed my overheated forehead on the wall to ground me. I breathed deeply, my chest heaving and summoned up what little strength I had to push on.

I wandered more and I found an abandoned bathroom with shattered mirrors and glass coating the ground. I lingered in the doorway, not wanting to take the chance that I might cut my feet open on the shattered fragments. But one of the mirrors was intact, except for a slight, thin crack in the upper right hand corner. It was across from me and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. That in itself wasn't unusual, but it wasn't my face that stared back at me.

My hair was limp black and my eye a dull, muddy color. I stepped closer to the mirror, forgetting about the damned glass. And dear Lord, my face. I looked paler than usual and exhausted, worn out. Not to mention a god damn black eye.

I raked my fingers through my black hair to sort out the tangles, letting out a huff of air, a sardonic laugh escaped from lips.

"This is what I left the comforts of New York for? Death and destruction?"

Chapter Five: A Place to Call Home

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Hey, I love your writing! Could you please write one where it’s slytherin! Sirius and gryffindor!james. Can you make it that they find out their mates like they have creature inherences ( since their both pure bloods). At Hogwarts btw if it was unclear. Don’t feel pressured to write this if you’re busy.

((A/N: I’ve never written creature inheritance before, so it’s a little choppy))

Personally, Sirius thought this whole thing was a load of shite. Not like it was fake, because it was definitely real, but it was an absolute pain in the arse. It was going through puberty again, and he'd hated it the first time, thanks. And also? This was worse. He felt like a bloody toddler again, unable to control his magic. It's not like it was lashing out at random or summat, but his spells rarely turned out the way he wanted. Too much power or not enough, and he never knew which way it would go.

Regulus kept assuring him that he'd be ecstatic when he finally settled and got his creature inheritance, but Sirius would prefer to just be comfortable now. Besides, the only creature in the Black line was Veela. Sirius had too many people staring at him without adding a magical element to it. Did he mention the whole process was shite? Because it was. In addition to his magic not responding like it should, his entire scalp itched and his eyes responded to any big change in lighting with pain and his gums ached like a fucker. It made eating ridiculously difficult, and it had been that way for three weeks straight. It was supposed to all even out on his birthday, but that didn't make it any less miserable to live through.

He would love to commiserate about it with someone, but there were only a few other people in Hogwarts that had the possibility for a creature inheritance, and he wasn't exactly friends with any of them. He wasn't friends with anyone other than Regulus actually, so commiserating-- if it was going to happen at all-- would have to wait a few years.

When Sirius got his creature inheritance-- gasp! Veela! what a surprise!-- he walked into the Great Hall and wanted to walk right back out again. He didn't really know how to control the allure. Make that, the allure was running rampant and he couldn't make heads or tails of it-- the fire throwing part had been easy; he hadn't even had to practice-- but even that wasn't enough to make him want to leave. He took one glance at the Gryffindor Table, saw one James Potter, and realised there was a connection.

His parents had sent him a book about Veela inheritances when he started showing signs, and there had been a section on mates. Recognizable on sight. And that's what James Potter was. Sirius had two words for that: 'hell' and 'no'. It's not like Potter was bad looking or an unforgivable arse, but he didn't exactly like any Slytherins, and Sirius was one. He knew that mates weren't something that could be avoided, but how the hell did he explain that to Potter? 'Hi, I know the most time we've spent together was in detention from hexing each other for like, the entirety of fourth year, but you're bloody gorgeous and also we're mates? Wanna hook up sometime? Maybe spend the rest of our lives together?' Yeah. That wouldn't go well.

Sirius wished he could leave-- after all, who needed breakfast every single day?-- but there were appearances to keep up, and everyone would give him shite if he left right now. He was supposed to not act any different now that he had his creature inheritance. He was supposed to pretend he felt the same and didn't think he was better than anyone and all that rot. Nevermind that Sirius had thought he was better than everyone else from the age of five.

He didn't bother to keep in a sigh as he walked to the Slytherin Table.

"What?" Regulus asked, because of course Regulus was with him-- just to be clear: not complaining.

"Everyone's staring."

"Of course they are. You're the first wizard to get a creature inheritance at Hogwarts in the last decade."

"Hooray," Sirius said flatly. "I'll just pose for photos then, shall I?"

"There's no need to be a prick."

"How long have you known me?"

Regulus rolled his eyes, which was pretty much the response that Sirius had expected.

*

Sirius might have stared at James. A lot. It wasn't his fault, okay? There was no ignoring your magic screaming at you to go be with someone, but Sirius refused to give in so easily-- just to give him something to do, his classes were kind of boring right now.

So he stared, but he didn't talk to James. Maybe he should make friendly chit-chat between classes so that they had a foundation other than rivalry and the other person being gorgeous. And okay, it's not like they were total strangers, but being friendly with each other wasn't something they were familiar with. Like he said, rivalry. 

He got caught by James one time in the corridor, but he didn't bother to pretend like he hadn't been staring. It was only the two of them, after all. An empty corridor was a rare thing this close to the Great Hall, but not so surprising this time since it was dinnertime. They were probably the only people not eating right now.

"Is there a reason you're looking at me all the time?" James asked.

"Yes," Sirius said and didn't elaborate.

As expected, James looked bewildered. "Are you going to tell me why?"

"No. What were you in the library for?"

"Books," James said. He was trying to make his voice flat, but it was obvious to Sirius that he was hiding something.

He cocked his head curiously-- an unfortunate habit he'd picked up since his creature inheritance, replacing his usual skeptical eyebrow raise. "For what?"

He shifted, holding his bag tighter like he thought Sirius would snatch them from three meters away. "Nothing," he muttered unconvincingly.

"C'mon, who am I going to tell?"

"Stop mocking me."

"I wasn't aware that was something I was doing."

James glared at him.

It was probably the mate part of him that found it attractive, but Sirius had never had the smartest taste when it came to men. "Honestly. It was an innocent question."

"So you weren't staring at me because you... y'know, know?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sirius said honestly.

James sighed, relaxing from the somewhat rigid posture he'd been holding. "That's good. Or- I guess bad? If you knew, I could ask- but no, we're not friends."

"What's got you in a spin?"

James chewed on his lip.

Sirius's heart beat a little harder in his chest at seeing that-- his imagination was more than happy to provide him with ideas about James's mouth-- but he was going to ignore that for the moment. There were more pressing matters, like what the hell James was talking about. "Honestly, who would I tell?"

"Your brother."

"Right, but who would he tell?" Regulus didn't have any friends either. Their parents had made a point to tell them that they could only trust family, and now look at them. "And who would care?"

"Most people care about creature inheritances. You should've heard the way everyone fawned over you when you presented."

Sirius snorted. "Yeah, I have eyes, love; I'm well aware of how much attention people were paying me." Then, because it was more important, he said, "So that's what this is? You're coming into a creature inheritance too?"

"No," he said instantly, then he shifted. "Maybe. I dunno, that's what the books are for. I thought you could, like, tell from looking at me or summat."

"I don't have a creature sensor."

"Well how was I supposed to know that?" James asked defensively. "Nobody knows anything about creature inheritances unless they have it, and then they keep it in the family because it's personal. It's not like I could just ask you."

"Couldn't you ask your parents? Like you said, it's a family matter."

"There's no history of it in the Potter line. Whoever was a creature that married in? They never recorded it. I went over the bloody family tree with a fine tooth comb, and I came up blank."

"I don't know how much help I'd be. Different families, different creatures," Sirius said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall.

"I don't need specifics, but- Merlin, did it buggering itch like this for you? I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin."

"Can't say that happened to me, no. Mostly it felt like my teeth were about to fall out."

"Right," James said, nodding, "Veela have fangs."

Sirius cocked his head again. "Most people don't know that." 

James blushed. It wasn't very noticeable, but Sirius had eyes on him-- he had a theory that he had enhanced eyesight specifically when it came to his mate, but there was nothing to verify that; it just felt like he was capable of noticing more about him since becoming a creature. "I've done some research."

Sirius hummed, smiling.

*

"Nice wings," Sirius said, trying to keep from looking overly delighted.

One of James's wings snagged against a suit of armor because he'd been walking too close to the wall. "They're a pain in the arse," he muttered, flushing bright red as he tried-- and failed-- to get himself out.

Sirius walked over and stepped behind him. It was a lot easier to do it from this angle. Push, nudge, and he was free. "I kind of thought your wings would be red."

James turned to face him, and Sirius had to step back or risk getting hit in the head with a wing. "Why? Because I'm in Gryffindor?"

"That, and because you look so good in it. I'm not sure black is your colour."

"I look great in black, and you know it," James said.

He did, but Sirius wasn't about to say that. "Do these things not go away?" Sirius asked, looking at the wings curiously. This was the first time he'd seen him since his birthday, and it was no exaggeration to say that James had never looked better. Ill-coloured wings aside. It's not like the black feathers made him look bad or summat, but red would look better.

"If they do, I haven't figured out how." Then James squinted at him. "Did you change your hair?"

"No? It's the same it always is." Which is to say, fabulous. But he hadn't changed it at all. When he'd become a Veela- oh, maybe that's what it was. It had looked different to him in the mirror after that, but Regulus had said he didn't notice anything. "It did change on my birthday though. Maybe you can finally see it."

James reached out, strands of Sirius's hair sliding through his fingers. "It's beautiful," he breathed.

"I get that a lot," Sirius managed to say while sounding normal, but all he wanted to do was step closer and lean into it.

*

Unsurprisingly, James was the one to kiss him first. Sirius kept wanting to, but he also kept chickening out. So it wasn't really a surprise that James made the first move. What was a surprise, was about a month into their relationship-- still a month away from the end of the school year-- and James stopped a rather delightful snog to say, "Does this seem kind of sudden to you?"

"Er, no, we had to sit through like ten hours of class in order to get here."

James chuckled, pressing leisurely kisses to his cheek and down his neck. "No, I mean..."

"You mean?" Sirius prodded when he didn't continue, running his hands down James's back and into his wings. His fingers worked on straightening his feather automatically.

"I dunno. Like, I always fancied you, but after my creature inheritance, it's like I couldn't take my eyes off you."

"I know what you mean. Probably the whole 'mate' thing."

Abruptly, James stopped what he was doing and tilted his head up to look at him. "What mate thing?"

"That creatures have." When James still looked confused, he added, "Because we're mates?"

"Like... soulmates?"

"I guess? There wasn't a whole lot of information about it in the books my parents sent me. I don't think they thought I'd meet my mate at Hogwarts." Sirius snickered. "Their heads would explode if they knew it was you."

"Wait," James said, sitting up, "you knew about this?"

"Er, yeah?"

"Since your birthday?"

"Yeah."

James looked upset, which Sirius didn't understand in the slightest. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sirius sat up when it was clear that James wasn't willing to let this slide. "Because we weren't exactly friends? You say that you fancied me back then, but it sure as hell didn't look like it. What was I supposed to do? I wasn't going to walk up to you and say we were destined for each other. You would've hexed me."

"I would not have."

"Sure," Sirius said flatly.

"Alright, so I might have overreacted if you told me, but it's not like you wouldn't have too in my place."

"Is there a reason this is bothering you?" Sirius asked. "It all worked out. I didn't trick you into anything by not telling you."

James opened his mouth to answer, then paused and frowned. "That's true," he said, sounding a touch bewildered. "I mean, this goes both ways, doesn't it? You didn't tell me, and I didn't tell you when I first noticed something was going on so..."

"So we can keep kissing?" Sirius said hopefully.

"You're so bloody weird."

"That sounds like a yes."

James snickered. "It's a yes."

*

"Woah," James said, eyes wide.

Sirius may or may not have snarled unkindly at being woken up before he was ready. "Sorry," he muttered. It was a gut reaction to flash his fangs when he wasn't happy, and when he was tired, it just sort of happened. He yawned, fangs retracting.

"I didn't know you could do that."

"Mm."

"Really though, you have to get up. You'll get caught if you leave any later."

"Don't care," Sirius said, snuggling his face into the pillow.

"You told me to make sure you get up."

"Past-me was an idiot."

"I trust past-you more than tired-you."

Sirius opened one eye to glare at him. When that did nothing, he turned to pouting. "Are you really going to throw me out?"

"Using your allure is A. cheating and B. not going to work."

"I should date someone who's nicer to me," Sirius grumbled, slowly pushing himself up with another yawn.

James snorted. "You have fun with that." He nuzzled at Sirius's cheek before giving him a quick kiss.

[enbylovebird]

"don't you remember?"

hawks x gn!reader bullet fic.

tw: mentions of injury, memory loss.

(your quirk will be revealed, don't worry!)

the past few days have been... interesting

if a bystander were to narrate what's happened to you, it would be like everything has grinded to a screeching halt

one minute you were finishing up an assignment in a small café near your apartment, and the next, you were waking up in a hospital with a headache threatening to split your skull in half

to you, though, it doesn't feel like that. you can't remember what you were doing prior to being woken up by the harsh white lights of the hospital room.

you just... showed up here.

thankfully, you don't have to sit alone with no one to answer the hundreds of questions that are now knocking against your skull

there's two men at the door of your room. one of them has on what seems to be a white coat and a stethoscope and the other has... crimson wings.

his jacket looks warm and he's wearing headphones around his neck, and from where you're lying, his expression looks forced. forced into what specifically, you can't figure it out. but it's forced.

"um," you barely manage to hum. both men are at your side in a flash, their eyes wide with relief and concern. "where am i? what happened?"

the stethoscope man (doctor, your mind helpfully supplies) mutters something to the wing man (name unknown, your mind helps you again) and jogs out, leaving you upright with the man with wings.

"where is he going?" you ask. god, it feels like someone is taking a crack at your skull every time you speak.

the man with wings seems too overwhelmed to even speak. he's just scanning your face with teary eyes, his shoulders slowly rising to his ears. a watery smile shakes his lips, and you think, for just a second, that he's incredibly pretty.

his eyes are an amber... no, golden color, and they're trained on you and you alone.

you don't know why he's crying, though. over you, no less.

"are you okay?" you ask.

the pretty bird man lets out a shaky chuckle. "am i okay, they ask." he repeats your words. it's not mocking. he seems torn between laughing and crying, but before you can pin down what he's going to do, he grabs your hand and leans forward, resting his head on the bed.

his wings are folded against his back, but you swear you see the feathers individually relax. "you have no idea how fucking worried i was, pretty bird." his voice is muffled by the sheets, but you hear him clearly.

"pretty bird?" you voice your thoughts. if anything, he's the pretty bird here. you don't say that part.

there's a heavy silence before you feel a warmth entering your body. it's coming from where the two of you are connected by your hands. you're not sure how or why, but you feel tears start to build in your eyes as well. you let out a broken sob against your will.

confused and scared, you wrench your hand out of his grip, the two of you now upright and staring at each other with wild and hurt expressions. the pain in your head is threatening to make you black out.

"y/n?" the bird man calls, his feathery eyebrows knit together. "what's--?"

a million questions are running through your head, but only one manages to slip past your lips.

"who's y/n?"

at that moment, the doctor returns with a few nurses. they sort of push the bird man out the way with their doting over you, but you comply. they inject you with something and it makes the headache subside enough for you to relax your shoulders.

it's a crazy few minutes, but once the other doctors leave, it's just you and the two men from before left.

and boy, does he drop some news. (at least you figure by the bird man's reaction. you're just going through the motions here.)

"the villain in the attack had a memory wipe quirk." the bird man recounts easily. "at least that's what the heroes on the scene told me."

"and they were right. that particular person can wipe select memories from people they target. if you're caught in the crossfire though, there's no telling how much you could forget." the doctor looks at you then, his eyes sympathetic. "it would appear that y/n here was caught in that crossfire."

the bird man goes tense. you can see it. "so you're telling me that they--"

the doctor sighs. "y/n?"

you figure that he's talking to you. "is that what my name is? that's a pretty name." you muse. "but um... do you mind explaining who i am and why i'm here?"

you think that your question is innocent and well-placed, but the atmosphere says otherwise. the doctor turns away from you to look at the bird man.

"hawks, i understand that we are sworn to confidentiality with our patients, but i need you to tell me your relation to this person."

the bird man -- now designated as hawks -- looks between you and the doctor before leaning in and whispering the answer. you pout, wanting to know why exactly you couldn't head the answer.

the doctor seems shocked. "really? well, you have my word that no one will know. in any case, y/n here is actually fine. they were just hit with the stray attack. a few cuts because of broken glass, but nothing serious. they can actually go home in a day or two, but you need to take it slow with them. there's no telling what the memories could do to them. that is.. if they remember."

the "if" makes hawks clench his jaw. he looks at you, his expression unreadable. "thanks, doc." he seems to hesitate before sighing. "i'm actually going to go finish up some paperwork, so..." he doesn't take his eyes off you. "i'll be back. promise. see you in two days."

and just like that, you're alone again. you're alone with far more questions than answers.

the next two days are lonely, to say the least.

not all that lonely, you guess. nurses come in and even a hero nurse as well. she explains your quirk -- empathy.

through physical contact, you can feel the emotions of whomever you choose. you can also share what you feel with the person you touch. you suddenly remember when hawks held your hand. you may not have it under control, but at least you know what it is.

the day of your discharge comes, and hawks looks to be dreading this moment. like he's grappling with something. you figure that he's a hero and he must be antsy to get back to work. you offer him a reassuring smile when he shows up.

"if you're worried about me being in pain, trust me, the bandages are nothing, okay?" you try to cheer him up. it clearly doesn't work. he gives you a tight smile.

hawks doesn't say anything the entire way home.

he actually doesn't say much for days. it's mostly just strange looks and clenched jaws. he always avoids touching you.

you two don't live together, but as you spend time at home piecing together your memories, you notice that there's a lot of indication that you have a male partner.

you find big t-shirts and hoodies that personally don't ring a bell, but smell way too familiar. you find shampoo, conditioner and body soap that clearly don't belong to you, and even a jacket that looks a lot like--

after the second week of the silent treatment from hawks, you call him, clearly fed up.

he shows up in no time at all, as you expected. after doing some research, you learn that he's the number two pro hero. he's one of the fastest people in the world if he tries hard enough. him showing up at your apartment within minutes of contacting him wasn't surprising.

"you called?" he says as he lands on your balcony. the first words he's spoken to you since you were discharged. "is everything okay?"

you dump everything you found at his feet. you know you don't talk to any other men, and he's literally the only person you can think of. "what's this?" you ask.

you aren't sure why, but you're rather pissed.

hawks raises a brow at all of his stuff now at his feet. "why are you doing this?" he asks in response. he picks it up with a few feathers and guides everything back to their places. "what're you dumping your stuff on the floor for?"

"it's not my stuff! that's the problem! it's yours!"

you bring a hand to your head. "why are you everywhere? why are you so important to me? why won't you tell me anything?"

hawks just watches as you practically have a meltdown. you start to breathe heavily, but rather than say anything, he just extends a hand. you know what physical contact does, and you just look at him.

"just... touch me, y/n. activate your quirk." he has that serious look in his eye and a sad smile on his face.

you do as he says, and what you feel makes you recoil.

you feel... everything. you feel the late nights, the nausea that kept you up at night as you waited for hawks to come home. you felt the lazy sundays when you two would sing old classics and make breakfast. you felt the christmases you spent together, flying high in the chilly hair. you felt the fights, the kisses, the fleeting touches. you felt the infatuation, the love.

you look at hawks -- no, keigo -- wildly.

"what... what was that?" you ask breathlessly. "keigo, you--"

at the sound of his name, keigo just pulls you close to his chest. his feathers are shaking, and so are his shoulders.

"don't you remember?" he says after a minute. "tell me you remember, songbird. tell me you remember something -- anything."

you do. oh, you do. but it's so much to process.

"we clearly have some catching up to do, huh?" you mutter.

a dry chuckle. "yeah. yeah, we do."

you pull away from keigo, looking him in his now red eyes. ah, there he is, you think. there's the man you fell in love with.

"well, hi." you extend a hand. "my name is y/n. and yours?"

keigo sniffs and gives you a crooked grin. "the name's takami keigo, but you probably know me as hawks." he shakes your hand gently, his grin softening as he sees the way you can clearly feel his emotions. "don't tell anybody that though, please."

"your secret's safe with me, keigo."