#and yes you thought pun was weird and started investigating

[iguessitsjustme]

I would say Yoh needs someone to tell him about his massive crush on Pun but his sistee literally already did. Twice. It’s been awhile since we’ve had a character this oblivious about their own feelings but damn if he isn’t just the cutest about it. I mean just look at the way he smiles at Pun (I’m on my phone so I can’t take a screenshot but y’all already know what I mean)

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Hex Life

Fandom: WandaVision Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Jimmy Woo Rating: E Chapters: 10/10 Word Count: 34k

Summary: Guest starring Agent James E. Woo as himself and introducing Dr. Darcy Lewis as Mrs. Darcy Woo!

Or: Darcy and Jimmy are sent into the Hex to retrieve Captain Monica Rambeau. Finding out Westview has cast them as a married couple is only the first of the surprises that await them.

read ch. 1 one / 2 two / 3 three / 4 four / 5 five 6 six / 7 seven / 8 eight / 9 nine / 10 ten

this fic is now complete!

Jimmy’s going to be a dad. He was going to be a dad in a black-and-white sitcom world and now he’s going to be a dad in a world on the regular spectrum, so the colours really aren’t as big a deal as his impending fatherhood. Possible fatherhood. As much as he’s always secretly wanted his own little Jimmy Woo Jr., he didn’t know if it would be in the cards for him—pun obviously intended—and the last thing he wants to do is influence Darcy either way, especially since he’s only known her a couple days and doesn’t have a clue if a baby was really part of her life plan.

It can’t just be rose-coloured glasses making him see his wife warming to the idea though; when she continues down the hall ahead of Jimmy and Monica, he spots her careful cradling of the baby bump. He can barely stand not touching her. The instinct to shelter others has always been one of his strongest and now he feels it intensely. He longs to protect Darcy, to hold Darcy, to love— Well. Jimmy clears his throat at the very thought and Monica gives him a suspicious side-eyed glance.

“Dry throat,” he lies, tapping his neck in a probably highly unconvincing gesture.

“Uh huh.”

Yeah, she doesn’t sound convinced.

He’s rescued by a burst of sound from the bedroom and dashes ahead of Monica in case Darcy’s in trouble. When he bangs the bedroom door fully open, she’s fine. She’s laughing. He sighs and looks where she points. The queen-sized mattress they shared has changed back to a pair of narrower beds.

“Seriously,” Jimmy says flatly.

“Well, the big bed worked its magic,” Darcy concedes. She pats her rounded stomach. “Mission accomplished.”

“Aw jeeze.”

Ignoring his distress, she sits on the end of the closest bed.

“What I like is that they’re magically made. I didn’t end up having to change the sheets. This is really the next step in home technology.”

“Honey, don’t encourage the magical forces that control our home décor,” he pleads, beckoning until Darcy rises and takes his outstretched hand.

“Better than getting on their bad side. In the AI uprising, you wanna make sure you’re friends with the robots.”

This is an outrageous statement coming from a credible scientist, so Jimmy squints down at her for a minute before saying, “Thanks, house,” aloud, just in case appeasing the Hex now saves him from being closed into a room with no door later, if the walls rearrange to form the ’70s model of their current home.

“You did the smart thing,” Darcy assures him.

As they leave the room, she keeps hold of his hand. He shoots adoring glances at her.

“Hey, Monica,” she says, calling to their guest, who seems to have gone to investigate the walk-in closet. “Accommodations aren’t going to be a problem. I can give you some pajamas too because I think I own at least a dozen pairs, as I’m sure you’ve already discovered…”

But when they look in the closet it’s… not a closet.

“Or maybe the Hex destroyed all my pajamas and I should take back my overtures of friendship,” Darcy corrects.

“Welcome to your nursery,” Monica says. “I’m guessing from the look on Jimmy’s face that this is new.”

It’s spartan, but there’s no doubt in Jimmy’s mind that the room is now intended to be exactly what Monica said. There’s a crib in pieces on the carpet and a rocking chair in the corner. Though he can’t remember this room having even one window, there are now two. The blinds are drawn against the night and curtains patterned with stars and streaking comets hang from a rod mounted above the window. Automatically, he pulls Darcy into his side. He feels her rest her head on his shoulder.

“Man, the Hex is really giving us the hard sell,” she comments.

Just like that, he’s guiding her around by her upper arms and propelling her from the room. He glances over his shoulder to see Monica following with an amused smile. At his nod, she pulls the door shut.

“Ignore it,” Jimmy tells Darcy. “Don’t let that room influence you.”

“Oh, like that’s easy.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know it’s hard not to picture reading Jimmy Junior to sleep in his crib, or watching him learn to roll himself over on the carpet, or cuddling him in your arms in the rocking chair as the morning light—”

“Jimmy Junior?” Darcy asks, interrupting Jimmy’s rapidly solidifying daydream.

“You know what? I’m starving,” Monica announces, putting a hand on each of their shoulders to head off the awkward pause. “How about you two show me some hospitality? I’ve had a long day of being mind-controlled.”

“How ’bout some comfort food?” he asks. “I make a mean bowl of chili.”

“Sounds great.”

So, Jimmy cooks for them. His attention is unequally divided between the simmering pot, Monica leaning against the counter next to him as she recounts the scene at the meeting when Wanda went to take his call, and Darcy sifting pickily through the contents of their fridge. He glances over after putting the lid on the pot to let the chili finish cooking and sees his wife contemplatively holding an egg like it’s Yorick’s skull. Ok, well, he’s just going to leave her to her thoughts.

He sets bowls of chili for himself and Monica on the dining room table. Darcy, justifiably finnicky, takes longer to decide what she’ll be able to stomach, reflexively rubbing the baby bump as she plunders their kitchen. Finally, she comes to sit down. She’s brought a spoon. That’s it. Jimmy’s going to ask, but Darcy just scoots her chair close to his and takes intermittent mouthfuls of his serving while the conversation continues on. He sighs in unannoyed exasperation and alternates dips of his spoon with hers.

It’s just another weird routine they’ve settled into, and like everything else, it didn’t take long.

“You two didn’t know each other before this assignment, right?” Monica checks, motioning between Darcy and Jimmy with a slice of buttered toast.

“No, why?” Darcy asks, dropping a chunk of tomato from her spoon onto his. (Apparently, she doesn’t like tomatoes.)

Monica smiles and says, “No reason.”

She seems ready to accept them as they are, whatever they are. She goes back over the events of this afternoon for Darcy’s benefit—who was zoned out staring at an egg at the time—then the three of them turn to talk of tomorrow. What does Monica feel she needs to try before she’s willing to concede and leave the Hex with them? What can she try? How can Jimmy and Darcy assist her? They talk themselves in a circle of possibilities, limitations, and Monica’s unswerving negative answer to suggestions of her leaving the Hex without getting through to Wanda. Eventually, they decide that the best plan may be no plan, since they’re up against Westview’s ever-shifting magical properties.

“We’ll get up in the morning and see what the world looks like,” Monica says.

Jimmy’s going to reply when the Captain’s expression alters.

“Are you remembering?” Darcy asks her astutely. Monica stares at her. “I don’t want to pry, I’ve just seen that look on a lot of people’s faces lately. People who came back.”

“This isn’t dissimilar,” Monica admits. “When I get anywhere near Wanda or the other characters with speaking parts and start to lose control to… Geraldine—” Jimmy thinks the look on her face is both disgusted and deeply hurt. “—I do get this feeling like the world is going on without me. Only I’m there. I’m right there. I haven’t made up my mind yet if it’s worse than being gone entirely then coming back to find nothing’s the same.”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, soft, sympathetic.

“I don’t know what else the members of this community have been through, but I know I don’t want them to have to keep going through this too. I can’t imagine how tight Wanda’s grip is on the people who were here when she started this. Not sure I’m qualified to be the one to tell her how to let go of her grief and move on.”

Monica blinks quickly and gives a forced smile.

“That was good chili, Jimmy.”

He nods in thanks because he can’t find the right words to say.

They’re all carrying something and Jimmy thinks about that as the three of them clean up, then splinter off to get ready for bed, tired for different and shared reasons. (He changes into his pajamas in the nursery—they found their clothing in a new, regular-sized closet in the bedroom—while Monica and Darcy take the bathrooms.) The Captain’s carrying her recent bereavement and the unignorable sense of responsibility she feels to help Wanda and the Westviewers, possibly precisely because she isn’t ready to confront her own loss. Darcy’s doing some literal carrying with the baby bump her pajama top is buttoned over when she steps out of the en suite bathroom to let Jimmy in to brush his teeth. She’s an astrophysicist who, while studying a television diversion from reality, was brought rudely back to earth by circumstances as real as they come.

What Jimmy’s carrying is actually carrying him: his hope. It’s a good thing to have in his line of work, but a tough thing to keep when the world’s been through what it has. A baby is the least likely and most longed-for thing he would’ve confessed to wanting if someone asked him what was missing from his life.

When it’s acknowledged through awkward glances that, yes, Monica’s taking one of the beds and Jimmy and Darcy will share the other, he climbs under the covers his wife holds open for him. She rolls away from him to lie on her side and he gets comfortable on his back. The Hex has definitely eased up on what it wants for their romantic development because this is the first time he’s been in bed with Darcy and not felt himself caving to the need to have sex with her. Oh, the desire to touch her is as powerful as ever, but the kind of touching he craves is as tender as the flesh of that peach he brought her earlier in the day.

But he doesn’t want to crowd her. Figuratively or literally. Between finding Monica and calling Wanda, making love to Darcy all afternoon and being presented with her pregnant belly in the evening, it’s been a dog’s breakfast of a day. The mission abruptly became just the second most daunting thing he needs to pull off. Now, he’s driven by the impulse to be near Darcy. She doesn’t know it, but she’s drawing him in like gravity and he can only cross his fingers for a soft landing.

Jimmy almost jumps when she reaches for him in the dark, hand feeling behind her until it finds his. She drags his arm over her and he flips onto his side to make it easier. Though Darcy lets him go when his arm’s around her, he doesn’t know where to rest his hand. Tentatively, he places it over her belly and she wriggles back into him. Heart bursting, he holds her more securely to his body, smooths his hand over the bump, and soon falls asleep.

—

The floor wakes him up. He’s just fallen out of bed.

Disoriented, Jimmy sits up in a tangle of comforter and squints at his bed companion in the morning light. They must’ve repositioned while they slept, but that alone wasn’t what forced him to and over the edge—he can see the shape of Darcy’s belly beneath the sheet. It’s noticeably larger than it was yesterday.

He’s still trying to come to terms with that when she sleepily grasps the comforter and yanks it back over her body. Jimmy chuckles and rises into a stretch. Monica’s bed is empty and neatly made, so she must be up already. Before entering the Hex, his internal clock was strict too. Since, he bends to the needs of his subconscious, which seems happiest when it’s allowed to sleep in, particularly if Darcy’s warming the sheets next to him. This is only their third day in Westview and the second time waking up here, but it feels wonderfully routine. As satisfying as completing his consistently-timed morning run or pouring exactly the right amount of milk into his cereal.

Although he’d like to let Darcy sleep, it’s weird now because he’s staring. Anyway, they need to tighten up their operations even further today if they’re going to get out of here soon. Monica requires either success or closure with Wanda, so Jimmy’s determined to help with that. And if Darcy’s pregnancy takes another leap forward, well… that’s another time crunch to consider.

She’s lying on her side, facing him, belly in the space where he fell asleep. Gently, he brushes hair out of her face and strokes lightly up and down her arm.

Darcy gives him a murmured “Hi” with her eyes still shut.

“You gonna get up?”

“Inaminute,” she promises, words running together.

“Alright.”

Jimmy hovers for a second, then darts down to kiss her forehead. She pats his shoulder clumsily in response.

He might as well have had his own eyes shut, blind to everything but Darcy, because it takes opening his wardrobe to realize Monica was correct—everything’s changed again. WandaVision has embraced the ’70s. The shirts and suits he was pretty comfortable with have been traded out. Those items still exist, but now they’re aggressively patterned. There are flared pant legs. There is so much corduroy. Out of the row of shoes tucked into the bottom on his side of the closet, half have platform heels.

“Oh god,” Jimmy groans softly, sifting through for something that won’t feel too much like a cheesy costume.

He ends up with jeans—his only pair of pants without a pattern—and a striped shirt with wide lapels. The Hex’s makeover of his closet has him so beaten down that he doesn’t even pick out a jacket. He doesn’t have the heart for business casual. At the sight of a long-sleeved jumpsuit, Jimmy closes the closet door securely. They have to get out of here. This will be the thing that breaks him.

Slouching into the bathroom, he drops his selections on the counter and takes a shower. As he washes his hair, his fingers slow their scrubbing. Is his hair… longer? He finishes quickly and steps out to find the mirror fogged with steam. He wipes it clean with his forearm, examining his reflection. This place isn’t through with him yet: the Hex has given him a mustache.

Jimmy screams.

“Fine!” Darcy shouts back to his wordless noise of dismay. “I’m up! God, you could’ve just set an alarm and OH MY GOD, HAVE YOU SEEN THE SIZE OF THIS BABY BUMP?!”

He sighs on behalf of himself and his wife, slicks his too-long wet hair back with a comb, then starts in on shaving off the mustache. It immediately grows back.

“Come on,” he complains, cursing the Hex. “Why’d you give me a razor then?!”

Luckily, his annoyance fades the minute he sees Darcy. She’s swearing up a storm about needing to pee and her head looking too small for her body because the Hex has straightened her hair, but he takes all of her restless irritation in with a dazed smile on his face. Adjusting her glasses—now almost circular, with rounded off corners—she catches sight of his new look and erupts into laughter. Whatever the Hex does to mess with their appearance, at least they’re each other’s best medicine to combat it.

“I don’t want to be insensitive,” Monica starts when they walk into the kitchen hand in hand, “but are you significantly more pregnant than you were yesterday?”

Jimmy watches Darcy nod and slips away from her to throw some more bread in the toaster from the bag Monica’s left out on the counter for them.

“You’d think it’s just this big, shapeless dress,” Darcy says, “but no.” She pulls the fabric taut over her stomach to show the size of her belly more accurately. “I don’t want to say it, but the size of this thing makes me think the Hex is leaving me room to grow.”

“And if that dress is only for today…” Monica says.

“Jeepers,” Jimmy concludes.

They eat together in their reconfigured living room. It’s not until Monica’s kicked back in one of their low chairs, ankle propped on her opposite knee, that Jimmy notices her patterned pants.

“Those aren’t from Darcy’s closet are they?”

“No. I’m assuming they’re my clothes from yesterday with the matter recycled for a new decade. Believe me, this outfit wouldn’t have been my choice if I had anything else to pick from.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. I had a whole closet and still ended up with this,” Jimmy says, motioning to himself.

“My retro Secret Agent Man,” Darcy states admiringly, leaning her head over to bump against his shoulder. Ok, he thinks, smiling at her, I can be alright with this for her.

When Monica rises to turn on the television, Jimmy realizes this is the first time they’ve had one in the house. He remembers seeing a set in the Vision residence when he and Darcy were watching an episode on the S.W.O.R.D. base, but he didn’t notice the lack once they got here. Probably because that first night was taken up with flirting, and then yesterday was split between scouring the downtown for Monica and holing up in the bedroom with Darcy. Watching the screen buzz to life now is like witnessing something truly futuristic and spectacular.

“Well, whaddaya know,” he says as the opening sequence of WandaVision begins.

“You think the TVs in here play anything else?” Darcy wonders aloud.

“Maybe not,” Monica says distractedly as they all turn their attention to Wanda and Vision’s adorable antics—the ice cream, the tandem bicycle. “It’s a pretty big coincidence that this show started right when I turned it on.”

“I can see an even bigger coincidence.”

There’s no need to guess what Darcy means. Wanda’s baby bump is obvious in nearly every shot of the introduction, particularly emphasized when she and Vision dance together, his hand on her belly. It’s all maternity clothes and Vision reading pregnancy books and while it’s wholesome, it’s also chilling.

“We’re doing the same plot,” Jimmy says.

“It’s like we’re… their understudies,” Darcy agrees, shrinking back into the cushions.

“Maybe Wanda figured, if you two wanted to be in the show so bad, she’d put you in the show,” Monica theorizes. “Her show. Exactly the way she’s living it.”

“So she’s teaching us a lesson? On what? Abstinence?”

“Could be a misguided attempt to gain your sympathy.”

“Or it really is all about control,” Jimmy suggests, cynical after the reveal that the pregnancy that’s upended his entire life isn’t really theirs. It’s not original. They’re following a Newlywed Couple template.

“Hey,” Darcy says, grabbing his arm, “this wasn’t all Wanda. She might’ve set the scene and, yeah, maybe we were more the goatherd puppets than we were Fraulein Maria and Captain von Trapp, but we did this.” She pulls his hand to her belly. “Wanda doesn’t decide what we do next.”

“What I suggest you not do next is consult Dr. Misogyny over here,” Monica says, gesturing at the television.

The doctor is condescending to Wanda and Vision about the facts of life during a checkup (in their living room?). He lowers himself even further in Jimmy’s regard when he refers to expectant mothers as “little ladies” and implies that the changes in their own bodies are beyond their understanding.

“What a quack,” he decides. “We’re not going to see that guy.” He’s startled to recall his promise to Darcy the previous evening, about options, his intention not to make up her own mind for her. Lowering his voice, he tilts his head close to hers. “I mean, we’ll do whatever you want. Including…”

Jimmy trails off and casts his eyes down. He still means it, wants Darcy on board with this 100% or not at all, but the whole thing’s been a roller coaster and he’s not great at pretending not to feel anything. With his wife so much further into her pregnancy today, it’s obvious that this baby will be born and they’ll need to decide who’s raising it. He thinks the two of them together could rear a pretty incredible kid, but if she wants out, is he prepared to be a single parent? The other option besides her, him, or both of them raising the baby is adoption. They’d need to leave the Hex before taking those steps (it’s not like he’s going to encourage Darcy to hand the baby over to a mind-controlled Westviewer), and just thinking about it, with everything he already feels for the baby, makes him certain that he’d rather rearrange his entire life than pass on this chance at a family. However unorthodox their beginnings.

“Don’t worry,” Darcy says calmly, pulling him from his spiral. “That guy will never get the chance to compare my uterus to a vegetable garden.”

“Fruit,” Monica corrects without looking away from the television.

“Right. Fruit. He’ll have no say about any of it. And he definitely won’t get the opportunity to be patronizing as fuck while he tries to give us the sex talk.” She looks Jimmy right in the eye and says, “I won’t let the asshole doctor-man say a word about your banana.”

Chuckling, he looks back to the screen. The doctor has departed and Vision’s currently baffled over Wanda’s newly expanded stomach. Uh oh. He jerks his head around to check and, yep, Darcy’s baby bump appears to be keeping up with the sitcom star’s.

“You two stay here,” Monica instructs, on her feet when Jimmy glances over.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To Wanda’s. If things continue at this rate, she could give birth in this episode. That’s going to make her even more protective of her family and her space and I’ll have an even harder time getting near her.”

“Are you sure you want to interrupt?”

They both glance at the television for a moment to observe Wanda and Vision debating baby names in the nursery. There’s nothing distressing about the scene—in fact, the couple looks as much at ease as Jimmy’s seen them on the show—but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t change, and quickly, if Monica inserted herself. He just isn’t sure how that would go and he doesn’t like any plan where he can’t foresee all the possible outcomes.

“Guess I just have a feeling,” Monica says, looking unsettled.

“Well,” Darcy pipes up, “in the world of science, having a feeling is forming a theory, and in this place… I think having a feeling you should do something might be Wanda giving you your cue.”

“You’re not beyond her control,” Jimmy tells Monica, “just farther away from it. What if Darcy’s right?”

“If Wanda wants me there, I’m not going to resist,” she replies firmly. “She’s the key and we need her cooperation.”

“Good luck,” Darcy bids her.

With a nod to them both, Monica strides across the living room and opens the front door.

“Speaking of keys,” Jimmy recalls, but the door shuts before he can offer to let her borrow their car to get to Wanda’s.

Maybe the Captain has a different plan. Maybe she’s just bending to Wanda’s influence. Whichever it is, he can’t go after her. Monica was right—he has to stay here with Darcy today, especially because her belly seems larger when he looks again. He glances at her face with a question on his and she nods.

“And I felt a kick,” she says.

“Really? Could I…? Do you think I could…?”

Darcy rolls her eyes at his reticence and guides both his hands to the bump. When he feels something nudge his palm, Jimmy tears up.

“That’s our baby,” Darcy confirms.

“Feels like they have my softball windup,” he murmurs.

“Or my pre-coffee restlessness.”

“Our baby,” Jimmy repeats, staring into her eyes—finally blue for the first time in days, give or take a decade.

They’re having a marvelous family moment until the power goes out. Lights, TV, the hum of the fridge in the kitchen, everything. Seconds later, it all comes back.

“That was strange.”

“I wondered what Wanda’s magic was doing to the power grid,” Darcy says. “I’m still curious about the finer points of what happens when electricity meets power generated by an Infinity Stone. Really, I’d expect Wanda to have this kinda thing under control, but I guess if she’s— Ugh!”

Her pained noise has Jimmy cupping her face, pushing back her hair, trying to figure out what happened.

“She’s distracted,” she says.

“By what?”

“Labour.”

“What? No.”

Sure enough, when Darcy stands (with Jimmy leaping to his feet to support her) and stretches her back, her bump looks big enough to contain a baby that’s almost ready to be born. Ready to be born?! Jimmy thinks. In our house? With no doctor? Just because the one on TV rubbed him the wrong way doesn’t mean he’s prepared to write off every doctor, nurse, and midwife in Westview. He would very much like to place responsibility for this delivery in the hands of a medical professional, not his own!

Even as the TV’s flickering back to life, he helps Darcy away from it. That just shows how serious things are. He knows how quickly she became invested in the sitcom when they reviewed the ’50s episode at the base.

After some frantic thought, he’s thinking the bathtub is going to have to do. People do that right? With home births? Although he attempts to guide Darcy in that direction, she doesn’t even want to sit down on the edge, let alone climb in. No, she wants to pace, and as she paces, she rubs at her lower back, wincing.

“We could look at the nursery,” he proposes. “Might take your mind off it.”

Jimmy knows it could be a weak suggestion, an insult to imply that anything could take Darcy’s mind off whatever discomfort she’s currently feeling, but the Hex, with its radioactive walls, smiles down on them for once. With his arm around her to take some of her weight, they hobble into the baby’s room and it’s… perfect.

The walls are dark blue near the ceiling, almost black, fading to periwinkle halfway down the wall. The lower portion transitions from blue to pale yellow, then a blazing orange right before the baseboard.

“It’s a sunrise,” he comprehends.

“Yeah,” Darcy says softly.

Though he feels like he got slightly ripped off by not being allowed a chance to do any of the decorating, he does admire the Hex’s choices. At last, his wife’s been represented in this space, in this house, and it’s beautiful. There’s a shelf full of space-themed board books, a plastic jumble of play versions of scientific tools like telescopes. A dangling mobile of the planets. After easing his wife into the rocking chair, Jimmy holds up a pack of glow-in-the-dark stars.

“Should I put these up?”

She smiles.

“I would be all over that shit if I could, but I trust you to do a good job.”

“Oh no. Do you want me to do real constellations?”

“The baby’s not gonna know the difference. Make it look however you want.”

She rocks, assuring him something about the motion is helping her manage the intensifying pain of her contractions, and Jimmy finds a small stepping stool to help him reach the ceiling. The sway of the chair in the corner of his eye, the morning light through the curtains, and the sound of Darcy breathing are things he already knows he’ll never forget.

Before he’s stuck all the stars in the pack to the ceiling’s white paint, she calls him down from the stool.

“I need to walk again.”

Darcy says it with grit and Jimmy doesn’t argue, even when walking appears to put her in even more distress; she groans and pushes her free hand against the wall as they stroll out of the nursery and down the hallway.

“Let’s check in with Wanda,” Jimmy says helplessly.

This is who he is now: a husband in over his head, desperate to gain tips about delivering a baby from a TV sitcom. An overwhelmed real estate agent. A man with a mustache.

They return to the living room and the TV playing WandaVision in time for Monica’s entrance. Based on her free use of ’70s slang and the general discord between the Captain Rambeau Jimmy’s been getting to know and the woman on the screen, he knows they’re looking at Geraldine. Wanda’s back in control of her character alright, and Jimmy wants to know who it’s helping. The scene’s centered around some joke about Wanda attempting to hide her pregnancy, which is no good for him. He needs a step-by-step guide, not a magic-resistant stork!

“There better not be a fucking bird in here,” Darcy gripes, alternately crouching and standing as every position fails to make her comfortable. “If I see a fucking, goddamn, sonofabitch, motherfucking—”

“I know, sweetie, I know,” Jimmy assures her, rubbing circles between her shoulder blades with the flat of his hand.

“The betrayal,” she mutters when Wanda elects to lie down behind a couch.

It completely blocks their view. If this were a regular show, Jimmy would understand that. Sitcom viewers would definitely appreciate a little TV magic over graphic, up-close-and-personal birth footage, but here at the Woo residence, one FBI agent and his astrophysicist wife really just want the truth! If Monica had agency, he’s sure she’d shove the couch aside to help them out, but with Geraldine at the helm, he’s confronting the fact that he and Darcy are on their own.

“Let’s go, Darcy,” he says, steering her towards the bathroom. “We don’t need her.”

“Are you sure?”

He’s never heard Darcy sound so uncertain and knows he’ll have to bluff his way through this. When the Avengers aren’t around, the regular people must step up. Reminding himself of that has gotten Jimmy through more than one tough day on the job and he tells himself it’ll get them both through this.

“Of course.”

In the bathroom, Darcy kicks out of her underwear and uses Jimmy as a crutch to climb into the tub. Her face is scrunched up severely and her hands are braced against the walls of the bathtub, so he tries to watch and understand what she needs. When all the tension in her face and body burst out in a shout, he grabs her hand. Her fingers curl around his palm in a death grip.

“How about some nice warm water? Water, Darcy?”

She nods rapidly, eyes clenched shut, and he turns on the facet, then quickly reaches behind her to plug the drain. The stream wets his sleeve and, when he withdraws his arm, hits her hair around the level of her shoulders and begins to soak the back of her dress. Between contractions, Darcy sighs in what sounds like relief.

“That feels good,” she acknowledges.

“Good,” is all Jimmy can say back. He kisses her face and squeezes her hand in his. “Good.”

He’s back to scrambling for a solution soon enough when the warm flow of water down her back stops being enough to soothe her. He helps her out of her sodden dress, tossing it behind him to splat on the tile floor.

“What do you need?” he asks wildly, leaning over the tub.

“Earplugs,” Darcy tells him before emitting a scream shrill enough to probably be heard by their neighbour’s dog, Dipper, down the street.

Jimmy doesn’t think, he just does. Snatching a towel off the rail, bracing his wife’s foot against his shoulder as her leg spasms, reaching into the water to collect their baby when the Hex (he assumes) does them the favour of letting one long push be sufficient to expel him. Him. Jimmy and Darcy’s son.

He’s beaming through the happy tears, delicately wiping at the wailing baby with the towel and passing him into Darcy’s outstretched arms as she shakes with astonished laughter, hair wet, head resting back against the jut of the faucet.

“That wasn’t so hard,” he jokes.

Darcy sits up, sending a splash of water over the side of the bathtub to slap the floor, and he knows the Hex is interfering again to make her capable of anything besides exhaustion after what she just accomplished. She twists sideways in the tub until she’s closer to Jimmy. He wraps an arm around her wet shoulders and peers down at the face of their boy, already drowsy after exercising his tiny lungs. Jimmy can feel Darcy studying his face.

“Jimmy Woo Junior?” she asks.

And he knows the rest is going to be gravy.

—

Inside the Hex, the magic of television is real. They didn’t need to fake Darcy’s pregnancy with a cushion to make her belly, round and taut as a beach ball, disappear entirely only minutes after giving birth. They didn’t need a set of twins or triplets playing Jimmy Woo Jr. to swap in a quiet baby for one that starts to cry. There’s no trick lighting or fudged angles, just Darcy sitting on the couch (in dry, non-maternity clothes) catching their amazingly calm, less than an hour-old son up on the details of his origin story—Darcy’s wording.

It’s shaping up to be a nice, if highly unusual, family day in, until the tension starts to mount on-screen. Probably something Jimmy could’ve caught sooner if he weren’t spending 50 seconds out of every minute stroking the baby’s teeny-weeny hands while he hopes Jimmy Jr. retains zero memory of his dad’s mustache. When he hears Monica mention Wanda’s brother by name, he’s fully alert to the episode and knows he has to act. That close to Wanda, Monica’s control should be fully suppressed beneath the character of Geraldine. If she’s breaking through to ask Wanda person questions, questions that are almost definitely going to provoke an emotional response, Monica must be fighting like crazy to surface. Jimmy decides that’s his signal to get over there and help bring this thing to a satisfying conclusion so they can all leave the Hex.

“You’re not going to Wanda’s without me,” Darcy informs him, planted in front of the door when Jimmy returns from grabbing his keys.

“Darcy, you can’t. The baby. I’d stay with him and let you go, but I’ve never heard you mention particular skill in hand-to-hand combat and I can’t guarantee things won’t turn violent.”

She snorts.

“Liar. I could be the world’s biggest hand-to-hand badass and you’d still be trying to protect me right now.”

He stares at her and Darcy stubbornly lifts her chin as she holds his eyes.

“Ok,” Jimmy concedes, “yes, I would.”

“Please don’t leave us here,” she says, cheek pressed to the baby’s. No, no, no, he can already feel himself wanting to surrender, to have them with him. Darcy kisses their son’s face, then holds his hand to gesture while she pitches her voice higher, pretending to speak for Jimmy Jr. “I want to meet Auntie Monica.”

He gives her a look and reaches past her to open the door. Instead of trying to exit around his family, he waves Darcy through ahead of him. (She looks down at the baby in her arms and goes “Yaaaay! Isn’t Daddy a soft touch?”)

“You didn’t persuade me,” he says, leading them to the car and holding the door for Darcy while she climbs into the back seat with the baby. “This is strategic.”

“Is the strategy common sense? I feel like you should’ve gone with that from the beginning. Bringing a scientist to a magic fight is good thinking, for, like, balance and shit.”

Jimmy backs down the driveway as gently as he can. Their car’s been modernized (well, for the latest decade) and while it now has seatbelts, it wasn’t equipped with a car seat for their son. He’s going to have to drive with the utmost care.

“Hopefully, there won’t be a fight,” he reminds Darcy, “but if there is, you won’t be anywhere near it. You and Jimmy Junior are staying in the car. Alright?”

When he darts his gaze to the rear-view mirror, he sees his wife looking out her window, making a show of not listening to him. Jimmy sighs.

Without thinking, he navigates back to the street where they dropped Monica off yesterday. Wanda’s house is just down from Dottie’s; he remembers the number from watching WandaVision. Jimmy draws up to the curb and parks. He glances back at Darcy, but she’s still ignoring him.

“I’ll try to be right back,” he tells her anyway, eyes dropping longingly to the serene face of his sleeping son. He’s heard that about babies and car rides.

Jogging up the driveway, he does a doubletake of a ragged slash in the wall between Wanda’s property and her neighbour’s. There’s not exactly anything wrong with a damaged cinderblock or an amateur handyman job, but the crevice in the stone stands out in a world so aggressively styled and manicured.

Wishing for the reassurance of his gun at his hip in case things go south (it’s the first time he’s even thought about the gun since the night he and Darcy arrived), Jimmy enters the Vision residence without knocking.

Orienting himself to what he was just watching on TV in a house less than a mile from here, he walks across the entryway, attracting the attention of both Wanda and Monica. They’re standing across from each other in the living room. Raising his hands to show he intends no harm, Jimmy sweeps his eyes over the scene in assessment, like he has a hundred times before. Monica’s expression is alarmed under superficial friendliness—the look of someone trying to placate an attacker. With her aggressive, forward-leaning posture and the way she’s positioned herself between Monica and the cribs (he’s surprised to see more than one, but he did miss some of the episode while he was delivering his son in their bathtub), Wanda fits that role.

“Wanda,” he says, taking a step towards the seating area, “you don’t want to hurt her.”

“Are you working with her?” Wanda demands. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”

“James Woo. I’m not here to hurt you. Neither is Geraldine.”

“You don’t want to hurt me? Then why do you come asking questions? Saying things—” He can see her chin wobble from here as she teeters on the edge of tears. “—about Pietro. You didn’t know my brother.”

Her statement is directed at Monica, but Jimmy tries to bring her focus back to him. Of himself and the Captain, he’s the one with an exit at his back, whereas Monica’s hemmed in by a large bookcase.

“I didn’t know your brother,” Jimmy agrees. “I do know about him, but we don’t need to talk about that. I don’t want to upset you, Wanda, I just want you to let me leave with Geraldine.”

“Oh, I’ll let you leave,” Wanda says, cocking her head as she raises her hands. This motion conveys the opposite meaning to Jimmy’s—she does intend them harm.

He’s contemplating what’ll happen if he tries to rush her when Darcy charges through the front door he left open.

“Don’t!” Jimmy gasps, making a grab for her, but his body is tense with caution and Darcy has the momentum to dodge him, stepping down the level into the living room.

“Look,” Darcy demands of Wanda, whose expression is torn as she chooses between facing Monica and this new intruder.

Jimmy’s mentally composing and rejecting ideas of how to proceed when their unwelcoming host lowers her hands. She’s looking where Darcy directed her to, at the baby in Darcy’s arms.

“He was born less than an hour ago, and I only found out I was pregnant yesterday, but that doesn’t matter. I know it’s the same for you, the circumstances and the… yeah, whatever. You know about the Big Bang, right?” she continues, jumping to the next thought.

“Yes,” Wanda says carefully.

Jimmy’s terrified to move closer and set Wanda on the offensive again. He glances at Monica, who seems to be thinking the same thing, frozen in place.

“From nothing to so much, in an instant,” Darcy’s saying in her condensed history of the universe. “Science is supposed to be full of all these rules. Like, every scientist dude important enough to remember had some law or formula or method that we map everything on top of when we’re pretending we understand all this. Being in science isn’t a goal I’ve had for a long time—I mean, I probably wouldn’t be in it now if the world hadn’t more or less ended—and if all I ever heard about the workings of the universe was rules, I would’ve stayed away. Who likes rules, right? Who wants to be told that things are the way they are because something outside of your control says so? My point is…”

She takes a deep breath, then another one, shifting until she’s blocking Wanda’s expression from Jimmy’s view.

“Sorry, I just gave birth, you know how it is,” Darcy says when she goes on. Jimmy’s stricken with exasperation, adoration, fear, and pride. “My point is that I love science because, while science is laws and rules and equations, science is also standing outside at night and staring up at the dark. There are explanations for every light that’s up there and why, even when you’re away from big cities and the sky seems so black and close, you don’t fall up into it, although it kinda feels like you could. Science can tell me why, and it still feels like magic when I look at the stars. And we’ve all been traveling out here in space together, getting made and unmade and made again because the right ingredients needed to create something as precious as a planet, or a baby, or the clay that’ll make the bricks that’ll make the house never disappear. Suns explode, asteroids collide and get chipped away… things can separate down to their smallest part, life can…”

“End?” Wanda asks.

Jimmy’s stunned to hear the word come out choked. Cautiously, he leans to get a glimpse of Wanda’s face. It’s covered in tears. Darcy’s nodding.

“But everything’s valuable. All matter gets reused.” Jimmy wants to grab her and pull her to safety when she takes a step closer to Wanda. “I get it if you’re sad and you’re not ready to talk about it. I’m not gonna say it’s ok, because I’ve heard Monica’s testimonial on exactly how much it sucks to have you in her head, but I do think you should let us leave now so you have a few friends out there when you inevitably need people on your side.”

“You can go,” Wanda agrees, swiping at her nose. “I won’t hurt your baby.”

“You’re not going to hurt my friend either,” Darcy says, beckoning for Monica to cross the room behind her. “Or my husband.”

“No,” Wanda says.

Monica reaches Jimmy and they wait for Darcy in the entryway.

“I bet all that control feel really good,” Darcy theorizes. “Taking it into your own hands. But I think you know that focusing on the beautiful, magical stuff doesn’t mean the rules no longer exist. Maybe you can find a way to accept them both.”

“It’s time for you to leave,” Wanda says, firmer now.

“Not looking for a life coach, got it.”

She joins Jimmy and Monica, bouncing the baby lightly in her arms. Wanda ushers them out of the house ahead of her. Jimmy glances back to see her close the door after herself with a twist and red glow of her hands.

“What about waiting in the car?” he mutters to Darcy as they stride down the lawn.

His self-proclaimed wife stares at him.

“I’m not the kind of person who waits in the car. Would the kind of person who waits in the car give a speech like that?”

Jimmy’s at an honest-to-goodness loss for words.

She gets into the car willingly enough now, Jimmy in the passenger’s seat while Monica slides behind the wheel.

“Wanda’s told me how to stand, how to move, how to walk since I got in here,” Monica says, turning the key in the ignition. “I’m driving myself out.”

“It’ll part for you when you get there,” Wanda calls to them from the lawn. “The barrier. I suggest you do not attempt to enter again.”

“I think we’ve all had our fill,” Jimmy informs her cheerfully through his rolled-down window.

She doesn’t respond to this, so Monica executes a three-point turn and takes them back up the street the way they came. From there, they turn out of the subdivision, but Jimmy snags a last look at Wanda through the back window. There’s a light breeze blowing her dress and hair and she looks like she could be anyone. A suburban mom of twins? Why not. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see her again in person, but he has plans to catch her show.

“Wanda’s changed the roads,” Monica says as she drives. For his son’s sake, Jimmy’s grateful that she isn’t speeding, though he wouldn’t blame her for trying to get out of here as quickly as possible. “None of them lead out of town.”

“Literal tourist trap. Brilliant,” Darcy declares from the back seat. Jimmy reaches an arm back blindly and feels her close her hand around his.

“But,” Monica adds, “I remember Ellis Avenue being the closest cross street to the edge of town. We find that, then drive over the grass. Things may get a little bumpy.”

“We’ll survive.”

Jimmy twists around to look at Darcy. He nods. They will. They’ll survive.

They cross Ellis and take the car off-road. The barrier remains invisible, but…

“I can feel it,” Darcy says.

“Like we did the day we came in,” Jimmy recalls.

“It still wants us out,” Monica interprets. He sees her staring uneasily ahead. “Was I naïve to think I could change anything by coming in here?”

“No, Captain. It was brave.”

“Didn’t work though. We aren’t leaving with Wanda.”

“It could work,” Darcy says. “We left her with a few things to think about. We’ll watch WandaVision and see.”

“That’ll be strange after being a part of it.”

“You think so?” Jimmy wonders. He takes a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air and the sunshine, playing with Darcy’s fingers laced through his. “I think it’s returning to regular life that’s going to feel strange. Out there, it’s easy to see all this as a TV show, but everything in here is real.”

“We’ll make Hayward understand that.”

“I’m bringing back some compelling evidence,” Darcy says, followed by kissy sounds directed at Jimmy Jr.

The air just a couple of car lengths ahead of them abruptly glows red as Wanda reveals the wall of the Hex. Jimmy and Monica exchange a look, but she doesn’t slow down. They pass through without resistance. All of a sudden, it’s night. Monica lets out a relieved sigh.

The S.W.O.R.D. base is looming, exterior lights ablaze, but Jimmy looks backwards, checking that Darcy and the baby are alright.

“Same as you left us,” she says, pulling back the blanket to show him the face of his son.

He gives her a slightly melancholic smile.

“Not quite, Dr. Lewis.”

“I’ll have a lot of work to do,” Darcy notes thoughtfully, “but time for you and me to go on dates will be on my list of demands.”

“You have a list of demands?” Monica asks, laughter in her voice.

“After being forced into the Hex, where I could’ve lost my life? Fuck yes, I have a list.”

“What else are you asking for?”

“The coffee I requested on day one and a desk in a better spot so there’s room next to it for the crib that will also be on my list.”

Monica laughs aloud now.

“Is this a benefits negotiation or a baby shower registry?”

“Let’s get back to the part where we’re going on dates,” Jimmy says. “How’s that going to work?”

“Jimmy, darlin’,” Darcy begins, “will you go out with me?”

He leans to look around his seat at her.

“Darcy, we were married. We have a baby. Don’t you think we can—”

“Answer the question, Agent Woo.”

“Of course I’ll go out with you,” he says.

“And that’s how it works. Easy-peasy.”

She gives his hand a squeeze before releasing it to hold Jimmy Jr. more securely as Monica pulls up to a building and brakes. Already, S.W.O.R.D. agents are rushing out to meet them, but Jimmy drops back against his seat and smiles to himself.

“‘Easy-peasy.’”

[dearchikkie]

Truth or Dare

MARICHAT MAY 2020

Day 5: Dare

A/N: I.LOVE.TENSE.TRUTH.OR.DARE. The drama, the divide, just everything!! jskhdakjhd I had fun writing this one, you can probably tell by now but I really love when Chat and Mari are just chilling together as friends and being dorks. You'll probably see them geeking out on my day 7 fic, so watch out for that ;) Anyway: hope you enjoy this one!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Marinette was bad- no, scratch that- terrible at sleepovers. From the age of nine, she could barely sleep in her own room without crying out for her mother or father in the night. Tom and Sabine had tried everything ranging from nightlights to singing toys, but none comforted her fears. When she finally made a friend at school to have sleepovers with, she ended up vomiting in their sink after drinking too much soda and begging her mom to come pick her up.

She had been apprehensive to try again, but after being begged to attend a classmates slumber party, she dedicated herself to getting over her fears and having a fun time. Unfortunately, she hadn't trained hard enough. A few hours into when she should have been sleeping, she thought she had heard a ghost. Young Marinette had tiptoed down the stairs to investigate, and saw standing in the kitchen a deathly zombie.

In her defence, she didn't know the birthday girl had an older brother, so seeing a mysterious boy lit only by the fluorescent lights of their fridge, it seemed perfectly acceptable to scream as loud as she could.

In the end, her father came and picked her up. Marinette would have preferred to stay, but after awaking the entire house at 3am, she decided it was best if she just went home.

After that, there wasn't really a strong desire to embarrass herself anymore, so she avoided sleepovers entirely. She didn't go camping with Mylene, she didn't jam out with Juleka, she couldn't even braid her hair with Rose! By the time Alya transferred, everyone knew Marinette just didn't do sleepovers, so when Alya invited her to one it came as a shock to the young teen. Although anxious, Marinette gave sleepovers one last chance.

She didn't cry. She didn't vomit. She had fun.

Alya introduced her to all the iconic sleepover traditions: gossip, movies, snacks, skincare, more gossip and [most importantly] sleepover games. Marinette fell in love with them instantly. Of course, she had played these before, but never in her pajamas at 1 AM loaded on sugar.

So with her parents out of town and Alya stuck at a convention in the states, it seemed only fair she throw a slumber party with her second best friend.

✧✬✧

"What brand did you buy? This is taking forever!" Marinette glared at the sizzling pan. She had trusted Chat to bring the popcorn since bulk-buying packets would have been suspicious to her parents [the same parents she promised could rest easy knowing she wouldn't have people over] but he had shown up wielding a fancy looking packet of kernels. Marinette frowned at the pan's foil; it should be rising, but instead stayed pathetically flat no matter how high she raised the heat.

Chat snatched the packet off Marinette's kitchen counter, "Some brand called 'Papa's Organic Snacks', the store clerk said it was the best!"

"Let me see that," the noirette left the stove, the popcorn wasn't going to pop any time soon so she felt safe leaving it unsupervised, "Chat! This was 70 euros! You shouldn't waste money just on some popcorn,"

"It's not wasting money, this is our first super fun sleepover and I didn't want to just get some cheap popcorn!"

"You sound spoiled."

"Maybe I am." not maybe. He was. He didn't want to admit it, but Adrien knew he was spoilt. He had all the video games he wanted, all the clothing he tried, all the books he read, he got them no questions asked. Hell, look at his room! Flatscreen TV's, a rock-climbing wall and a personal library, no one even cared when he suddenly required masses of expensive cheese.

As Adrien, he was spoilt with material objects. Unlimited amounts of money and recognition, celebrities knowing him by name and fangirls flocking him as he walked down the street.

"Yes! It's popping! After I butter these up we'll finally get this sleepover started!"

As Chat Noir, he was spoiled like this.

✧✬✧

"Chat, truth or dare?" the leather-clad hero pondered for a moment, before replying,

"Truth!"

"What? Boring," Marinette threw a handful of popcorn at Chat. She laughed as he tried swatting it away, "aren't you supposed to be brave or something?"

"Who says I'm not being brave? Who knows what dastardly questions you'll ask," the cat feigned a horrified gasp and fell back onto Marinette's chaise.

The noirette grinned at him, tugging back on his tail, "I'm sure you can handle an innocent teen girls question. Sit back down, I'm gonna get serious."

Slowly, Chat slid off the chaise and regained his place besides Marinette, munching on another large chunk of caramel popcorn. The teenage girl slowly gestured for Chat to lean in closer. Then closer. The closer, eventually, he was so close he could feel her warm breath on his ear, the hairs on his neck sticking on end.

"Chat Noir..." she whispered, Who's your civilian identity?"

"WHAT?" in a rush, Chat fell back. Popcorn spilt all over the ground as Chat stared wide-eyed at the giggling girl in front of him. "P-Princess, I c-care about you and you a-are one of my closest f-friends, b-but I- I can't just- my i-identity has t-to be, Ladybug would kill me!" Chat stumbled over his words, eyes sporadically moving back and forth. 

His rambling stopped when he heard a quiet laugh. When he looked up, he saw Marinette barely able to contain her amusement, but a single look at Chat's flustered face broke her control as she burst out laughing.

"Oh, Chaton- I'm kidding! There's no way you'd just be able to reveal yourself to a civilian," before Chat could object Marinette spoke again, "My REAL question is this: Why do you keep coming over?"

Chat frowned, "And here I thought you enjoyed my company." he huffed. Marinette set a hand tentatively on his shoulder,

"Silly cat. I do now! But even back when we barely knew each other, you still showed up to chat; why?"

"Nice pun,"

"Not the point." Marinette scoffed, but Chat now grinned eagerly as he sidled up beside her.

"Well, It's kinda complicated," Chat shoved another handful on popcorn down his throat, causing Marinette to have to wait another minute before he could start speaking again. After taking a long sip of soda, Chat continued,

"I don't really know why I kept visiting you. I just, I didn't feel like being my civilian self and talking to people as myself. But the only person I could talk to as Chat Noir was Ladybug, and you know she's never out late unless there's an akuma. Then I remembered the Evillustrator and Wereded akuma's."

"When we first met,"

Chat nodded, "You didn't put me on a pedestal and suck up to me, nor did you completely ignore me and just ask about Ladybug. You were just... yourself. Now that I look back at it all, I have no idea why I chose you. I just saw you gardening, munching on a cinnamon roll and decided to talk to you. While I severely regret being so weird at first, that was probably one of the best decisions I've ever made."

The room became eerily silent. Chat could feel his face redden, desperately avoiding eye contact with the girl beside him. "...And, I'm probably the biggest sweet tooth in Paris; befriending the Bakers daughter was bound to happen at some point!" he chuckled nervously. When Chat finally got the nerve to look Marinette in the eye, he saw just how badly her flushed face matched his.

"Ah! I forgot! Papa made some snacks earlier and I snuck some away- let me go get them!" Marinette bundled down the stairs, slamming her hatch behind her. Chat exhaled after he heard Marinette's footsteps fade into the background. Good job Chat! Go ahead and gush all about how 'amazing' she is and make things awkward! He gulped down a full glass of soda, chugging it all in one go.

After a few minutes, the bedroom hatch burst open, startling Chat. Marinette reappeared at the top holding a tray filled with sugary macarons. Chat drooled at the sight of them, pupils dilating as he gazed over the pink and green desserts, "They're raspberry and green tea, I hope you like them,"

"They're incredible, Mari! Thank you so much, thank your père for me." Marinette smiled as Chat grabbed a pink macaron.

"You haven't even tried them yet,"

"I have trust in your father." hesitantly, Chat took a small bite. After chewing for only a few seconds he shoved the rest of it into his mouth, eyes shut with pleasure. "These are incredible, Princess," Chat moaned.

Marinette's cheeks glowed a similar colour to the macaron Chat was so affectionate of. She pulled him back to their seating arrangements, "C'mon, It's my turn to be asked,"

After licking the tips of his fingers, Chat turned his attention back to Marinette, "Fine, follow up question then, mademoiselle. Why did you keep letting me in?"

Marinette froze, "What?"

"Back then, I know why I kept showing up, but you also kept letting me into your room. Sharing sweets, showing me designs..."

"I, uh..."

"Hmm?"

"Maybe I just felt bad for the stray cat that kept appearing on my rooftop."

"What's wrong Marinette, afraid to tell me just how enamored you truly were by me?"

Chat laid his head down on Marinette's lap, ignoring the evil gaze that followed him down, "I wasn't 'enamored' by you. I just," she set a hand on Chat's hair, slowly petting it as if a blonde cat laid in her lap. Technically, one did.

"I don't know why I let you in those first few times, I guess it just seemed polite? But then after a few times of you visiting me, I got to know you. I liked hanging out with you, and I still do. You're one of my closest friends, Chaton. Truly."

Marinette stared back down at Chat. His eyes were trained solely on her, his cheeks tinged red. "You really think that?"

Marinette laughed, "Of course I do, Kitty. Why do you think you're here right now?"

Slowly, Chat sat up. He angled his face just in front of Marinettes, his eyelids drooping ever so slightly, "Truth or Dare?"

"Well, we've already had two truths in a row so I kinda have to choose dare," laughed Marinette. Her laughter ceased when she noticed how serious Chat's face had turned.

"I dare you to kiss me."

Her breath hitched in her throat. Marinette could hear her heart beating louder and louder as Chat inched closer to her face. His hot breath spread over her face as her skin tingled at the feel of it.

Suddenly, Chat's eyes widened and pushed himself away from her. His face now more red than ever, he stood up and turned around, "Sorry! Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I probably just ruined everything- I should go." Chat ran to the rooftop, but Marinette grabbed his tail and pulled him back. Gradually rising to stand in front of him.

Wordlessly, Marinette forced herself forward, embracing Chat as she closed the distance between them. Their hearts burned. Chat wrapped his arms around Marinettes waist and pulled her closer, heat staining both their faces.

They never started the next round.

[alvacchi]

Phantom Thief Hanako-kun AU Story: Chapter 8- The Search For Mitsuba

((Edit: I completely forgot a small recap so allow me to just add 😂))

In case it wasn't clear, this story does have its dark themes...

Enjoy!

---

-Last time in the previous chapter...

-Yashiro accepted a missing case from Yako

-Hanako unexpectedly came into Yashiro's apartment with a fever and Yashiro took care of him

-Mitsuba got a visit from Tsukasa

-and Kou got missed calls from Mitsuba

-The story continues!

-The next morning

-Hanako slowly opened his eyes

-He hadn't slept that well and soundly in so long

-As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings

-He started realizing where he was

-That ceiling. This bed. And.

-He looked over to his side

-To what he was holding

-Daikon legs

-Which means

-He looked up to see Yashiro sleeping peacefully

-What kind of weird sleeping position did he take???

-No, that wasn't the point right now!

-He got up letting go of her legs, flustered and touched the top of his head

-His eyes widened

-Gone. His hat's gone.

-He patted himself in search of the jewel he stole during the heist

-That's gone

-He looked down at himself

-He wasn't in his clothes

-All the rustling and movements on the bed woke Yashiro up

-She stirred and got up, still slightly out of it

-As her eyes adjusted, she faced a flustered Hanako who looked at her in horror

-Yashiro: "Hm...? Hanako-kun?"

-Hanako: "Detective, what were you...??? What was I....???"

-He couldn't seem to form the words

-Yashiro snapped out of her sleepy state as she looked at Hanako

-Seeing him getting so flustered was making her blush as well

-They were both on the same bed

-Add that on top of him wearing some of Yashiro's clothes

-Yashiro sure was seeing a new side of him

-Hanako didn't seem to remember all of last night's events, judging from his reaction

-But Yashiro still did

-Yashiro: [flustered] "Nothing happened last night! You were just really sick."

-Hanako: "Oh..."

-He fidgeted

-Hanako: "Could I have my clothes back?"

-Yashiro: "Ah, right!"

-Yashiro gave him his clothes back

-Hanako quickly changed and regained his composure

-He didn't feel any jewel in his clothes

-He must have hidden it away somewhere like he did before

-Hanako: "Well I'd best be on my way"

-Yashiro: "Wait!"

-Yashiro grabbed Hanako on time to stop him from going out the window

-Yashiro: "You're not going to disappear again, are you? We still have that deal. A gentleman should keep his word, no?"

-Honestly at this point, the deal was an excuse so they could hang out more

-Hanako: "Heh~ You remember what I've said before. You want me to still visit?"

-Yashiro: "Yes!"

-There was no hesitation in her reply Hanako noted surprisingly

-Hanako: "...Very well then. I'll come by when I can"

-He doesn't seem to be so bothered anymore? Thank goodness

-Yashiro sighed in relief

-Yashiro: "Oh good. I thought I might have to resort to this."

-She pulled out the jewel which she kept in a box during the clothes swapping

-Hanako looked shocked

-Did that mean he came here immediately after the heist without a care?!

-Wow, he was not thinking straight at all

Hanako: "Oh god I didn't know you're such a savage. You got me"

-Hanako looked down and held his hand to cover his face

-He couldn't stop smiling

-Yashiro: "I can be when I want to! I shouldn't even be doing this but well..."

-Yashiro put the jewel in his hand

-Yashiro: "Here."

-Hanako covered his eyes with his bangs and looked away, turning his back

-Hanako: "Um....thanks. I'll see you some time soon."

-If Yashiro looked closely at him, the back ends of his ears were blushing bright red

-Yashiro: "See you"

-And with that, Hanako took off

-Yashiro got ready to go to Tsuchigomori's detective agency

-She just received a call from Tsuchigomori to come report

-She may still be investigating Yako's case but she should get back to the agency whenever she can in case she's needed

-She's an apprentice learning from Tsuchigomori after all

-Once she arrived at the office, Yako was sitting there annoying Tsuchigomori

-Tsuchigomori: "Don't you have anything better to do?"

-Yako: "I'm worried!"

-Yashiro: "Good morning, Tsuchigomori-sensei! Good morning, Yako-san!"

-Yako: "You're back! Any news? Good news??"

-Yashiro: "Uh I would still need more time to investigate. I'm sorry that I haven't found anything yet."

-Yako: "Ugh you're all useless! Misaki could be suffering at this very moment!"

-Yashiro: [sweatdrops] "Ahahaha...."

-Suddenly, the office door slammed open

-And in came a very worried Kou

-Kou: "SENPAI!"

-Yashiro: "Kou-kun?! What's wrong?"

-Kou: "It's Mitsuba! I don't know where he is!"

-Yashiro: "HUH?!"

-Kou: "He called me a few times last night and I didn't pick up but now when I try to call him back, I don't get a single response!"

-Yashiro: "Wait but this was last night, right? Maybe you're overreacting? He could be busy"

-Kou: "I thought that at first but then I thought about Yokoo and Satou. They haven't been responding to my messages either and they seem to have mysteriously disappeared from the traffic department for a couple days already so I'm worried."

-A bit of background:

-Yokoo and Satou were Kou's police buddies

-They trained together as novice police cadets way back

-Since they transferred to the traffic department, they gave Kou a traffic safety amulet, saying it suited him since it was a pun (The word on the amulet is pronounced "Koutsuu" in Japanese)

-Kou initially wore the amulet around his neck but now wears it on his right ear

-Kou's whistle was also a gift from them when he got promoted to a police officer

-Alright, back to the story!

-Yashiro: "What??"

-Yako: "Wait, what did you say? So, it wasn't just Misaki who disappeared?"

-Kou: "Huh? There's another person missing?"

-Yashiro was puzzled

-Were Kou's missing friends connected with the missing Misaki case?

-It was too early to conclude

-Kou: "Senpai, please! Could you help look for Mitsuba? I don't know about Yakoo and Satou but they're still part of the police force and they got each other so I believe they are able to take care of themselves. Mitsuba though...he doesn't seem to have anyone with him so I want to find him as soon as possible!"

-Yashiro: "Leave it to me!"

-Kou: "Thank you! I'll come along too! I feel responsible"

-Yako: "Hmph, if it's not about Misaki, then I'll just hang here."

-Tsuchigomori: [facepalm] "...I wonder how you're a policewoman"

-Kou and Yashiro left the agency in search for Mitsuba

-They started with places Kou believed Mitsuba would be at

-Then, they just looked around the city

-Kou had a worried look on his face the entire time that Yashiro couldn't help but worry for him

-She tried to think of a conversational topic to get his mind off the case for a bit

-Yashiro: "Kou-kun, I baked some donuts a couple days ago and I was reminded of you since you taught me how to make them"

-Kou: "Oh really? I'm glad that you like that recipe!"

-Well, he smiled a bit. That's good

-Kou and Yashiro ran into Teru in the middle of their investigation

-Yashiro: "Minamoto-senpai!"

-Kou: "Nii-chan!"

-Yashiro: "What are you doing here?"

-Teru: "I'm patrolling this area. What about you two?"

-Kou: "We're looking for Mitsuba! He might be around this area"

-Teru: "Then, let me join you! I may be able to help."

-Yashiro: "Thank you, Minamoto-senpai!"

-Kou: "Thank you, Nii-chan!"

-As always, Teru was so cool!

-But wait

-As Yashiro stared at him, she noticed that she didn't seem to feel as strongly attracted to Teru as before

-But why?

-Maybe because she spent the last couple days worrying her head off about Hanako?

-She did seem to think about Hanako a lot lately and when it comes to him, she gets flustered easily....

-........What?

-Wait why does that sound like...?

-No. Perish that thought.

-It was stupid.....right?

-Oh gosh, maybe she should talk to Aoi about this

-Yashiro crushed on a lot of hot guys in the past and Hanako just didn't apply to that category in her terms

-So it was really strange

-As the three searched, Teru stopped them at one point

-Teru: "Maybe it's better if we split up to cover more ground. We could widen our search and then come back to a spot together when we're done. Whoever finds Mitsuba could bring him over."

-Kou: "Ah! Sounds good, Nii-chan! The city does have a lot of people so it should be alright. Senpai, what do you think?"

-Yashiro snapped out of her zoning out

-Yashiro: "Huh? Oh yeah, sure. We could do that."

-Teru: "Then, let's meet back at that statue over there in half an hour. That should be enough time to cover this part of the area"

-Yashiro & Kou: "Got it!"

-And so, they split up and Yashiro was left to investigate one part of the area on her own

-She found there were back alleys in some sections so she decided to have a look into them

-She's a detective's apprentice so she should be able to handle this

-As she searched however, she felt a pair of eyes watching her

-And they gave her the chills

-Yashiro: "W-who's there?!"

-No response

-She suddenly had vivid flashbacks to that time with Tsukasa

-She still hadn't gotten over that

-And before she knew it, she was getting a bit scared as she walked through the back alley

-She's got to pull herself together

-The longer she felt herself being watched though, the more scared she got

-She started running and she didn't know where she was now

-Yashiro: "Kou-kun! Minamoto-senpai!"

-Now, she was yelling for them

-As she turned the corner, she bumped into someone and fell down

-Yashiro: "Oof!"

-"Detective! Are you alright?"

-That voice. That nickname.

-She looked up

-Yashiro: "Hanak--"

-She immediately shushed when she realized Hanako wasn't alone and he wasn't even in his uniform

-Hanako was actually dressed up as Hana from before

-And nearby she saw Mitsuba

-Yashiro: "Mitsuba-kun!"

-Mitsuba: "Daikon-senpai!"

-Not so long after Yashiro found Mitsuba, Kou and Teru came running towards them

-Kou: "Senpai!"

-Yashiro: "Kou-kun! Minamoto-senpai!"

-Kou: "You weren't at the statue by the agreed time so we--"

-Kou then spotted Mitsuba

-Kou: "MITSUBA!"

-Kou proceeded to tackle and hug Mitsuba

-Mitsuba: "Minamoto-kun?!"

-Kou: "MITSUBA I WAS SO WORRIED!"

-Mitsuba: "Ah...I figured you would be. I tried to call you before but you weren't picking up so I left a voicemail."

-Kou: "Oh. I didn't check that. Oops."

-Mitsuba: "Stupid."

-Kou: "But wait, then why weren't you picking up my calls??"

-Mitsuba: "I had my phone turned off! I may have also left it behind. Did it not click for you that I am busy? I tried to let you know that!"

-Kou: "Mitsuba...I thought you went missing"

-Mitsuba: "What? Are you worried that my cuteness would get me kidnapped? I hope you don't plan on handcuffing me and you together again!"

-Kou: "That was a misunderstanding! I thought you were a criminal! And I didn't know how it worked at the time"

-Mitsuba: "I was being an undercover journalist! I can't believe you didn't even have the key to unlock them and we were stuck together for some time. AH YOU PERVERT!"

-Kou: "That again?!"

-Yashiro: "Ahem...you guys could squabble about that later?"

-Kou: "Oh sorry. I forgot you guys were there. Thank you Senpai for the help! You're the best! And of course Nii-chan too!....Oh Hana! You're also here! We meet again!"

-Hanako: "Ah yes! It's nice to see you again!...."

-Hanako was sweating under Teru's glare who was eyeing him suspiciously

-Hanako: "Well I got to leave so I'll get going now. Bye bye!"

-Hanako left the scene, everyone watching him go

-Mitsuba was recalling their conversation earlier:

[Earlier]

-Mitsuba: "You can drop the act now. We're alone. I know it's you, Hanako."

-Hanako: "Oh? Did you just figure it out?"

-Mitsuba: "No. I knew it was you the moment I inspected your face at Daikon-senpai's apartment. Minamoto-kun may be an idiot but you can't fool me. Don't underestimate me."

-Hanako: "Heh~ but you didn't say anything."

-Mitsuba: "I didn't say anything because I figured Daikon-senpai didn't want to reveal you. I do care for her, for your information. And Minamoto-kun...I don't know if I want him to know"

-Hanako: "So why did you drag me out here then? If not to arrest me?"

-Mitsuba: "I wanted to ask you something personal. I noticed it before but I didn't mention it."

-Hanako: "And what's that?"

-Mitsuba: "Why are there bandages underneath your clothes? In my photos of you, I could spot a glint of them now and then when the wind is strong enough to reveal more of your skin."

-Hanako: "Oh? Are you concerned for my well-being, gentleman?"

Mitsuba: "No. I do not care for you at all. If anything, I do not even want to associate with you. The only reason I'm even bothering is because Minamoto-kun is worried about you and Daikon-senpai seems to be protecting you for some reason."

Hanako: "In that case, I assure you I'm perfectly fine. No bandages here."

Mitsuba: "...Let me rephrase that. Why WERE there bandages underneath your clothes back then? Even if you say that, the times you had bandages were infrequent and unusual. There were times you did have them and times you didn't. They don't seem ordinary to me and I don't think you got hurt that badly during your heists. Those bandages seemed almost as if to say you got hurt...on purpose."

-An eerie silence followed

-Hanako: "Do you really want to know that badly?"

-Mitsuba felt some odd terror

-That's when Yashiro bumped into Hanako

-So, Mitsuba didn't quite get his answer but there was definitely something going on

-As he pondered while they walked out the alleyway, he felt like he was being watched

-He turned in the direction he felt them

-But then it was gone

-Was it his imagination?

---

-Hanako was back at his hideout where a bunch of Mokke were playing around

-He was in the middle of thinking

-While he noted that Mitsuba was quite a sharp and observant boy, there was also something else on his mind

-Yashiro was looking for Kou and Teru before she bumped into him

-And she seemed very close to Kou

-Hanako was wondering when Yashiro started calling Kou "Kou-kun" instead of "Minamoto-kun"

-It didn't bother him before but now suddenly, it did

-He thought of when Kou was being all cheery with Yashiro

-A sharp pain went through his chest

-Mokke: Something smells

-The Mokke started inching away from Hanako

-His heart was aching and he didn't get why

[mercurryblack]

Chapter 5: Amaryllis

Day one: the investigation begins.

❃❃❃

“Are we there yet? My legs can’t take it anymooore.” Hattie whined.

Despite the coffee and hearty breakfast she had enjoyed only moments earlier, the girl was still sluggish as the team walked to the precinct. It was hardly further than their excursion from yesterday, but the journey today seemed to be taking longer than usual, especially in the slow hours of the early morning.

“If you stopped dragging your feet, maybe we’ll get there faster.” remarked Lillian, a bit exasperated. “You’ve been awake for over an hour, had two cans of coffee, and you got the same amount of sleep you always get. How are you still drowsy?”

“…I dunno. Circadian rhythms?”

“It’s only two blocks away, don’t worry.” Amaryllis reassured Hattie.

Cait was in front of all of them, and in a much better mood than their teal-togged teammate. “Remind me to thank you, Lillian. This is sure to be much more cool than yesterday.”

Lillian rolled her eyes. “I don’t think it’s going to be that ‘cool’ once you consider what we’re dealing with.” She responded, remembering how distraught Rudyard had looked.

***

A couple of minutes later, they reached the precinct and headed up to Yuen’s office. The second they opened the door, they were greeted by several storage boxes and piles of paper scattered on the seats around the doorway. Sardion and Rudyard were both looking over copied reports, while Detective Yuen was arranging new pins on the corkboard.

“Good morning, Team LLAC. Please sit down, we need to brief you on what we’re going to do today.” Yuen ordered, barely turning her head as she placed a report footnote on the board. As they did so, she turned to one of the supply boxes and lifted it onto her desk.

“Umff— Today, we’re going to be taking a further look at the crime scene for material evidence. Anything you can find, mark it and let us know. It could be a household object out of place, a scrap of clothing you don’t recognize, a mark on the floor or wall. Anything that doesn’t belong in the area, report it. Here are some things you need.” She pulled several pairs of gloves from the supply box, as well as two smaller boxes of identification markers. “And finally, this should go without saying, but do try not touch any piece of possible evidence. Last thing we need is someone getting labelled as a suspect because they accidentally left their fingerprints on it.” She finished, distributing the equipment to the group.

It felt a bit unusual for LLAC— Lionheart had spoken to them earlier as if they were off on a Search and Destroy mission, but latex gloves and plastic site markers weren’t exactly the attire and equipment to go for when fighting.

“We’ll make sure to follow everything you said to the letter, Detective.” Lillian confidently assured her.

Yuen nodded. “Good, we’re counting on you. Any advances you make today will help this case greatly.” She stood up and picked up her weapon of choice - a polymer handgun - and made one last adjustment to the collar of her uniform as she tucked in into her hip holster. “Shall we go?” She asked.

“Yes, let’s. Time’s a-wasting.” Sardion spoke as he got to his feet and followed her out the door. Cait, Hattie, and Amaryllis all did the same, leaving Rudyard and Lillian inside the office.

Turning to her mentor, Lillian noticed that his attention had turned to the pictures on the board. “You doing okay there, Rudyard?” she worried.

Rudyard nodded solemnly. “I’ll be fine.” After a second, he added, “Just promise me that you and your teammates will watch each other’s backs while you’re out there? Don’t be as careless as I was. Just because they’re good fighters doesn’t mean that they’re safe from harm.”

“If we only watch each other’s backs, how are we gonna be able to walk properly? I’m afraid one of us might trip.” Lillian replied, cracking a weak pun to see if she could garner a laugh.

Rudyard paused, then let out a small chuckle. “I’m serious, though, Lil-Lil. We don’t know yet what’s out there.”

***

Yaara and Berilo’s houses were both fairly close together, in a residential neighborhood at the top of the Sora District, not far off from the restaurant where LLAC had enjoyed their milkshakes the other day. According to Rudyard, both of them had wanted ‘peaceful lives away from all of the city buzz’— for all the good that had done them, apparently. After graduating from Haven Academy and beginning their Huntsmen lives outside the city proper, they had kept themselves out of the limelight, apart from the occasional appearance at Haven alumni ceremonies.

Rudyard had always assumed that Yaara and Berilo, despite never having married, had been boning one another. They had never explicitly denied it, and the proximity of their homes only heightened that assumption.

“Miss Dailan’s house is right around that corner. We should split up now. We’ll meet back here before dusk.” Yuen said, before turning to Rudyard and Sardion.

The group nodded and said their goodbyes to the adults. Lillian gave one last smile of reassurance to Rudyard, just to let him know she’d be okay. While his mustache concealed his closed mouth, she could tell he returned it by the way its edges curled.

“So, where are we looking at first?” Hattie asked, turning to eye the house. If they wanted to thoroughly cover the entire place before the sun went down, they had to start soon.

“I’ll look inside Berilo’s house.” Lillian suggested. “There’s a garden and gazebo in the back, too. I say we split up into groups of two. Cait, if you’ll take the back?”

“‘Kay, sounds good. Who’s coming with me?” Cait looked at their teammates, spreading their arms.

Hattie’s hand shot up in the air. “Me! Me! Mememe!” She declared, bouncing on her heels.

Cait smirked. “Alright, then that leaves the wonder girls together. We’ll see you two later! Come on, Hattie! Adventure awaits!” They let her grab their arm as they walked around the side towards the backyard.

“I wish I was a wonder girl,” remarked Hattie. “Hmph.”

“Oh, don’t worry, all of us are wonder girls in our own little way.” Cait reassured her, still maintaining their cheshire grin.

Hattie turned her head to face them. “But you aren’t a girl, Cait.” She remarked quizzically. “Or a guy, for that matter.”

Cait shrugged. “Yeah, but hey, I’d take it as a compliment nonetheless. It doesn’t really matter that much to me s’long as it has ‘wonder’ in front of it.”

Amaryllis chuckled as she watched Cait walk away with Hattie. Despite everything, the former tended to be quiet more often than not, but whenever Hattie was around, they wouldn’t stop talking.

Lillian, meanwhile, walked up to the front door, which was cordoned off by yellow tape reading “CRIME SCENE - DO NOT CROSS” in blocky black letters.

“Let’s get started, Am.” she said, ducking under the tape into the house.

***

The atmosphere inside Berilo’s home was horribly eerie, despite the fact that not a soul besides the two girls was currently within the walls. An cup of now-cold tea rested on the kitchen counter, likely what he had planned to drink on the night of his murder. Aside from the living room, the rest of the domicile was immaculately kept— if it wasn’t for the large pool of dried blood in the center of the living room, no one would have likely been the wiser to the fact that a murder had taken place. Several black strings tagged with small numbers extended from the bloodstain to small flecks on the wall and couch, likely the work of a forensic technician.

After more than three long hours of careful inspection, however, Lillian and Amaryllis still hadn’t found any further clues. Whatever was out of place (which was few and far between) had already been tagged by the police.

“…I wonder how Hattie and Cait are doing outside. Do you think they’ve found anything?” Amaryllis wondered aloud, moreso an attempt at conversation to alleviate her unease.

“Probably not. The second they did, knowing Hattie, she’d blast in right through the wall to tell us.” answered Lillian, parsing over a small bookshelf. “Like that weird drink commercial.”

“Yeah…” Amaryllis sighed. Exhaling harshly through her nose, she changed the topic; “Don’t you find that we’re investigating the deaths of our predecessors? I can’t believe they’re gone so quick, and so brutally.”  After Rudyard had taken Lillian under his wing, Amaryllis had found a sense of respect for SYBR— a bit of research had quickly brought up the team’s Vytal victory, and while she hadn’t gotten to know them very well aside from Rudyard, they had always seemed as kind as they were skilled.

“No kidding. It’s the lucky ones that’re fortunate enough to have old age take them. Just didn’t happen to be the fate in store for Yaara and Berilo…” answered Lillian. “Not to be a downer, but I think if one of us two were to bite the big one, it would be better if I passed on first.”

“What makes you say that?” Amaryllis asked, taken aback with Lillian’s words.

“You’re the one with the big heart, Amaryllis. At least you’d be there for others as they’d be there for you. Me, on the other hand… well, let’s just hope it doesn’t come down to that.”

Amaryllis slowly shook her head. “I couldn’t bear to see you die, Lilly. Between the two of us, you’ve always been the one with the indomitable heart.” She said softly. “Sure, you’re the older sister and it’s your responsibility to act like you’re tough and stoic and all… but I honestly don’t think I could go on if I lost you.” she continued, her tone betraying a hint of playfulness as she jabbed at Lillian.

It was true for both of them, however— the Armilde sisters had been inseparable since they were in the womb. To either of them, the thought of losing one another was the worst thing imaginable.

Lillian turned to face her sister, her expression unreadable. “Hey, Am…”

“Hmmm?”

“…You aren’t getting all mushy on me, are you?” She asked, her mouth curling into a smirk.

Amaryllis sputtered, before she started laughing at her sister’s comeback. “Well, not anymore I’m not! Way to kill the mood, musclehead.”

[daretosnoop]

Legend of the Crystal Skull Review:

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!!!

Atmosphere/Layout:

I loved this game so much! The Nancy Drew games are always stellar at placing you in the world of the game. I have yet to play a series that really roots you in its atmosphere. CRY delivered that at another level. I’ve been to New Orleans, and this game took me back to that trip. I loved how everything in the house was slightly crooked to reflect the kookiness of Bruno Bolet, as well as make things more eerie. I remember how the intro to the game scared me as a kid, yes, I got scared of the Skeleton man as a kid. Imagine freaking out to the skeleton man attack and then cutting to Renee’s creepy eyes as a kid! Even as an adult, Renee’s eyes creep me out, and no way was I ever going to drink that concoction! This game has a lot of odd things that you can eat: mysterious beverage that may or may not kill you, chocolate that definitely will, and expired bubble gum that surprisingly does not kill you. Okay, back to atmosphere. The ambience of the game was consistent, even when you played Bess’s portions which was supposed to take you away from the eeriness of the Bolet house for a bit. The rain effect and the semi-dark state of the house because of the electricity outage definitely amped up the fear and creepiness. You definitely took cautious steps in and out of the house. The graveyard. THE GRAVEYARD. THE GRAVEYARD. I think the exploration of the graveyard might be my favourite exploration spots of all the games. I love how you can see Nancy’s silhouette and hear her shoes as she traversed the grave. It was big enough to pique curiosity, but not so big that you would get lost. I also appreciated how every grave section had its own design as it made things more memorable. I know some people didn’t like the graveyard scavenger hunt, but I relished it! The earlier games (1-5) had this slight ruthlessness to the game play. There was a slight edge that kept the reader hooked and just a touch fearful, and this game maintained that edge. I really appreciated that, especially since it would pater out a bit in later games.

Music:

This game has one of the best tracks: “Legend”. That alone should put it as a game with an amazing music score, but no, they had to add other titles like “Chatter” and “Bruno”. As someone who loves Jazz, I digged this score. So often I would stop and just listen to the music, and could feel myself get pumped whenever “Legend” would play. Honestly, why hasn’t someone created a Nancy Drew Ambience record yet? The jazz music was a nice contrast to the shadowy layout which added to the “everything is slightly unhinged” element of the game. But man, when the danger music would play, I would get chills. Especially when you’re in Renee’s room or in Bruno’s secret room. Surprisingly those two rooms creeped me more then the graveyard!

I also loved the little noises like the sound of rain, or the way the rain hit the windows. Nancy’s heels as she walked through the graves. The skeletal hand for Charlie’s puzzle. The sound Henry’s chair makes when he moves. Etc. etc.

Characters:

Nancy was amazing as usual. It surprises me how she remains unfazed by everything, but I love that side of her. Bess felt a bit out of character with her resistance to participating in snooping. Usually she’s dying to know what’s up, or help Nancy out, but she wasn’t this time. Still, got to had it too her. Not many friends would sneak into a private meeting and demand her rights despite being surrounded by creepy skeletal men. Some of you might scoff, but y’all would be crapping your pants if you were in the same situation.

So since you technically didn’t know there would be a mystery, it made sense that there were only 3 suspects. I like how Nancy doesn’t start out with an investigation. She mostly wants to figure out who the skeletal man was and why he attacked her, and how that simple curiosity leads her to the crystal skull. It’s a nice progression of plot.

Henry: Henry Bolet is handsome. I know some people might not like the arm sleeve thing or painted nails, but it’s 2020, it’s called aesthetic! Her Interactive over here creating male characters who want to paint their nails way before popular culture accepted it/picked up on it. Haters be jealous. I’m kidding. But still, I loved how much depth they put into this character. How with so little, you understood his character. When he complains about how Bruno sent him away as a child, it revealed that Henry is someone who really needs family. He’s aware his emotional needs are higher than the average person, not because he lost his parents, but just who he is by nature. It also makes his attachment to Summer make more sense. We can easily surmise that Summer was probably the first person to give Henry the emotional security he needed, but that it was clearly done for her own selfish desires. Henry’s inability/or refusal to see it also makes more sense. That being said, the moment we learn about Summer, it takes Henry off the suspect list. Up till then, the game does a good job at making him seem suspicious do to his dealings with Lamont. It’s not a bad thing, but since we only have 3 suspects, his removal immediately makes the culprit an easy 50-50 guess. Not to mention the fact that after blackmailing him (which was kind of mean of Nancy to do to someone who is already being emotionally abused by his girlfriend) he gets sidelined for the rest of the game despite there being a good chunk left to play.

Renee: Classic sweet but deadly suspect. Love how the game kept her super suspicious from the way she acted to the way she would emphasize things. For example, I found it so odd that she remembered the exact percentage of who would receive what in the will, like she had been mulling over that. And the way she ends with mentioning that she was to receive 10% compared to the others getting 30%, so subtle a remark yet it catches the ear of any good detective. And of course, the room and her interest in the occult made the suspicion grow. Unfortunately, I found the whole part about authenticating the skull a bit lackluster and kind of gives the culprit away. I mean Renee said “I wanted to find the skull” when Nancy confronts her about hiding information. After such a confession, wouldn’t the obvious follow up question be “why?”. I can only guess they included this to hype up the “chase” for the skull since we know the Dr. Buford is also looking for it, but the game didn’t really deliver on the urgency so this felt like a lackluster confession. It also came close to the end of the game, so when Renee appeared at the end it wasn’t surprising. Nancy’s faith in Renee was odd, and the fact that she just tossed up the skull—face slap! Nancy, she literally confessed 10 min ago, did you forget!? The ending was nice. I liked how she “forgot” to tell Nancy about Bernie (so malicious!), but then actually forgot that Bernie was in the water.

Dr. Buford: He was interesting. Seems nice and charming, but the more we learn about Bruno’s death, the suspicious he becomes. Love how Bess worries about Buford coming back to take the skull. I still don’t understand what exactly the skeletal society does, other then being pirate fans, but I liked the costumes.

Puzzles:

I love a healthy balance between puzzles and dialogue and this game delivered on that. The dialogue was nicely spaced out throughout the game and added to the characters. Each character had their own way of talking and phrases that stayed true to their character. The one exception is Henry’s “I’ve been naughty but I’ll be nice now” line which threw me off so hard. HELLO?? WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THIS! It’s so random for a college/uni person to say this. Actually, who says this?? I’ll be honest, my mind went a bit dark and wondered just how bad was Summer abusing him for such a dialogue to come out of him……. poor Henry.

But back to the puzzles. I honestly loved most of the puzzles. I know the bowling ball machine (the one where you have to roll all eyes) annoys people, but I enjoyed it. I also know the graveyard scavenger hunt bored people, but I love puns, and l loved the layout of the house and graveyard so much that running back and forth was so much fun. Solving the clock puzzle and teeth puzzle was also fun, and they made me feel like a genius. The first part of the buzzard puzzle wasn’t bad, it was just annoying to have to turn back and see what affect each gargoyle bird did. The book mentioned that the sounds the gargoyle’s made was important, but I didn’t catch anything. I also liked how the final puzzle was a puzzle that built throughout the game. You didn’t know the eye puzzle would be the final big puzzle, but every little puzzle played a role in being a part of the final puzzle. I just thought that was cool, I like interconnected stuff.

There were three puzzles I did not like. The first was with Bess and the box she had to open. The clue was Hamlet and some numbers. I thought that you had to call Nancy and have her check the library for Hamlet and look up those reference numbers. What was the point of writing Hamlet? Nowhere in the letter did it mention that you have to associate the letter to the number and type out what it spells. Also, it did not mention that you had to restart the counting every time! I had to go online for help with this puzzle. The second puzzle was the second part of the buzzard puzzle. After getting the key, which you don’t get a good look at, you’re supposed to use them on the gargoyles. But I didn’t get that, plus the emblem on each gargoyle was just a feather with notches, so how do you know that the key goes there??? Finally, I hated the wasp puzzle. It was annoying and I don’t know why Nancy didn’t take a handful of loquats at once!

Graphics:

They really hold up despite being 13 years old. Sure, it’s a bit weird around the eyes and mouth, but the rest is stellar. Also, I love how they added in certain quirks that matched each character’s personality. Like Henry kicking his legs up to show he’s someone who doesn’t care about bending the rules, little rebellious. But then the fact that he sits proper when talking shows that he’s not so rebellious and is actually trying to be professional. Also shows the contesting sides of his emotional needs and the military training he would have received. Renee’s position over her pots show that she’s someone tricks you into thinking that she loves to work with her hands (lol, end game “this girl just handed me the skull”. I told you I love puns). It also shows that she prioritizes the small things, and the fact that she’s potting despite being recently laid off (she’s the only character still working despite Bruno’s death) makes her a bit unnerving. Dr. Buford at the French quarters show that he’s someone of charm. Etc. etc.

Plot:

Like I said, loved the slow buildup of plot—how one thing led to another. Don’t know why Ned sent Nancy to do his work, but okay…

The Summer plotline felt like it got accidentally dropped. Like the writers forgot to finish it. Even if it’s just Nancy telling Henry that what he has isn’t healthy/good, or something in the end credits where he finally broke up with her. For all we know, they could still be together.

The introduction of the magical qualities of the skull and Bruno’s death was weird. I like how Bruno’s death became questioned, but while his desire for the skull kind of made sense, it didn’t make sense why Buford or Renee wanted it. It still wasn’t clear at the endgame either. I guess there’s the financial prospect, but that subplot kind of pattered out in favour for the magical plot. It also didn’t make sense that Bruno wanted it for Henry, because let’s be real, he wasn’t a good guardian. It really did seem like Bruno didn’t care for Henry. I mean, why give your nephew a skull instead of what he really wanted/needed, a friend. You can take this a bit darker when you realize that Bruno was giving Henry monetary comfort over emotional comfort and that Henry by end game has come to associate monetary gift to be equivalent to emotional gifts, which just makes his relationship with Summer get even darker.

 Overall, this was a great game. 10/10. One of my favourites and would play again and again. That’s why I bought it, lol!

~Dare to Snoop

[mischiefandspirits]

Doppelgänger (2/?)

Previously on Doppelgänger ~ Masterlist ~ Next time on Doppelgänger

Danny, Sam, and Tucker were just 14 when they took a look inside the portal Danny’s parents had built. From there, everything changed. They woke up with white hair, green skin, and powers they could learn to control. They were hybrids, halfas.

They were the hero Doppelgänger.

{Parental Bonding}

“We can possess people!” the trio said, Tucker bouncing in midair. Sam crossed her arms. “That seems really wrong. We didn’t do it on purpose. Imagine how many dates we could get this way. We don’t need dates. We know we want to go to the dance.”

Sam turned human, dropping onto Tucker’s bed with a scowl.

Danny floated closer to her with an apologetic expression.

“Sorry,” he and Tucker said.

“It’s okay. I know you guys aren’t intentionally prying. It’s just kind of annoying sometimes.”

“We’re getting better at keeping things separate,” they said as Tucker sat down at the end of the bed. “Maybe we’ll be able to figure out secrets as we work on it. Do we need to have secrets though?”

“Yes, Danny, we do,” Sam said, poking the boy. “You might have loose lips, but I like my privacy.”

Danny pouted and transformed. “I don’t have loose lips. I just don’t get why anything has to be a secret between us. We’re best friends.”

Sam grabbed his arm and tugged him onto the bed with her.

His pout immediately fled as he curled up in her arms, his head tucking beneath her chin.

Tucker gasped and turned human. “It’s a cuddly Sam day!”

She shot him a glare. “Not for you it isn’t.”

He ignored her and joined them on the bed, pressing up to her back and draping an arm over both his friends. She grumbled, but relaxed back against him as Danny poked his head up to give them both kisses on the cheek.

They rested together for a while before Sam’s phone went off.

She nudged Danny, who’d been dozing. “Come on, it’s getting late. We should get home before someone realizes we aren’t in our beds.”

“No one will check on me before morning,” Danny said with a nuzzle.

She pushed him off the bed.

“Well then.”

Tucker sat up as the two stood and transformed. “Sam, wait.”

They turned to him.

“Uh, you know, since neither of us have dates and you really want to go, the two of us could go to the dance together as friends.”

Danny smiled and Sam tilted her head.

“Really?” they asked.

“Sure. I’ve pretty much struck out with everyone in school anyways and someone has to keep an eye on Danny.”

“Hey! True. HEY!”

{One of a Kind}

Skulker looked between the human boy he was tailing and the ghost child glaring down at him. He could have sworn the half-ghost was the child of the hunters Plasmius had paid him to investigate, not the boy's female friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No, that can’t be. He was sure the girl was the ghost child. He knew he had seen the technology-boy asleep with the hunters’ child!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Skulker gaped at the three ghost children surrounding him. “What are you?”

“We are Doppelgänger, and you are done here,” they somehow said together while sounding like only one.

At least he'd still accomplished the job Plasmius required, Skulker thought as he was pulled into a cylindrical device.

{Attack of the Killer Garage Sale}

“You’re not going to go to the party?” Sam asked as Danny tossed the invite Dash had given him in the trash.

“Sam, I don’t think we’d need our bond to feel your hatred for this entire situation,” Tucker said.

“Sorry.” She’d really been trying to hold back her more jealous and controlling nature since the accident. It wasn’t fair to her partners.

“It’s fine,” Danny said, knocking their shoulders together with a smile. “It’d feel weird without you guys anyways. Who would talk trash about the A-listers in our heads or get turned down by every person in the room?”

“Rude,” Tucker said.

“Besides, what would happen if a ghost showed up. Dash’s place is too far from either of yours for our mind link.”

“That’s true,” Sam agreed.

“You could always just call our phones,” Tucker said and his partners paused, surprised.

“Phones,” Sam chuckled. “How did we forget phones exist?”

“We might be getting too dependent on the mind link,” Danny laughed, rubbing his neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam and Danny looked up as Tucker dropped down onto the couch between them.

“You guys could have helped,” he huffed, passing the thermos to Danny and turning human.

“Tech’s you thing,” Danny said with a shrug, tossing the thermos into his Space Fold.

“Did you need help?” Sam asked, handing Tucker a bowl of popcorn.

He snorted. “Technus, master of technology and destroyer of worlds, was running an old version of Portals XL. It was easy to slip through the cracks with my powers. That’s not the point though.”

{Splitting Images}

Sam and Tucker watched Danny’s parents run off, then turned to their partner. “Watch it, Danny. Your parents almost c-” they stopped, then glared. “Who are you? Where’s Danny?”

The boy who was mostly not Danny frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sam grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the lockers, her eyes glowing yellow.

“Tell us where our partner is now?” she and Tucker said as one and he stepped up next to her, his own eyes purple. “We can feel you’re not him!”

Poindexter immediately caved. He was smart enough to know he’d have a hard time taking on one halfa on in a fight, let alone two.

Sam was a lot more willing to hear out the old school nerd once her own nerd was safely in her arms and the three decided to let Poindexter stick around, so long as he agreed not to hurt or humiliate any of the bullies he went after, only spook them away from their targets. Especially when Danny told them about how Poindexter was treated in his own version of Casper High.

And they thought Dash was bad.

{What You Want}

You said she’s a genie ghost? Why didn’t you just wish her into the thermos? Sam asked.

Tucker and Danny shared a look from where they were hovering over the sick girl’s home.

You both are idiots. Get out of here before one of my parents spot you.

We’re invisible, they pointed out, but said their goodbyes and left all the same.

“Why didn’t we think of wishing her away? Because only one of us got all the common sense when the portal mashed us together. True. Oh, man! What? We forgot to share about the plasmablasts! Shoot, we’re dead. No puns right now, this is serious!”

{Bitter Reunions}

“Bad news,” Danny said as soon as he picked up the group call. “My parents are dragging me and my sister with them to their college reunion in Wisconsin.”

“That sucks,” Tucker hissed.

“Yeah, but our news is worse,” Sam said. “Knock knock.”

Her words were matched with a knock at Danny’s window and he opened the curtains to find Sam floating outside.

“Who’s there?” Tucker asked.

“Sam,” Danny said, gesturing her in.

“Sam who?”

“Sam’s at my window,” Danny snorted as she floated through intangibly. “What’s going on?”

“Wait, she’s at your house? Why? Do I need to come?”

“No, we took care of the problem for now.” Sam reached into the bag she’d strapped to her belt -- Danny could open the Space Fold for her and Tucker from a distance, but they only really did that for the thermos -- and pulled out a torn picture. “Look familiar.”

“Is that my dad?” Danny asked, taking it. The man in the picture certainly looked like his dad did in his collage pictures.

“That’s what we thought too.”

“What’s going on?”

“We took on this group of vulture ghosts just now and they had a picture of Mr. Fenton,” Sam explained. “They said they were on a search and destroy mission.”

“They want to kill Danny’s dad?”

“Why?”

“We don’t know,” Sam sighed. “They got away from us before we could interrogate them properly. We could have used our speed.”

“Sorry, my parents are in an inventing lull so they’re actually paying attention to my curfew,” Danny said, still looking at the picture.

“I still don’t get why Danny’s faster than us.”

“Tiny.”

“You mean smol.”

“No.”

“Yes. And it’s not fair.”

“You take hits better than Sam and I,” Danny pointed out. “And Sam’s stronger than us. It balances out. Now can we get back to the fact that someone put a hit out on my dad?”

“Sorry, we don’t know anything else.”

“At least you guys are going out of town. Hopefully, Sam and I can track down the birds before you get back.”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

Sam took her partner’s hand and pulled him into a hug.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Holy crow.”

“Tell us about it,” Danny groaned.

“We should have been there,” his partners said.

“We’re kind of glad we weren’t,” Danny said, poking his head into the RV for a second to make sure his parents and sister were still asleep. “Who knows what Vlad would have done if he knew about us? He thinks we use the royal we.”

“We can’t believe there’s another halfa out there. And he’s such a creep. Do we think he’d want us? Or only one of us?”

Danny frowned, rubbing his chest. It was weird being in ghost form, hearing his partners in their ghost form, and yet not being a part of the mind link. “We don’t know. And we don’t want to know. He doesn’t need to be anywhere near us. He’s a fruit loop.”

“Agreed.”

{Prisoners of Love, Part 1}

The trio floated back to back as they looked around the Ghost Zone. Danny pressed closer to his partners, eyeing a group of small blobs that he swore was following him, while Sam vibrated with excitement and Tucker snapped pictures with his phone.

“Can we just find the gift already? This place is amazing. No, it's not. It's creepy. And it goes on forever. We don't even know where to start to look! Maybe we can ask for directions?”

Tucker flew up to one of the doors. He knocked and opened it.

“Excuse me,” they said. “Would you be able to -”

“Get. Out. Of. My. ROOM!”

Tucker shut the door.

“Well, that won’t work. This is hopeless. We’re never gonna find that present. Our folks are gonna get divorced and it’s gonna be all our fault.”

Sam wrapped her arms around Danny.

“We’ll figure this out. Maybe we just need to think like a box. Think like a box? Well, the box isn’t a ghost. It’s from the human world.” Danny’s head popped up. “Yes, maybe the ghost zone’s gravity affects human world stuff differently than ghost stuff. If we can track the orbital paths, then we can figure out where the box went. But how would we figure out these orbital paths? We know one way. No.”

Tucker flew down to one of the floating islands, then transformed.

“Stop!” Sam and Danny shouted, flying up to him. “We don’t know how the Ghost Zone will affect a human. Our parents haven’t run any tests yet!”

“I’m fine, see,” Tucker said, gesturing at himself. “I can even breathe just fine. Everything’s okay.”

“For now.”

“I think it’s a little too late to worry about ectoplasmic radiation, so what are you two so worried about.”

“Only one of us is worried. We’re both worried.”

Sam shoved Danny, then shoved Tucker when he started laughing.

The boy yelped and braced himself when the shove knocked him towards a tree.

He passed right through it.

“What the heck?” the two said.

Tucker stood up and set his hand on the tree. Then he pressed down and his hand slipped through the tree, coming out the other side.

Danny dropped down next to him and tried to do the same, but couldn’t get his arm to go through the tree even when he turned intangible.

Sam snapped her fingers.

“Ectoplasm. Everything here is made of ectoplasm. Maybe being in the ghost zone naturally puts everything in a semi-intangible state, which means humans can pass through it if they try.”

“So we’re the ghosts here!” Tucker cheered, bouncing. “Sweet!”

“It’s definitely something to keep in mind.”

Tucker smiled and held up his arms. “Now that that’s settled, let’s see how this human gets affected by ghost gravity.”

Danny hesitated, but Sam shrugged and picked Tucker up and threw him into the void.

He flew a few yards before slowing down until he was just floating in place. They waited a moment, but nothing else happened.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Tucker said then transformed.

Danny and Sam flew up to him, all three saying, “That should have worked though. There has to be some sort of orbit or else the box would have just been right outside the portal and we check right after it got knocked in.”

Tucker shrugged and pulled out his phone. Danny’s eyes locked onto it. He grabbed it out of Tucker’s hand and tossed it.

“Hey! Look, it’s moving!”

The trio watched as the phone’s trajectory slowed, then started again slightly to the right of where it had been heading before.

“Humans might just be too heavy or dense for ghost orbit. Or maybe it’s a consciousness thing, like with the intangibility. Whatever it is, let’s just get going. If we lose our phone, we’re going to regret it.”

The three set off drifting a short ways behind the phone. They stuck close enough to be sure they didn’t lose it, but far enough that they wouldn’t accidentally alter its course. Eventually, the phone floated intangibly through one of the doors, this one looking like a rolling warehouse door.

The trio shared a look then opened the door and flew inside.

The lair was just a purple void filled with a variety of random items.

“So this is where all that stuff ends up. It’s like the void of lost items,” they said as Tucker grabbed his phone.

“Yes!” the trio turned to see the Box Ghost flying up. “It all ends up in the possession of THE BOX GHOST!”

“Ugh, this guy. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a cardboard box to haunt.”

Boxy blinked looking between the three before pointing at Sam, who was floating in the middle.

“I am The Box Ghost! Where do you think we go when you release us from your round, cylindrical trap?”

Danny looked unimpressed, Sam crossed her arms and started looking over all the junk, and Tucker ran a hand over his face.

“It is not our turn to deal with this. You mean the Fenton Thermos? The gift has to be here somewhere.”

He looked between them then threw up his arms menacingly. “I am the Box Ghost!”

“We know.”

“And beware! For I am merely ONE of your foes who reside in this realm! In fact, you might say,” the box ghost snorted, “we’re a PACKAGE DEAL!”

“I swear if we laugh at that, we’ll punch us. We’re not laughing at that. It’s the Box Ghost. We would laugh at that. That was a bad pun even for us.” They groaned and Danny floated closer to Boxy, holding his hands up in a show of good faith. “Look, we’re looking for something important, we don’t have time for your box puns.”

Suddenly police sirens sounded and the trio looked around.

“Flee!” Boxy shouted. “Lest you be hermetically sealed and shipped to your doom!” He tried to fly off, but a blast of green energy hit him, causing his wrists to be bound in handcuffs made of energy.

Sam and Tucker flew up to grab Danny’s arms. “Hey, what’s going on? We need to get out of here! Let’s -”

A blast hit them and they were bound together.

“Unauthorized duplication. That’s against the rules.” The trio looked up to see a large white ghost hovering over them. He pulled out a green book. “Or at least it is now.”

“Duplication? Like Plasmius? Wait! This is all a big misunderstanding! We’re not -”

The ghost moved so it was like he was crouched on invisible ground and shoved his face into Tucker’s. He grabbed Tucker’s phone and said, “There may be chaos everywhere in this Ghost Zone, but there’ll be order in my prison.” He stood up and turned to a group of ghosts in riot gear. “Merge them and ship them off.”

One of the ghosts smiled and pointed a police baton at them.

“Hold on! You’ve got the wrong -”

He shot them with a blast and a ring of energy wrapped around them and squeezed. It grew tighter and tighter and their bodies were pressed closer and closer.

“Stop! Wait! Please!”

And then there was a snap. It wasn’t audible. It wasn’t even physical. It was just a feeling as three bodies became one.

Doppelgänger looked down at their hands in shock, their mind a whirl of emotions and thoughts. They barely noticed as the ghost police grabbed their arms and threw them in the back of a prisoner transport van.

“We’re one?” they whispered, staring at their hands.

They certainly didn’t feel like one. They could feel Sam's and Danny's and Tucker’s minds rioting against one another in their head. It was like the trio were all trying to overshadow each other at once. Their body shook with hot and cold and lightning. They tried to pull apart, but the bands on their wrists, ankles, and waist kept their powers dulled and their ectoplasm merged.

The police returned and Doppelgänger shuffled into the corner of the van to keep away from the monsters. Thankfully they only shoved the Box Ghost inside and shut the doors.

Doppelgänger turned to the wall of the van. “If we transform, we can slip out. Can we transform with these bonds? Better question, what would happen if we transformed like this?” They shivered at the idea of being merged in their human forms. “Yeah, no. We need to figure out how to separate, then we can transform and get away from these psychos. Seriously, as if living corrupt police weren’t bad enough. We need to focus. Can this situation get any worse? Our folks are splitting up, our sister’s a basket case, and we’re going to ghost jail.” They curled up, trying to hold themselves as best they could with their bonds. “It will be okay. We’ll be okay. They’ll have to remove the bonds at some point then we can get away. It will be okay.”

[makemadej]

So today two of my worlds collided in the best way: Ryan and Shane were guests on one of my favorite podcasts. I was totally blindsided by this since there was no promo for it whatsoever (who knows why, maybe they forgot when the release date was, maybe they’ve been taken captive by skeletons, maybe they’re just terrible at promoting themselves), and it killed me that I couldn't listen to the whole thing until after work. It's over two hours long and podcasts aren't everyone's cup of tea, so I'm capturing the ghoul boy highlights here for anyone who wants them.

Wine and Crime is a weekly podcast hosted by three ladies who are feminist as fuck and pair a different crime with a different wine each episode. This time, the theme was Pandora's Box crimes, aka "crimes that were only supposed to be minimal but ended up being a shitshow." Inevitably, they paired it with boxed wine.

Enter the ghoul boys.

Ryan, on Franzia: I do enjoy slappin' a bag Shane: I've seen Ryan slap some bags in my day. [...] Ryan: Shane has to tell me to stop slapping the bag sometimes Ryan: I used to do this thing in college called Tour de Franzia. It was like a drinking game, but it was an obstacle course, and at every checkpoint you had to slap the bag. [beat] I made great decisions in college.

Ryan: You say "nice stream" to the sound of liquid being poured into something, it maybe is not the best...it may not communicate well over audio. Shane: Hey, nice stream Ryan: Nice stream. That's what I say every time I go up to a urinal. To any guy. Tap him on the shoulder. Shane: Men in public bathrooms, we all compliment each other's streams. Ryan: Yeah. It's best if you whisper it. At close proximity. I get really close so he can smell the Popeye's on my breath that I just got at the terminal and I whisper "nice stream."

Ryan: We're drinking the 14% Four Lokos seltzer over here [borderline unintelligible banter about playing Edward Four Lokos hands]

Ryan, on the description of himself on a "which BFU guy are you" quiz: That sounds like the description of a golden retriever.

Shane: I know there's one quiz that was popular where the description [of me] was entirely wrong.

Ryan, increasingly high pitched: A fan sent you all these goat parts?

[What is your favorite wine varietal?] Ryan: Hmmmmmm... [Do you know what a varietal is?] Shane, with gusto: No!

Ryan: Wine to me is just wine at this point. I'm not that far on my wine journey. I was a beer guy that's transitioning over into wine. Shane: Well, it sounds like you're not doing a very good job. Ryan: You know what, I said I am LEARNING, Shane. So why don't you get off your high horse and tell them what kind of wine you like? Shane: I don't even know! Ryan: Mr. "I don't know what a wine varietal is" Shane: Yeah. But I don't call myself a wine guy Ryan: I never said I was a wine guy! I said I was-- Shane: You were like, "Oh, have you see that Netflix documentary, Sommelier?" Ryan: First off, I didn't say it like Elmo from Sesame Street, but I also said I was transitioning!

Shane: I like some red wines and some white wines Ryan, imitating him: I like the stuff with the alcohol in it...and sometimes it has bubbles and makes my tummy feel good and uhhhh, yeah Shane: Yeah, I don't really know... Ryan: Sick answer Shane: There's a kind my girlfriend always gets that's really good but I don't...I can't remember the name of it Ryan: That's a long name. That's actually a good name for a wine! The Kind My Girlfriend Gets, ever had it? They sell it at Trader Joe's. Shane: I'm not even trying to do like a...*weird cowboy voice* "I'm a man, so I don't drink wine. Only my girlfriend does." I like wine, I've just...I've never been good at wine. And wine makes me real sleepy, so I almost never have it. Ryan: That's why I don't drink red wine...and it also makes me look like I've been chewing on mud clots or something.

[What is one "unsolved" case that you're pretty sure you've solved?] Ryan: What was that one where I was like, I think I've pretty much solved this one? The Black Dahlia I'm pretty sure was George Hodel. I'm almost positive of it. Shane: Wasn't there like a missing child one that we thought we had sorta gotten? Bobby Dunbar Ryan: Bobby Dunbar. I think we had solved that one. Uh... Shane: We can never concretely say that we've solved it. Ryan: No, we can't legally, but I'm pretty sure D.B. Cooper's bones are an ornament in some pine tree out there in the Pacific Northwest [...] Shane: The case is pretty closed on Amelia Earhart, too. Ryan: I don't think so. Shane: Yeah, she got eaten by crabs. Ryan: I think it's closed in your mind. That's what you'd like to have happened. Shane: That's what happened. Ryan: Giant, man-eating crabs. It's amazing that those exist. I saw one dragging a coconut. Not hard to imagine that coconut being a head. Shane: Yeah. Of an aviatrix. Ryan: Of an aviatrix, yeah. The most famous aviatrix of all time!

Ryan: Fun fact, shaking my bones is what I call dancing.

Shane: I'll say that Ryan is 100% that bitch. Ryan: I'd say 0% actually. Shane: See, that's what makes you that bitch. Ryan, cracking up: What about you, Shane? Shane: Mm. 45.

Ryan: I don't know if people would like me walking into a room trumpeting "I'm 100% that bitch!" every time I walk in a room. I think there's nuance to it. You can't always be 100% that bitch. [...] Or if I'm trying to make an omelet and I can't make the flip...not 100% that bitch in that moment. I'll tell you, it's the bane of my existence Shane: You can't make an omelet? Ryan: It's impossible! Shane: It's not. Ryan: It's really hard! I don't think I have the proper pan. Shane: It sounds like you don't. Do you have a good spatula? Ryan: Maybe, I dunno... Shane: WHAT DO YOU MEAN MAYBE? DO YOU HAVE A GOOD SPATULA OR NOT? It’s a yes or no question! Ryan: I think it might be, I don't know! I have no idea where it came from, I got it from my mom. Maybe she bought it from Sur la Table? Shane: I was gonna say, go to *French accent* Sur la Table, get a little free espresso... [degenerates into arguing about French pronunciation]

Shane on working at Abercrombie: I was in the stock room, they didn't let me up front. Not my beat. [...] Me and my friends...would just hang out in the back and listen to music and eat cookie dough. And they'd be like "we need you to fold this box of girly shirts" and we'd be like "ah, okay!" and then we'd just take the box and be like "this is too many shirts." And we'd just throw it...this was the area like a loft area where you couldn't see anything. We'd just throw the boxes so we wouldn't have to fold the shirts. They're probably still there. Ryan: Sounds like you were a great employee.

Shane: I started as Buzzfeed as an intern. Ryan had started a month or two before me. So we came up in the same intern class together.

Ryan: I did grip and electric work for two years, which is basically like lifting heavy gear essentially on set and I realized I didn't want to do that for ten years before I even had the chance to sniff a camera.

Ryan: I filmed powerpoints for doctors...I did feel like a prisoner at times when I was there, listening to a doctor from USC's Keck medical school talk about irritable bowel syndrome for two straight hours...I was a couple days away from joining the union...That was concurrent with the irritable bowel syndrome filmings.

Ryan: I chose the internship at Buzzfeed not knowing what it was, met the Shaniac over here, and then, um...we went through that program, which was kind of like the Hunger Games. We saw all of our fellow interns die. [...] We worked our way up, I eventually made Unsolved.I made unsolved actually with a different host, Brent Bennett. He left the show because he didn't like...I believe the quote was "I don't like these stories anymore." Shane: *dies laughing* Ryan: And I turned to my right and was like, "hey Shane, wanna do this instead?" and he was like "sure" and that's that. And from then on I guess we never looked back.

[Shane, how do you feel about being the second choice?] Shane: I'm fine with it. Really, there was so little fanfare to him asking me. Ryan: No ceremony at all. Shane: 'Cause we were just making stuff left and right at that point and series were not really an established thing at Buzzfeed [...] Even when Ryan had asked me "hey, would you like to be in this?" uh...I was like "yeah, lemme..." Ryan says I checked my calendar. Ryan: Yeah, Shane looked over at his google calendar, saw that next week was open, and was like "yeah, looks like I've got some time" and I was like "sweet, lock it in" and he was like "cool." And then we both put our headphones back on 'cause we sat next to each other at a desk and worked on other things and that was that.

[What is some of the silliest feedback you've gotten about your show?] Ryan: Luckily the fan base is pretty nice. There's plenty of fun, positive comments out there, however, this is one that tickled me the most. A guy somehow found my personal email address and emailed me to let me know. He's like "hey man, love the videos, excellent content to get stoned to. Keep it up, cheers!" I don't know who this man was.

Shane: I do have some hope that Bigfoot is real. A little unlikely. The other one I always root for is Champ in Lake Champlain. Ryan: I don't know why you have such an obsession with Champ. [...] Shane: Champ...there seems to be something fishy going on there. There's something going on in that lake. Ryan: Good pun Shane: Not even. There's something going on there and I've seen that lake and I've looked out at that lake and I've felt something inside me just looking out at it. Ryan: You sure it wasn't just IBS? Shane: We've established that you're the one with IBS Ryan: I'm not the one with IBS! Shane: You joined the union! Ryan: You were the one who almost pooed your pants on an investigation Shane: That's a different story! Ryan: You ate two hot dogs that were served at the baggage claim in Philadelphia Shane: We. Were. Hungry.

Ryan on Dyatlov Pass: I'm gonna double down here. I think it was a yeti. Or, not a yeti. I think it was an abdominal snowman. Shane: Abominable. 

[borderline unintelligible banter about an incredibly ripped yeti doing crunches]

Shane: I'm very content with the mysteries of the universe never being uncovered. It's fine. Ryan: It's frustrating. Shane: You're gonna go to the grave not knowing so many things, so you might as well just give up on them. Ryan: Such a nihilistic way to look at everything.

Shane: If you know anyone who's traveling and they're your enemy, you just call the FBI and say "oh, they're up to no good up there." Ryan: If Shane was flying somewhere I could just say "yeah, I think he's dangerous. I know him. He's the guy who couldn't fit a hat on his big head."

[interlude where they decide to name an anonymous suspect Shane Ryanson]

Shane: It would be funny if this was like the highest escalation of a prank war between two friends Ryan: That'd be a hilarious prank, getting someone thrown into federal prison. Super funny. Gotcha!

Shane: If you're the kind of person who is likely to call in a threat to the FBI solely as a way to get a dig in at your friend, that probably stays with you for life. That's pretty hard-coded into who you are. Ryan: That's true. Especially when you look like an out of work Batman villain [...] If this dude walked into a 7-11, I would drop my Slurpee immediately and run to my car. He's a scary man. I'm out. Slurpee's on the floor.

Shane: I'll tell you this in defense of dolphins, they do have funny little smiles.

Shane, on breaking into Sea World: That seems like an extremely Australian thing to do.

Shane, googling fairy penguins: Yes, it's a wonderful little penguin! He's so small! Ryan: This is great, this is like a dark gritty reboot of Mr. Popper's Penguins.

Shane: Just...to meet someone, get along so well that you each drink a half a liter of vodka together and then go swimming with dolphins and blast some sharks with a fire extinguisher Ryan: ...and then decide, let's top off the night by bringing home a fuzzy little friend Shane: I mean, by that point you've got a winning streak going. You're like, "yeah, we didn't get eaten by sharks! we did swim with the dolphins! Of course we'll steal a penguin!”

Ryan: I bet the penguin actually helped the hangover, to be fair. If I was hungover, I normally just see my blinds shuttered in my room, my shoes are somewhere in the house, but if I found a penguin I'd be like "okay, maybe this isn't so bad." Shane: A rehabilitation penguin. He just hopes on your bed in the morning. Ryan: Just starts smacking me in the face with his little fins. It's great, I love it.

Shane: I think she shouldn't have killed her husband. Have a little faith in his worm farm.

[enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers]

A continuation of this

It was around 2am when Night eye reached the thought to be abandoned factory. He didn’t bother breaking into the factory itself, that’s for all of his nemesis’s inventions to be.

No, he went straight for the factory’s warehouse, where he suspected Artem’s living quarters were set up. With a criminal record like that, Night eye doubted Dr. Artem would manage to rent an apartment, civilian disguise or not. There is no way he could change himself without anyone recognising his voice.

He always enjoyed making everyone know he’s there, always so loud, always making sure every single civilian and hero from a five mile radius (it wasn’t a huge city) knew who he was and what was about to go down. Despite being able to perfectly fuse with shadows and darkness in general, he loved being in the spotlight. He thrived on all the people’s terrified faces, the terror in their eyes, knowing exactly what people are thinking, scared for their lives. It’s as if this was just a game for him, some form of entertainment he could watch back to himself on the tv at night. Night eye didn’t mind it that much, if he was being honest. Go ahead, call him selfish and full of himself. He might be a hero but he isn’t just a 100% pure, golden boy everyone thinks him to be. He craved attention more than anything, to be seen and heard and cared for, and if the hero business let him get that while also helping people and saving their lives, well, let’s just say he wont be retiring anytime soon.

“Huh..” weird… nearly all of the windows were open. Either Artem knew he was coming, or he just wanted some air. And as surprising as it might seem, the latter was more believable.

Night eye didn’t say a word about it during their last encounter, but Artem looked like shit. Dark circles hung below his tired eyes, and as much as he was trying to make up for it with his bantering, he couldn’t hide the fact that he was more exhausted than ever. They were both tired.

Maybe it’s better to just go home… it looked like Artem was serious about not wanting to do anything but sleep tonight. Maybe it really was time to take a day off work.

He stood up and stretched, and then, with magnificent grace, slipped and crashed through the window.

He doesn’t know how or why his legs decided this was such a great plan, but there is no going back now. Curse whoever designed this poor excuse of a building!

He landed with a loud and painful thud. He was lucky enough that Artem was not in the room currently, but he suspected a horde of guards might barge in any second now.

Not taking any chances of letting them know what came in through the window, he frantically searched through all the shit that was lying around in this corner of the room. He found a short stack of papers on a desk and a small rock.

He was confused for a second, then looked up from where he found the rock and saw a broken window, very lazily barricaded with a couple of wooden planks and duct tape. An evil genius inventor who fixes windows like this had a certain charm to them, that is no doubt, but he still had very little time before the guards came rushing in.

Night eye made quick work of getting his pen out of his pocket (every superhero had one with themselves for the fans, don’t judge him) and hastily tried to write a few threatening lines on it. He used some of the remaining duct tape from the same desk to carefully attach the note to the rock, and placed it in a decent spot so it looked like a full grown man totally didn’t just make their biggest fuck up in history, but another villain was screwing with them.

He didn’t know if his nemesis had any complications with other villains in town, but his thoughts halted just right then, as a single henchman slowly opened the door and poked their head in, just right after he successfully lunged in a not-so-great-but-will-do-for-now hiding spot. Their eyes settled on the rock, and thankfully not on the small piece of his cape hanging out from his hiding spot, because wow, yeah, Night eye really was getting out of shape.

“Ugh, it’s another one of these!” They shouted as they picked up and held up the rock to show to the person on the other side of the doorway. “Looks like we wont be sleeping anytime soon…” Henchman added. A loud, tired and dramatic sigh was heard as Dr. Artem entered the room.

“Oh come on, this is the seventh one this week! The hell does he want now?” He asked his servant. ‘Him?’ What does he mean by him? So he IS having some complications with another villain! But what complications? Well maybe if you’d stop your stupid internal monologue, you’d hear a damn thing he’s saying!

“I don’t get it, we already gave him what he asked for!” He said with a whine and sighed. “What does this one say?” Artem took a few more steps toward his henchman, already looking frustrated and anxious.

“Hmm… weird,” “Just spit it out already, Lye.” Ordered Artem at his henchman, Lye it seems, “Huh, looks like empty threats to me. Almost fake? I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Lye furrowed his brows. “Fake?” Artem idly wondered as he looked up at the window. What’s with all this brow furrowing? Now Artem is doing it too… What are they thinking about??

Night eye remained still, already not liking how his nemesis was looking at the gigantic hole he made in the window. He started sweating, his heartbeat syncing up with the echoes of the supervillain’s boots on the dusty floor.

It stopped. He stopped.

Somehow that just made it worse.

Maybe it wasn’t the best choice of action to hide behind the flimsiest pile of cardboard boxes.

He could only make out the bastard’s shadow, leaning forward. The silhouette of his head changed, puffed up slightly, indicating that damned, annoying, smug smile of his had just appeared on his face.

As if things couldn’t have gotten worse, Night eye very quickly realized why he was getting more and more worked up. Dr. Artem can manipulate and become shadows. He can see him. He can see him and he’s smiling at him and Night is screwed.

“Well well well, how nice of you to drop in,” He said with a honey covered tone, so sweet and so cold at the same time. And so so awful because that stupid pun nearly made him smile too.

He watched him step out of the wall, out of his own shadow (Which Night eye was still not used to, by the way, it’s quite terrifying) and kneeling down before the now very very embarrassed superhero.

“You know, I was telling the truth back there.” “For once.” Night eye quickly cut in Artem’s word, which he only found amusing. “Yes, well, you see, I have quite a busy schedule ahead, and none of it involves you. For once.” He added the last bit with an evil purr. They were very close. Oh god they were very close and he couldn’t not think about it and this idiot decided this was a good time to be flirting again. Curse him. Curse his evilness and curse his stupid smile and his genius inventions and his well thought out plans and his cute face wHICH WAs very close and- “Now, as much as I like seeing your red, flustered face, I have some very important matters to attend to.” He gave him one last smug look before he stood up. “Another one of your evil schemes for your oh so busy schedule?” He tried for some banter but he was suddenly met with a very tired and serious enemy, and a flat answer. “Sleep.”

With that Artem turned on his heel, all the flirty glances and flustering words vanished, and asked Lye to tie Night eye up and get him in a cell.

No. He wasn’t having any of this. He wasn’t even captured damnit, he had no idea why he just sat there and listened to his enemy’s words without doing a damn thing. He lunged at Lye, the poor boy not even expecting it was quickly knocked out. Night eye made a run for the exit, and while on his way there, he only caught a fleeting glimpse of Dr. Artem through the small hallway, looking back at him with a very tired expression, one hand still on the doorframe, and the quickest, smallest of smiles made its way onto his face. It wasn’t a malicious one, like during their battles, it wasn’t a teasing smirk like the ones in their random flirting fits. It was a small, content, genuine smile.

Yep, that man was really out of it, it seems.

Night eye nearly ran face first into the wall next to the exit door, but thankfully he managed not to embarrass himself even more today.

Maybe they both were.

Night got home around 3am. He sat down at his desk, trying to remember what information he got out of this… interaction. His nemesis has got some beef with another villain, he’s super exhausted, and he better not do that shadow trick ever again because it makes his spine crawl. Plus his hideout is in the old factory and the warehouse. Just like he should’ve suspected but was too dumb to do so.

Well, there goes his good night’s sleep.

He will have to investigate further though, now that he knows where the other lives.

——————————

It was 4:30am.

His back ached, along with his eyes and head.

He had been sitting at his desk for hours, already lost track of time. Just when he thought his headache couldn’t get any worse, his door slowly creaked open. “Sir? I’ve looked through the reports, none of them states Meghan’s activities clearly.” Lye sighed tiredly.

“Ugh, of course that snake would cover up his tracks everywhere…” Artem was at a loss of what to do. Not only was one of the biggest supervillains in town out to get him, but he also had to take care of his nemesis so he wouldn’t get involved.

Meghan and superheroes were a touchy subject. It was all over the news, the day a hero got brutally murdered by a gang of supervillains. Supervillains led by Meghan, of course. If a hero was naive enough, or had a heart of gold, they stood no chance.

He was more than a villain. He was a monster. And he was coming for him.

He knew it was a bad sign when Meghan visited him in jail, tried to kill him right then and there, because it wasn’t a real attempt. It was a warning. Not just any warning, a warning that meant you’ve crossed the line and you’re done for.

As of what line he’d crossed, Artem had no idea. They made a deal, everything was taken care of, and they agreed to go on their separate ways.

But of course, Meghan wanted something else, which Artem could never give him.

Himself.

He doesn’t know if he meant as a henchman, or a lab rat, or whatever else, but he was in danger.

And of course, of fucking course, his little golden boy is too stubborn to take a small break and let things play out between the two evildoers so he doesn’t risk his life.

Artem put down the papers on his desk. He was working all night, reading thorugh every single report he could find, to maybe get an idea about what Meghan was planning for him. With each minute passing, his anxiety got worse and worse, constantly feeling he’s just wasting time until it’s too late. The shaking was getting worse, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think-

Knocking.

Small, faint, knocking.

Lye froze beside him. He slowly got up from his desk, head pounding, heart beating faster than ever. The knocking did not get any louder or quieter. Just the same three low knocks repeating again and again, getting more and more unsettling.

No, no please not now-

The knocking stopped. Everything stopped, the sounds, his own breathing, his cognitive thought process- even time itself. It stopped.

Somehow that just made it worse.

———————————

Oof my boy’s in trouble, hopefully I wont be too cruel in the next chapter.

Also if you liked this and have ideas for other snippets, my inbox is always open for hero x villain requests! And if you lke this story I’m writing with my characters, please let me know if you’d like to see what happens next to them!

(Constructive criticism is always welcome)

[lightningcritter]

Up Ladybug, got a goal, we’ll be fine some day, together

Hello @tbriddle! Thank you so much for your understanding, patience and kindness these past few months. It really meant a lot. This fic detailing two drabbles on the relationship of our favorite ladybug and cat is dedicated to you as a secret santa gift, I hope you enjoy it!

Also big thanks to @secret-pv-presents! It was a pleasure writing for such an amazing event and thank you so much for your kindness and patience. I hope you enjoy the read!

The title is a lyric from the original Ladybug PV.

Bridgette & Felix

“ALLEGRAAaaaAAA!!” Was all the warning the blonde got before being bombarded by Bridgette, who insisted on putting all of her weight in her hugs. Allegra laughs, stumbling a little under the sudden weight, but she is not one to be deterred as she hefts the smaller Asian girl onto her back. Without a delay in her steps, she continues walking.

“Noooooooooooooooo” Bridgette whines, wriggling to get off. “Okay, okay, we get it! You’re tall! Now let me down!!”

“Oh nonono. I don’t think so.” Allegra only laughs, blowing some of her bangs out of her face. “Careful, don’t want to fall in the fountain again.” 

“That was only once!” She exclaims, but ceases struggling. Not without puppy eyes, the best that Paris has ever seen. “Oh fine.” Her friend rolls her eyes, releasing Bridgette who cheers.

“By the way, have you heard?”

“Hm?” Bridgette hums. She has a pretty good idea what Allegra is going to tell her, but plays along. 

“Another man went missing.” Allegra exclaims as they round the corner, walking up a street. The absence of sun from the tall business building shadowing this street seemed to suck away the warmth from the sun. Bridgette finds herself gently rubbing her arms, feeling the goosebumps under her fingers.

“The fourth one in just two days! His name is Henry Bisset. But get this, people say that they saw another of those magicky pillars near where he was last seen. They think that maybe he made a deal with the devil.”

“Is it confirmed that the magick pillar and missing man are linked or is it just speculation?” Bridgette says, tugging on her backpack straps as she hops onto the stone staircase. She squints at the light that shines past some chimneys as they walk up. 

“Because he could be a victim of The Mime or that weird pigeon guy.” Bullsh*t. Bridgette, or rather Ladybug, knows that the pillar of magic only appeared when the man in white corrupted a person. She saw it happen in front of her eyes as the man in white transformed a distraught father into his most dangerous subordinate, the Mime. That incident, the outstretched fingers of the man who whispered ‘help me’ before being overtaken by the pillar of light, is one she will never forget. “Like a hostage situation or something.”

“Like he might be linked to Ladybug and Chat Noir?” Allegra inquires. In that thoughtful tone of hers like she might do some investigating or something, which is dangerous especially since she is the very competent heir of the Golden Musician magic- Bridgette quickly backtracks as she scoffs, waving a hand as she hops up onto the last step to the top of the staircase. “NAH. No way! If he did, I’m sure Ladybug and Chat Noir would have done more than just snooping around and then calling it a night!”

Allegra glances to her friend, a little bemused by her strong reaction. “Yes. You may be right… Why do you thi-” She was cut off as Bridgette suddenly jumped with a happy squeal which can only meant that she found something delicious to eat, an extremely good fabric on sale… or she spotted Felix. Allegra follows her line of sight and just shakes her head with a smile. Definitely the last option.

“Oh my sTARS, Allegra! Isn’t he just so elegant?! How does he do it, this early in the morning!?” Allegra tried to look at Felix through Bridgette’s very literal heart eyes, but just couldn’t. He seems tired and grouchy as usual, almost a bit skittish. He is holding a sizable coffee cup alongside his usual book- a new one this time judging by the red cover- and is sporting eye bags that could easily rival Bridgette’s after a creative-driven night of frenzy designing. His hair and clothes were immaculate as usual. 

Right now, he was just cupping his coffee cup in his sweater-covered hands, glaring at the lack of a Java jacket like it was the source of his problems. “His sweater paws are so cute!” Ah, Bridgette has already noticed, now just cupping her face and now waving her hand in the air at Felix as she skipped over. Allegra in tow, sisters in arms, of course. “FELIX!!! GOOD MORNING!!” 

He jumps at the sudden sound, the cup almost sliding out of his hand before Bridgette catches it, poking it back into his hands. “Bridgette, can you not yell this early in the morning? It hurts my head. I think my ears are ringing.” Allegra wonders how out of it he is that his Bridgette sensor didn’t go off. His Bridgette sense was more accurate than ever these days and Allegra has not missed his quiet, warm looks directed at her before Bridgette eventually finds him.

“You sure it’s just the volume and not the capital letters?” Bridgette teases back, her face lit up with a smile. Felix merely rolls his eyes with the poorly concealed fondness that came from the soft spot he has for Bridgette, just taking a sip in response. He greets Allegra with a polite nod which she returns with a friendly wave. 

It was a peaceful walk to the school from that point, as Allen joined when they passed by his usual morning bakery stop, and the peace quickly turned into back-and-forth banter when Claude joined, popping out from some trees like the tall gremlin he is.

Bridgette couldn’t help her wide smile and the skip in her step, happy and feeling at peace with her friends. She laughs cheerily at a musical pun Allen directed towards Melodie, who smacked him in the arm with her flute case. 

Felix, engrossed in the verbal cat fight with Claude as he is, shared the same sentiment. Even while quickly finishing the coffee with the amount of angry sips taken from it.

This didn’t escape Bridgette’s notice but classes started before she could say anything. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any morning classes together.

“You drank that coffee so fast I was worried that you were going to crash before lunch.” Bridgette comments from behind, skipping until she was walking right beside him as they maneuvered through the hallway. Although their school boasted wider hallways than her old school, so it wasn’t a big deal. Felix envies her seemingly boundless energy. “You’d be surprised how long a single cup of coffee can sustain a person.”

“With six shots of espresso in it? I should never have had any doubt.” She giggles. Felix lets out a breath of laughter. 

“Do you want to get lunch together, Felix?” Bridgette suddenly blurts out followed by an uncharacteristic shyness as she nervously plays with the end of one of her twintails. Felix notices how pink the girl’s cheeks had become and was unsurprised to feel his own heart rate picking up a notch. Bridgette glances up at him, delightedly smiling a bit at the tint of pink on his cheeks. 

“Of course.” He responds almost immediately. He held his thermos of tea tighter in his hands, staring down determinedly at the curling bit of steam, the heat drawing out of the pink color in his cheeks. To think there was a time where Felix would sneak around the lycee in a mission to avoid Bridgette.

“I was thinking of a quaint Italian deli found the other day tucked over where you can see the Eiffel Tower. I remember you saying that you really like sandwiches.” He didn’t mention that he only knew about it because Chat Noir had slipped on an unlucky loose brick and crashed into the outdoor sitting area when battling with the Mime yesterday night. Er, this morning. At 3am.

“Yes!!” Bridgette cheers, both fists pumping in the air. “I love sandwiches!” 

Ladybug & Chat Noir

There’s some kind of irony to describe this situation. Some cruel irony that only the Fate that encouraged him to put on the Black Cat ring could… inspire. Were Felix in any other situation, he could spit out bitter poetry that could properly express any and all of his emotions with a dramatic flair. Bridgette knows, having been the willing but unfortunate audience to Fellix’s hissy fits on missions and school assignments alike. 

The cathedral around them was falling fast, pieces of rubble and broken purple stained glass reflecting the fading red and green light as their transformations whittled away to Bridgette and Felix. Like some kind of macabre imitation of the red and green Christmas lights that still lit up the rest of Paris.

Bridgette looked up and found Felix’s face a breath away from hers, his green eyes shining as they met her own brown eyes. This time there was no magicked haziness that hurt their eyes and their brains. They saw each other as plain as day, even as their surroundings grew dark again.

“I knew it.” Bridgette whispered through cracked lips, a soft wheeze. Her heart pounded as she drew a long, slow breath to calm her heart. It didn’t do much, her head still spun with a dizziness that wasn’t just from blood loss as she gently pushed herself up. 

“I… didn’t.” He replied, almost instantly, his soft tone relaxing Bridgette’s nerves a little. A tremor went through his normally still soul, leaving his face frozen in shock and his hands trembling as he rifled through past memories. This revelation suddenly filled in all the holes and answered all the questions he had about Bridgette’s timely appearances and Ladybug’s mannerisms; their faces are the exact same! He almost wants to smack himself for not making connections sooner.

He realizes that he has been staring at her for too long. And realizes that she was also staring at him, her gaze flitting about his face as if she was making the same connections that he was. 

His other hand still holding her shoulders to him gently rose to her face, brushing loose strands from her face. “There.” He says, tilting his head until his forehead rested to hers, unwilling to be far from the person he thought he just lost. 

“I did have my suspicions.” He finally admitted in the silence. He saw her blink, her lips curving in a familiar smug grin.

“Before I tricked you to think they were wrong.” His face finally changes to that familiar grumpy cat look. She couldn’t help her laugh, although its usual boisterous volume was quieted by her fractured ribs. 

Felix didn’t move though and just held her gaze as if seeing her again for the first time when they met under the big new moon on that rickety rooftop with tall winding chimneys. The trust and relief in his eyes caught her breath, soothing what doubt churned in her chest.

“Let’s talk about this later.” She says with a smile, bringing up her hand to her ear. “Tikki, spots on.” Her earrings hummed, flashing pink light again as Tikki whirled out of the earrings happily laughing as she flew in fast circles above their heads, leaving behind glowing red dust as it settled over the two, bringing them off the ground buoyantly. Felix watched with wide eyes, speechless, as Bridgette floating higher. The pink dust hovered in the air for only a moment, moving like little shooting stars before it coalesced over her mundane clothes. When the light faded, there stood Ladybug. Felix smiled. The red mask brought out her determined, impossible blue eyes, her suit highlighting the stance of utmost confidence.

He realizes he was staring as he sheepishly ran his hand through his hair. “What?”

“Nothing.” She laughs in such a genuine and whole way like she always does. It felt right and he returned her laughter with a soft smile. He extends his hand, gently squeezing hers and gently pulls her back to the ground. He looks over what’s left of the cathedral foyer, the shattered glass and rubble made it a precarious journey starting with the pieces of colorful ceiling that trapped them. A piece of cake for them, though. 

Ladybug reaches up, her hand brushing his as the curious spherical red-and-black disc transforming itself into a hefty pickaxe in her other hand. “Maybe I should take a look, we probably wouldn’t want to touch an unlucky spot.”

He takes her gloved hand and places a soft kiss on her palm, grinning at her flustered face. “Or perhaps, my Lady, your advantage is that you’re short.” He can’t help laughing as Ladybug lets out an indignant squawk, scuffing her fist against his arm.

“Plagg.” The ring pulses three times, releasing an eerie glow of deep purple, black and green in waves, as Plagg whirled out of the ring cackling. “It was about time, Felix, do YOU know how tORtuROus it was??” 

“The only time anything isn’t torturous for you is when you’re gorging yourself on cheese.” He responds dryly, to which Plagg only hovers upside, stretching not unlike a cat as his permanent grin only widens.

“Or napping.”

“Hello Ladybug.” Plagg waves a lazy paw. She looks up from where she was prying apart wooden panels, where moonlight was leaking through. “Hey~” She winks.

And before Plagg could open his big mouth, Felix thrust his arm forward, the ring facing Plagg. “Claws out.” He grins. Plagg pouts, kitten eyes shining before spiraling in the ring. Flashes of purple-black light explodes outward as he closes his hand into a fist. Felix closes his eyes, feeling his breath rush out of him as the light solidifies into encompassing bubbles that merge with his dark clothes, melting into the familiar stealth armor he preferred.

Ladybug watched his transformation with a fond smile and held a hand out when his eyes opened again, sweeping it dramatically to the opened doors. He took her invitation as they both jumped out of the chasm made by his Cataclysm, the two of them bouncing up amongst rubble and jutting stone until all that was in their view was the open Parisian city they loved. 

Ladybug had gotten there first. Her fists clenched by her side, narrowed eyes taking in the challenge to war. Chat Noir walked up to where she stood on the sloped roof, resting a foot on the apex, his hands resting almost leisurely on his sides. 

The first thing they saw was the Papillon miraculous’s symbol imprinted on the sky, flaring the telltale miraculous light. Impossibly white, murky with bright colors. 

The moonlight that had peaked through the doors was gone, instead, rolling clouds pulsing with magic were quickly moving across the Parisian sky. Sparks of fire and pillars of Papillon miraculous magic lit up the red city, casting light on the blimps that blared the purple Papillon miraculous symbol. Neither Ladybug nor Chat Noir have seen so many pillars of magic activated.

Charged wind blew around eerily, the sounds of shouting, crying and sirens filling the air. “This is a declaration of war.” Noir notes. Suddenly a sharp wind picked up while hot air blasted up from her feet. Neither Ladybug nor Chat Noir moved as their hair and ribbons danced and flipped in the gale. As one, they looked down over the edge of the roof.

And before their very eyes, a giant blimp rises from a pit in the cobblestone streets, its giant butterfly symbol looming over them as it lifts off into the sky floating forward toward the Eiffel Tower like a shark in the water.

Ladybug only turns her head to him, a determined smile on her face. He looks over to her, his eyes thoughtful and calculating. Her phone was already out in her hand, the call activated in the group chat. “We won’t hesitate either.”

[imuybemovoko]

My beliefs now

I set this blog up for a bunch of different purposes including conlangs/worldbuilding stuff, my writing, and my views on religion and maybe also politics. So far, mostly, I’ve ranted a lot about the beliefs I left behind. Now that I’ve let that particular sketchy brand of Christianity, now that I’ve discovered the ways it and my conservative family background were probably turning me into a fascist while I was still in all that, I figure I might as well try to hash out where I stand now. I’m around eleven months out from my deconversion, and a lot has already changed. I might try to attempt a before and after thing but there’s a lot to unpack about how I used to think and I’m not sure I’ve understood everything yet. I think I made the mistake of thinking that not very long before that repressed memory about “Sharon” and her Jonah display came crashing back in March. This is current to late July 2020 and may not include everything. 

So without any further ado, let’s talk background. First, some things I’ve already either mentioned or given more than enough evidence for. I used to be a Christian fundamentalist. (Clearly. I rant about it a lot.) I got into that because I was raised religious, then let myself fall right the fuck into what I’ll call “deep end lite” shortly before senior year in high school. Some local churches in my small town arranged a missions trip thing and the way I agreed to go along felt in the moment like surrendering to a voice that’s been speaking to me all along. In ...a way, it was. Just not the voice I thought. I’m pretty sure I didn’t want this god, at any point like ever, until that little part of me whispered that it would be easier to accept him. I have a megathread document that I’ve stored a lot of my “God stories” from my time as a Christian in. Unfortunately I didn’t remember many specific details of this experience to write down in there, but I did write a bit of a “life-story” thing that reminds me that, chronologically, that happened after a period of focused attempts by the church to indoctrinate me, some traumatic things my family did, social struggles, and feeling like an asshole because of things I’d done in the past. I remember having this growing sense over the previous year that I was approaching some kind of very dangerous breaking point, to the point where (trigger warning: mental instability, school shooter mention. Please either stop here or skip to where it says “in other words” in the next paragraph after this if that’s going to be an issue. It also keeps getting dark from there for a minute. Please, please tread with care if you need to. There is no shame at all if this becomes too much. Take care of yourself first and foremost.) 

when discussing how I came to accept the faith, I told some of my Christian friends that I felt like there was a scary chance of me becoming a school shooter. I think this may have been a post-hoc projection, but I can’t quite be sure of that. I was in a bad place for a bit there in high school. I had a wild temper and some sketchy intrusive thoughts.

In other words, it hit at a perfect moment of weakness. That’s how oppressive forms of spirituality function, it’s how hate groups function... it’s a massive shit cocktail and I found a pretty bad influence in the form of people who promote that whole “born again experience” thing in Christianity. I’d say I’m glad I missed out on being dragged into a fascist ideology this way, but uh... I’m no longer convinced I didn’t grow up around something like that. More later. 

From there I spiraled my way through my first attempts at college through the university’s chapter of the Chi Alpha campus ministry and, peripherally through that, Assemblies of God (holy shit those guys are wild), then through a local Baptist church (more peripherally) and Calvary Chapel (I was a worship guitarist here for like 18 months and helped with their youth ministry for almost as long) closer to home and a CRU chapter at my community college. With each passing year I slipped further and further into this weird shame-induced funk where I got like... addicted to Jesus and hated myself or something. It’s a bit hard to find words that don’t take multiple entire extra pages and I want to be concise, so I’ll simply call it “Jesus-flavored depression” for brevity and because that was enough of a genuinely bad time (and I’m still fucked up enough) that I might need some fairly serious therapy.

Near the end of 2018 I was reaching a breaking point, wondering why nothing ever seemed to change in my life from “sexual sin” (...which in my case literally consisted of being attracted to women and occasional self-pleasure, but they literally teach you to hate yourself for less than that in the spicier churches rip) to my direction in life to how trapped I felt by my family. I also started to have more questions about the violence in the Bible and some of the sketchier doctrines, and that was strongly reinforced by some of the things I saw in a creative writing class I took, including an atheist who shared a story of a profoundly negative experience involving being taught about hell at a very young age. All that led to the absolute disaster that was December 2018. It was my last semester at the community college I went to. Finals week was a fucking disaster, and the week before that too, and my grades were really good but at great cost. I won’t go into a ton of detail because 1. space concerns and 2. this time is still damn painful to discuss, but just know that I’m unconvinced I’d have survived that month without this song. (Yes, that’s Paramore. Shut up xD they’re still good.) I looped it for like three days straight and I think it was just enough to keep me going through what was the third time I had any suicidal kind of thoughts ever and by far the worst and longest period of it so far.

So the next several months (and I won’t go into a ton of detail about this, I intended this post more to describe my current position and I don’t wanna get too in the weeds with background) were a confusing period of questioning, starting with, of all things, my family dynamic. The spiral after the week before finals was ...considerably worsened by some comments my dad made, and between that and some experiences in the past that the creative writing class I took that fall reminded me of, I was exposed to a bit of a deeply toxic pattern. I might discuss that more deeply in another post, but for now suffice it to say that extensive youtube binges and some other research between about January and March told me the situation is probably adjacent to pathological narcissism in some way. I brought some of this up to the church I was attending at the time (a small town Calvary Chapel, if I haven’t mentioned that already) and their responses were ...inconsistent. Some people blamed me, some people said “oh dang your dad is abusive”, and some people took the “your parents are trying their best” tack. In retrospect I think that made me doubt if God’s messaging to these people could really be trusted. Then, in about April, the question of hell came up again. I was helping in the church’s budding youth ministry at the time and we had about four regular attendees between the ages of 12 and 18. There were about three weeks in a row when one of the other adults (I’ll call her Kelly for the purposes of not doxxing; also more on her later) talked at length about how unbelief leads to hell. I remembered that atheist from creative writing, made the connection to these four kids, and thought, “what the hell are we doing?” (Pun not intended but rather convenient.) I immediately backed down from my role in the youth ministry, citing other equally valid but less pressing reasons involving stress from the issues with my dad, and tried to go on with life. But the floodgates were open. 

In late May or early June, I was staring out a window one morning and suddenly a question crossed my mind unbidden: “Is God a narcissist?” I thought back to a relatively recent sermon by the associate pastor in which he explained that the purpose of the world was “for God’s glory”, to some apparent sudden flights of rage, and some other factors in the scriptures, and thought, “holy shit, I need to investigate this, because God is also very adjacent to narcissism.” It took a hot minute for the ball to really get rolling with that, but once it did... I came to a point by late June or early July where I delivered an ultimatum to God, something to the tune of “Ok, either show me how all these questions I have can be answered beyond a doubt or I’m done.” 

There was no answer. 

God was silent during this time, and the people in the church were shocked that I had the questions I did and either concerned or ...rather spicy. I joined an ex-Christian discord server to aid in a proper, thorough investigation. I aired my questions both there and on a Christian discord server. The Christian server was toxic as fuck and the ex-Christians started making a crazy amount of sense. I watched some videos from Cosmic Skeptic and TheraminTrees (most notably the latter’s deconversion story) for new perspectives and, by mid-August, had crashed out of the faith altogether.

So the last time I ever stepped into a church with the intent of attending service (I showed up after once in January of 2020 to kinda let them know and that went pretty badly lol) was about two weeks before I started college again in the fall. I burned all but one of my Bibles and a collection of gospel tracts I never did anything else with and stylized it like my limited understanding of what a satanic/pagan ritual looked like, complete with a chant in my conlang Aylaan for a more personal twist because of course, to feel edgy. (I did a lot of kind of weird shit to feel edgy; that’s one of two of them I’m sure I don’t regret.) And after that, things got ...ah, confusing?

Because of course when the linchpin of your understanding of the world gives way, everything becomes fucked for a hot minute. 

So the first thing that happened was a couple months of anxiety and confusion. I slowly started to deconstruct my inherited political views too. (More on that later.) Then I had this really beautiful interesting moment in late September where I walked past a tree on the way to a class and had a sudden realization that I didn’t have to force the tree into a Christian framework anymore, it was just a beautiful mass of green shit and cellulose. I could appreciate it in whatever way I felt was best. I damn near broke down crying in the bathroom before class, it hit me that hard. So that’s fun xD

Since then I’ve kinda gone through a bunch of funky phases with this, including a couple of months of fairly salty atheism. Along with that process, I started questioning my sexuality in December (more on that in another post in a minute lmao it’s a trip) and literally shredding my politics in the face of Trump being a crackhead in a dangerous position getting away with confirmed illegal shit, COVID-19 and the ...dehumanizing responses of corporations and their sponsored politicians, and then what I noticed about the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd and the fallout from that. (In a nutshell, holy FUCK there’s a huge problem and it’s messed up that people don’t see it.) At this point, I’m socially progressive and pretty left leaning. I don’t know what the hell to do about it or how either other than some of the tense discussions I’ve been having, but I’d like to work against racism and discrimination too. So that’s cool and a lot better than where I was... 

which... I regret deeply.

I don’t know exactly how to define my old political views, and they were marked by considerable cognitive dissonance. I’ll try to illustrate this as best I can but I don’t know what label I can use. Here goes. 

Cursed images aside, I think the best way to explain this is through some background, i.e. what my parents believe, because my beliefs were largely inherited. 

This might be majorly over-simplified and based on what I remember of my own pre-deconstruction views and what I hear them say lately. I’m doing my best, but take it with a grain of salt. Basically, it seems like they walk this weird line between constitutionalist and very authoritarian that I see a hell of a lot of in rural America. Kinda like the Republic party used to before they yeeted into Trump’s mindfuck wholeheartedly. They’re homophobic to a rather alarming degree (more on that in another post soon) and not ...overtly Christian-supremacist but you can tell that their ethics are dripping with it and they’re terrified of Islam and they’d like to legislate some aspects of Christian morality. They also support the second amendment, which is the one thing I still agree with them on that I’m aware of, but they take it to more of an extreme than I’m willing to. For further ...flavor, they also reject the premise that parts of our society are systemically racist (and maybe also the idea that such a thing is even possible because of course), subscribe to the “bootstrap theory” for everything they can think to apply it to, reject climate science, and have been extremely conspiratorial about COVID-19. Also they like making it out like everything is a Democrat conspiracy theory, compare the Democrats to Hitler and Stalin to a weird degree, have on at least one occasion called Fox Motherfucking News left-leaning, and think Alex Jones is wacky but sometimes raises valid points. 

So that’s, in a nutshell, a bit of a look at my past political views, except I think I was a bit more Christian-dominionist than them and I think I had moments of “...does this really make any sense?” for years before I crashed out of everything. The first domino was my Christianity, but once that fell, my entire approach to the world went some places. 

So ...yeah. Oof. I was sketchy as shit. Glad that’s changed. 

So uh... I’ve already mentioned a vague (read: as much detail as I feel confident providing) description of my political views now, but after all this bullshit let’s finally get to the other half of my titular current beliefs. This ...isn’t going to be easy to explain either, but I feel more confident going into more detail. Buckle up :^)

Alright. So except for a couple of months where I was like “there is no god reeee” half because I was sOmE hYpErInTeLlEcTuAl SkEpTiC and half because of trauma from the toxic flavor of Christianity I left and some shitty developments in both politics and my social circles (I’ll talk at some length about “Kelly” in a sec here I think), since leaving Christianity I’ve always been what I’ll call “hopeful agnostic” (I think I stole this term from Rhett and/or Link lol). In a nutshell, what that means to me is “there may or may not be a god, but I hope there is at least one and they’re nice, or like, at least some spiritual thing that has a good aspect that can help me”. I also dabble in shitty rituals where I burn dead plants and occasionally also hate literature like gospel tracts (and, that one time, a couple of bibles) and basically call on “anyone who is listening and gives a fuck, else the placebo effect” for whatever my goal is. Like... witchy-adjacent but I don’t think about it very much at this stage. I kind of enjoy it, and I think for one reason or another it can be good for my mental health, but I’m wary of any kind of commitment or even more serious experimentation, even as I hope to find something good, because ...trauma, and maybe even absent that a desire to not be wrong in a way that’s dangerous to anyone else again. So that’s fun :^)

So if you’ve made it this far through this weird bullshit, thanks, this story is kind of important to me xD and if you couldn’t, and you’re not reading this ending thingy because it got too dark or it pissed you off or something, that’s cool too and you’re beautiful and valid. Whoever you are, I hope you find whatever healing you need. :)

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 19: yeah there’s actually still one last little bit of investigation left in this case. I’m sorry too. Now who wants backstory for side characters in a DLC case!

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

For all her bluff and bluster about getting back to investigating in the face of Blackquill’s disdain, Athena doesn’t seem to have a clue what they should do next. She tromps in stocking feet back into the aquarium, Phoenix and Pearl trailing behind her, and stares at a poster on the wall with life cycle facts about penguins for five minutes before she suggests that they go visit Sasha, because if Blackquill was here, then he had to be done interrogating her, right?

Pearl remains behind at the aquarium to get settled in, and Athena complains the whole drive to the detention center because Phoenix made her put her wet shoes back on instead of driving barefoot. “I’m wearing tights!” she insists. “It’s not barefoot!”

“Shoes, kiddo.”

“They’re wet! It’s gross!”

“Should’ve thought of that before you threw a bucket of water at a witch.” Or whatever he is. Fae-adjacent, the same vague broad classification to encompass Phoenix and Trucy and Klavier and Thalassa. Apollo’s not quite there yet.

“Wicked witch of the bench afraid he’d melt if it hit him, you think?” She steps out onto the parking lot asphalt and winces at the tiny rocks digging into her feet. “Okay,” she sighs. “Shoes.”

As they wait at the detention center for Sasha to be brought out, Athena turns, very seriously, to Phoenix. “Alright, Boss, we’ve gotta cheer Sasha up! If you’re feeling bad about the investigation, don’t you dare show it!”

The door on the other side of the glass opens and an officer escorts Sasha in. She wears a grin on her face but has a wild look in her eyes. “Ahoy, me buckos! Worry ye not about me! My spirits be good and ol’ Prosecutor Nostache won’t keep me down!”

“Uh.” Athena blinks and turns to Phoenix. He shrugs. 

Sasha’s entire posture collapses. “Well that was an anchor,” she says. “Straight to the bottom. I wanted to make you feel better for all the trouble I’m causing…”

“We were hoping to cheer you up,” Athena says. 

“Maybe you both can just act natural,” Phoenix says. Not that telling anyone to “act natural” ever leads to any normal or natural behaviors. Certainly not if he ever told Maya that, though after the first time he learned to add the qualifier “act what might be natural for a human”. 

“Anyway.” Athena inhales deeply and the large, forced smile that she had put on calms down into something still friendly, still smiling, but closer to neutral, and much more natural. “What we’re here for, Sasha, is to tell you that we’d like to represent you in court tomorrow!”

“What!” Sasha shoves herself backward from the sill, her chair screeching horribly across the floor until it gets stuck, and she still pushing tips herself and the chair over backwards, thudding out of sight to the ground.

“Sasha?” Phoenix asks. “Is - is something wrong?”

She doesn’t stand back up. Athena pushes herself up on the sill and presses her forehead against the glass, trying to peer down to see if she’s okay. “Pros - Prosecutor Blackquil s-said--” Sasha’s shaking, shuddering breathing interrupts her words. “Said that you w-wouldn’t show up. You’d abandon me.” She’s definitely crying now, loudly and messily. “And you’re here! You - you’re - you’re h-here. To rescue me.” She rights the chair, rubbing tears off of her cheeks and out of her bloodshot eyes. 

“No, Sasha!” Athena still has her face up close to the glass and she presses her palms up against it, too. “We would never! Even Prosecutor Blackquill should know that! I would never! Don’t cry!” The next loud sniffling comes from Athena.

Oh boy. 

“These are happy tears.” And Sasha is smiling, beaming really, even blinking furiously to stop further tears from falling. “I’m so so glad I met you both! For Orla and me a-and—” Another shaky breath stops her for a moment. “Okay. I’m okay. I’m okay! You’ve probably got questions, right? Fire away!”

What she tells them of cleaning the orca pool that early morning is a review of what they’ve already heard, up to the point that she readily tells them she was arguing with the captain. She talks more about Orla’s tricks, says that the calendar with the seven am meeting with the captain is definitely not hers, and when they tell her that they dropped off her medications - it was Fulbright who tasked them with this, but it still had to be cleared with the prison so that they know no one is trying to smuggle in something illegal like white powder (Apollo is way too straight-laced for an Anything Agency and it’s hilarious every time he smacks inconsequentially up against that wall) - she starts getting weird. Like she’s trying to distract them from the fact that she’s on medication at all, which isn’t really working. “Are you sick?” Athena asks. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s all just peachy!” Sasha says with false, feigned cheer; the fact that she couldn’t drum up a fish pun to use really seals it. (Wait, isn’t a drum a kind of fish? Why’s he know more about fish than flowers? And seals - god damn it.)

Athena stares doubtfully at her. Her shoulders slump. “I guess I could just tell you, huh,” Sasha says. “It’s for a heart condition but—”

“A heart condition?” Athena cries, her voice high and shrill. 

“—but it’s not that serious—”

“Not that serious!” Athena’s second echo isn’t quite as much of a piercing shriek, but it’s even louder, an angry yell. “It’s your heart! Don’t tell me not to worry!”

Sasha heaves a sigh. “This is why I don’t tell people,” she says. “Because you freak, and then I’m trying to reassure you that you don’t need to treat me like I’m fragile, and I’ve got to explain that I’m not dying, so on, so on.”

“Oh,” Athena says. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Sasha shrugs. “I’m sorry for snapping at you like that. It’s not you. It just gets a little tiring going through the same song-and-dance every time I tell someone. Much less fun than putting on the same song and dance with Orla every show!” Athena laughs and Sasha sticks her tongue out at her. “And I’d just had that argument with the captain the other night, too. The one that came up in the trial this morning. He knew about my condition, and I’d told him that I’d scheduled the surgery that would fix it, and he was worried and he told me that’d been thinking, and he was taking me out of the show. You saw the new flier, right? That I’m not in it?”

Phoenix nods. 

“And it was supposed to debut yesterday. But I needed to go out there and perform yesterday. It was the anniversary of Azura’s death, and I had this crazy idea that I would go in front of the audience and tell them all that her death was just an accident, that Orla didn’t kill her, and now the captain wasn’t going to let me out there. So what I did” - her smile is somewhere between devious and sad - “was move the skull rock from the show stage. Put it back in the orca pool, figured the captain probably wouldn’t look there, and if he couldn’t find the major prop for the new show, we’d have to do the old one again, right? Marlon gave me a hand with it, while he was watching Orla at the stage pool.”

It was a bold plan, is about all Phoenix can say to that. “Azura is the orca trainer before you?” he asks.

“Yeah. Azura Summers. She taught me everything I know - she was a year older than me and we were like - anemone and clownfish. Remora and shark!” Phoenix doesn’t speak marine biology but Athena is nodding in solemn understanding. “She was a year older than me. She was the best - you ever meet someone and just, hit it off immediately, you just know that they’re someone who’s gonna be so important in your life?” Sasha stares down at her hands, fiddling with something. “And then she was gone.”

“That must’ve been awful,” Athena says. “Losing someone you loved, and then having everyone else say that your friend was the one that killed her, and no one believes you when you know otherwise.” She sniffs again. Poor girl and her sensitive hearing and hyperempathy. 

Sasha nods. “Azura was like family, since my own family was never exactly supportive of my career path.” And not that Phoenix wants to downplay the severity of family disapproval, how much of a mess of hurt their influence can make, but he can’t exactly say he’s surprised to hear that a selkie’s family might think that her getting a career with an orca was bad news. “I can only imagine what they’re saying now after the captain’s death now too.”

He doesn’t want to pick at a reopening wound, but he never knows what strange little pieces of information will help, and so he asks, “Were you and Ms Summers - involved?”

“Huh?” Sasha blinks at him. A moment later the meaning clicks. “Oh! No, she was straight. She had a boyfriend that I never got to meet, but I’d help her send him videos of some of our orca-training sessions, because I mean, getting to see your cute girlfriend hanging with a cute orca, what could be better?”

“Toss a cute penguin in there too!” Athena suggests. “And then you’re golden!”

“Athena, I love the way you think!”

Phoenix clears his throat. Something more for his “legal etiquette Athena needs to learn” list: the detention center is not a place for hitting on people. Or maybe it’s more Sasha hitting on her. Or maybe they’re just like this. 

Sasha’s face falls and her eyes turn downcast. “She had this matching charm with her boyfriend that I’d wanted to return to him after she died, but I didn’t know enough about him to find him, so I just hung onto it myself. Swore on it that I’d become the best orca trainer ever, for her.” She holds up the charm; it hangs from a cord with a bead strung on it, and looks like a little talisman or envelope one would find at a shrine. “Just like the captain always used her walkie-talkie after that. It had teeth marks from Orla in it, when she brought Azura back up from the water…”

Jack Shipley’s death must be like reliving a nightmare for her.

(But also, remembering the photo of the body, Phoenix did not see a walkie-talkie in the victim’s holder for it.)

“Wait, you didn’t even see her boyfriend at her funeral?” Athena asks.

Sasha shakes her head sadly. “She didn’t even have a funeral. We held our own memorial for her at the aquarium, but her family just sort of - showed up and took her away. I’d suggested that we get an autopsy or something done, to know how she actually died and that it wasn’t Orla, but we needed her family’s permission for that and they wouldn’t give it.” 

Her face is turned toward them, and her eyes are, or should be, but she has the spaced-out look of someone not seeing what’s right in front of her. “They had this huge row with Dr Crab about something, too. I wonder if that’s part of what changed him. He and Azura were pretty close, and he started acting so different after she died - talking about how he was going to euthanize Orla, when before he said he’d never do such a thing. He thought she did it! He still always keeps poison on hand, ready to put her down at any moment! If she’d been found guilty today he would’ve just done it, right then!”

Phoenix has a very good idea of who they need to talk to again, next.

-

Back at the aquarium, they find Dr Crab in his laboratory, with Pearl, who is holding a furiously a squawking Rifle in her arms. “—correct, she does hate me. Since this little annoyance” - Dr Crab gestures at Sniper, who is for once free of the nest of his hair and waddling about the lab - “imprinted on me right out of the egg, she thinks I stole her baby. I didn’t want to steal her baby! But I guess she feels like the human parents of a changeling would.”

“That’s very sad for both of you,” Pearl says seriously. Rifle’s wings flap against her hands. “Your job involves inducing animals to vomit a lot, doesn’t it?”

The doctor snorts. “Today’s just been a hell of a day.” He squints down at the strange machine in his hand, something too boxy to be a regular tablet, with a small screen that flips back on a hinge. “Now let me see if I can find out when she ingested that foreign object.”

“Hi Mr Nick!” Pearls releases Rifle to the ground and the penguin makes an immediate beeline for Dr Crab’s shins. Absorbed in whatever he’s looking at on his machine, he doesn’t seem to notice. “Watch the penguin vomit! It’s for Sniper to eat!” She directs his attention to a pile of, yes, penguin vomit, that he doesn’t want to consider any further, but that Sniper is pecking at. “Mr Doctor told me that mama penguins partially digest and regurgitate fish for their babies to eat, because it’s easier for them to eat that mush!”

“You two seem to be getting along well,” Phoenix says. “You and Dr Crab, I mean.” They already knew that Pearl hit it off with Rifle, somehow. 

“Rifle ate something she shouldn’t so I was helping him get that out of her.” Pearl gestures now at the corner of one of the lab tables, where an object, familiar though it’s partially covered in mushed-up fish, lies. Phoenix takes a few more steps forward. The mess doesn’t smell as fishy as he expected, or perhaps he’s lost all sense of smell, and yes, whatever it is that Rifle ate looks a whole hell of a lot like the little talisman Sasha had, that once belonged to Azura. And there was supposed to be a second one, that Azura’s boyfriend had, wasn’t there?

“Excuse me, Dr Crab?” Phoenix says. He grunts. “Can we take a look at that charm that Rifle swallowed?”

He grunts again. Phoenix decides that’s a “yes”. Investigations don’t get anywhere fast, otherwise. He gingerly picks up the cord on the charm and lets it dangle. Yeah, that’s definitely the same thing as—

“Hey! What are you doing with that?” Dr Crab snaps out of his reverie, with all the anger of a man who’s only just realized something is happening that he would’ve liked to have stopped sooner. “Put that down! That’s Azura’s!”

Phoenix drops it back on the table. Dr Crab, with no regard for penguin barf, snatches it away. “What the hell was it doing in Rifle’s stomach?” He drops it back into the pocket of his lab coat.

“Would this one happen to have belonged to Azura’s boyfriend?” Phoenix asks. 

“I don’t make it a habit to discuss the affairs of the deceased! Especially not with you people!”

Bit of a fraught subject, there. Sasha did say that they were close. “Yesterday was the anniversary of her death, right?”

Dr Crab’s sigh sounds more like a growl. How close is Phoenix to being kicked out of the lab? “That’s right,” Crab says. “A year since the orca killed her.”

“You really think Orla did?” Athena asks. “I don’t believe it!”

“And I was there, Ms Lawyer. I saw Orla bite her. Maybe she didn’t mean to kill her, who’s to say - but what I do know is that Azura is dead.” The point he puts on his last several words closes down the topic even more firmly than his outraged yelling did. Satisfied that he’s shut Phoenix up - for the moment, because Phoenix refuses to be done until he’s run out of questions and he’s still got plenty - he returns to studying the data on his machine.

Who knows what might be important information for a trial? “So what’s that there?” Phoenix asks.

“Monitoring system. Collection of medical records for all the creatures. Between it and the cameras I can monitor them all constantly, twenty-four/seven. Company secret, that’s all I’ll tell you.”

“Really?” Phoenix asks. “Aren’t medical records just like - past exams and stuff? How can you get present, constant data from that?”

“Good point,” Crab says, after a slight pause. A sneered, thin smile stretches out across his face. “I can see there’s no fooling you.”

“Are you trying to fool me?” Phoenix asks.

The two Psyche-Locks that clang into place answer that question for him.

“You tell me,” Dr Crab says.

“Clearly,” Phoenix says.

“Excuse me, Mr Doctor?” Pearl asks. She scoops Rifle up into her arms to stop the penguin from resuming an attack on Dr Crab’s shins. “Mr Nick is a very good lawyer who always finds the truth but he needs to know everything he can to do so. Even if you don’t think your monitorings have anything to do with the case, it might be the information that Mr Nick needs to bluff himself into a better position to win!”

Dr Crab stares at Phoenix, his eyebrows raised. Phoenix wishes Pearl had found any other way to phrase that. “And it would be very kind and helpful of you to do,” Pearl adds.

The lab is far from silent - the hum and murmur of computers, Rifle’s struggles to break free and attack, Sniper eating, Athena cooing at Sniper. But it still feels quiet and empty as Pearl waits for any response and reaction at all from Dr Crab. He says nothing. She narrows her eyes, glancing from Rifle to the floor, like her next step in convincing him will be to sic a penguin on him.

Instead she simply readjusts her hold on Rifle, pulling the penguin up further in her arms, and says, much more seriously, no longer with any sort of pleading edge, “You asked for my help to examine Rifle and I gave it to you, remember? It was just a few minutes ago, right before Mr Nick came back, but I didn’t just offer that on my own.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dr Crab hisses. “That’s exactly what happened, isn’t it? I asked her if you could grab her for me and - damn, now I owe you, don’t I?”

He and Athena both glance over at Phoenix’s sharp intake of breath. Pearl doesn’t do this; she cares about human standards of fairness and tends to cancel debts made out of careless words of people who don’t know better and don’t know what she is. This situation, this case, she thinks is desperate. And Dr Crab saw what she is. It’s fair. 

Pearl, unblinking, hollow-eyed, nods. “And I think you should answer Mr Nick’s questions about your monitoring,” she says.

Dr Crab shakes his head. “Well,” he says. “Shit. I got careless and that’s on me - to the victor go the spoils. So if I answer whatever questions our Mr Lawyer here has about my monitoring equipment here, then we’re settled, yes? No debts after that.”

“No debts after that,” Pearl agrees.

They both wait for Phoenix to say something; it’s a bit tricky, he thinks, to follow up a top-tier negotiation such as Pearl’s. “So. Twenty-four/seven monitoring. How’s that work?”

“It’s an ecological data organization system developed in Europe. Teleobservation Realtime Pertinent Data Organizer, TORPEDO for short.”

Phoenix decides not to try and suss out how well that acronym actually fits it, and not just because the whole name has already been ejected from his brain and he couldn’t repeat it back if he tried. Tele-pertinent real-time data what? 

“It records information on its subjects constantly - heartbeat, vocalization, movements, temperature, and so on - through sensors placed on or near the subject. All that gets sent to me and my equipment here. Rifle has her sensor attached to her flipper ID tag.” Pearl takes Rifle’s wing in her hand and holds it out to examine the tag in question. “For Orla and the fish, it’s attached to the side of the tank. Now here we go, what’s it say about Rifle’s feeding?” Dr Crab glares down at the terminal in his hand. “Four am on the nineteenth is when she swallowed that. What a weird time. And - shit, Orla didn’t eat at all that night until the next afternoon.” He shakes his head. “What is going on here?”

“Maybe that’s why Rifle wouldn’t eat my fish but Orla would.” Athena sounds slightly cheered at the prospect that it wasn’t her causing personal offense to Rifle - Rifle just wasn’t hungry. 

Phoenix clears his throat. “Why keep it a secret?” he asks. “This monitoring system - it’s clearly helpful and it’s not like we’re competitors trying to come in and steal your secrets.”

“Let me preface this by saying” - nothing good ever starts that way - “that this system has been tested rigorously and approved as safe and legal in many countries. Just not this one.”

Ah, that would do it. “You’re breaking the law?” Athena asks, startled. 

Dr Crab grimaces but it ends as something more like a grin. “That’s why I keep this terminal with me at all times. Lucky, else the police might’ve been poking their noses into it yesterday. None of the rest of the crew knows - keeps them safe from the legal repercussions, but I had Jack’s permission for this. He felt, and I agreed, that giving the best care possible to our animals was more important than legality.”

“But - but you’re breaking the law! And that’s—” Athena sputters, searching for a solid objection. “That’s breaking the law!”

Yeah, she’s a smart kid but hopefully she’s not going into a trial without a co-counsel any time soon.

“And if breaking the law betters the lives of our animals? Are we supposed to just sit and wait for the law to change, when in the meantime we can have more information and act quicker to help them - to save their lives?”

“But…” Athena glances to Phoenix for backup she won’t find. Not that he’s not a hypocrite, but he’s not going to step into this debate just to be one. It’s disconcerting, again, every time he realizes that part of Athena’s admiration of him comes only from the fact that she doesn’t know him as well as Apollo does. She’s arguing against the logic that bore him his ace in the hole. And he can’t blame her; it took him a long, bad time to get there. “You’re just - twisting it around, now.” But she looks rattled, not sure how to square this away with the foundation of her career. 

“Dr Crab,” Phoenix says. “I might need to use this information in court tomorrow. But that would obviously cause serious problems for you and the aquarium.” He isn’t asking permission, but this isn’t quite an apology, either. It’s just a statement of what it is, regrettable, inevitable.

“You’ve gotta do your job, Mr Lawyer, and I do mine.” Dr Crab shrugs, more resigned than bothered. This must be a prescient concern, for however long it’s been since they installed this system at the aquarium. Maybe it’s even a relief by now, to no longer be hiding. “I stand by my convictions and don’t have regrets, and I hope you won’t, either. I can’t blame you, or her, for that.” He nods at Pearl. 

“I appreciate it.” Nice to not have a witness biting his head off, even if in this case it would be - not deserved, he’d like to think, but understandable. 

“Hmph. Any last questions on that or can I—”

A loud peeping begins, like the chirps Sniper made but louder and constant. Dr Crab frowns and slips a phone out of his pocket. “Hello? Crab here.”

 “That’s a ringtone?” Pearl asks. “That’s adorable!”

“I don’t think Maya’s gonna let you change mine,” Phoenix says to her. 

“I didn’t think that Dr Crab liked the penguins that much,” Athena whispers. “But I guess he’s just a big softie, really!”

Were he actually listening to them Phoenix has no doubt the doctor would consider those fighting words. As it is, his fighting words are for whoever is on the other end of the line. “Son of a bitch, you people again! What more do you—”

He storms from the lab and slams the door behind him. Athena looks at Phoenix. He nods. She creeps closer to the door to listen, crouched with her ear by the crack where it closes, though Phoenix isn’t sure she needs to be that close to actually hear. “He’s saying that Orla was found not guilty,” she says, “and that should be enough - stop harassing him, he knows that - if it comes to it he - Mr Wright!” She tried to spring back up but smacks her head against the bottom of the doorknob on her way up, and wincing and grumbling to herself, stands tall again. “He said - that if he has to he’d euthanize Orla!”

“No!” Pearl gasps. Rifle wriggles around in her arms and Pearl sets her on the table. “She’s not guilty! In a court of law! She can’t be punished!”

Knowing that the whole orca pool can function as a faery ring makes Phoenix even more nervous that she’s going to commit larceny as soon as anything starts seeming tense. Grand Theft Orca. This is not something he ever thought he would have to consider. 

The door swings violently inward, banging hard into Athena’s shoulder. She stumbles away, cursing under her breath again. Phoenix picks out pieces of several languages. (He really should ask her how to say “fuck you” in German. It would be funny.)

“Where’s my goddamn calendar?” Dr Crab storms back in, sweeping a dozen takeout containers from the desk in front of the largest screen into the trash can strategically positioned right next to it. A few fliers for the orca show drift to the floor. “Son of a bitch, where did I leave it this time?”

“Calendar?” Athena perks up. “It wouldn’t happen to be one of those cute penguin ones, is it? Mr Rimes found one in the nap room and—”

Dr Crab snatches it away from her and scans the mess of his desktop for a pen and scribbles something on it. “Yes, that’s mine. It was a gift, all right?” He sighs. “From Azura. She designed the calendars for this year and this was the prototype.”

“Oh.” Athena’s smile vanishes. And then, seeming to take a cue from Phoenix’s line of questioning of Sasha back at the detention center, she asks, “Did you and Ms Summers happen to be, erm, romantically involved?”

“Of course not!” He bristles at the suggestion, almost weirdly defensive, so while he sees no Psyche-Locks, Phoenix still won’t take it as the end-all-be-all. Maybe he’s defensive about the calendar for what’s written on it, that meeting with the victim at seven am. Could he, at that time, have committed murder? “Were I even so inclined to partake of ‘romantic feelings’” - he doesn’t make them with his hands but Phoenix can hear the air quotes - “I certainly would not involve myself with—” He stops. He glares at Athena and Phoenix in turn. “What business of yours is it, anyway?”

“I just heard a lot of sadness in your voice when you mentioned her, and the calendar,” Athena says. “And I wondered—”

“She was a good friend and now she’s dead, of course I’m sad!” Though he’s probably not sad now, just mad at them and their prying questions. “How can you possibly think that’s related to your defense of Sasha, or do you like using the excuse of being lawyers to pry into people’s personal lives?”

Seems like it’s time to redirect; this thread when pulled on isn’t going anywhere good. “Your phone call just now - what was that about?”

“Heard all that, did you now?” Dr Crab sighs. Phoenix skips the part where he clarifies that Athena did, because she has better hearing than the human and fae also in the room. “That’s the Center for Dangerous Animal Control, insisting that if Orla ever attacks anyone again, we’d better not bother with this rigamarole and just put her down immediately.”

“But that’s not fair!” Athena has her fists raised, ready to fight the shadowy specter of this vague organization. “Did you agree to that?”

Dr Crab is quiet for a very long time. “Sometimes,” he says finally, “unfortunately, things happen. As a veterinarian, I am prepared to do whatever needs to be done.”

“Sasha says you keep poison on hand to always be prepared to put Orla down!” Athena levels the accusation with fury that Sasha would be proud of. 

Dr Crab reaches into one of the pockets of his lab coat and pulls out a tiny plastic bag that contains within it a red and yellow capsule. 

One that looks exactly like that they found mixed in with the contents of Orla’s stomach.

Phoenix is very, very glad they didn’t show it to him. 

“That’s awful!” Athena says. “How dare you!” She’s livid enough that Phoenix isn’t sure she realizes this pill is like the other one, and while that’s something they’re going to have to work on - making sure she’s clear-minded enough to make all the connections that matter, for now she’ll have him or Apollo with her, and Phoenix is just glad she won’t blurt it out to Dr Crab. He wants to keep this one close to his chest until he sees the best opening to play it. 

“Sasha thought the same thing.” Dr Crab drops the pill back in his pocket. “When security around Orla was tightened last year, she insisted that I not be given a key card to access the orca pool room. Thinking, I imagine, that the chances of Orla having a medical emergency when either she nor Jack were here to let me in were lower than the chances of me doing something to her.” He huffs derisively, Athena still seething.

“Dr Crab, I have a last question for you,” Phoenix says. “This - Center for Dangerous Animal Control.” Or however the words were ordered. “Ms DePlume told me something interesting earlier today.” That the Center had made this same demand a year ago, and for some reason relented, but the aquarium has been making large monthly payouts to someone or somewhere ever since. Phoenix repeats this fact to Dr Crab’s expressionless face, and adds, “It’s clear that there’s something going on behind the scenes here, and I suspect that it has something to do with this murder.”

“Do you.” He’s good at responding by saying nothing, but any words at all are sometimes enough to trip the trap, let Phoenix know exactly how much a witness is hiding.

Five Psyche-Locks this time, the appearance punctuated a moment later with loud footsteps and a louder yell. “Dr Herman Crab! Sorry to interrupt, but Prosecutor Blackquill wants to speak with you!”

“Son of a—” Dr Crab punctuates his speech by smacking his calendar down hard on the the table. “What the hell else could you possibly have to ask me?”

“We were hoping to have Mr Rimes testify at tomorrow’s trial, but we’ve been having some trouble getting him to cooperate. As such, Prosecutor Blackquill would like to call you instead!”

“Hmph.” Crab takes a moment in which he clearly is sizing up and assessing Fulbright, deciding whether he can get out of this and if he wants to tangle with Blackquill in that way. Surprising that he didn’t manage to coerce (or threaten) Rimes into talking and has to go for a backup. “Fine. But I’m not giving my opinion on what happened. I’ll tell you what I know, but I’m not taking sides.” He turns to Phoenix. “Until tomorrow, Mr Lawyer.”

-

Neither Trucy nor Apollo notices when the office door opens. Trucy has her laptop in her lap and is furiously scrolling, glancing between the screen and the notebook Apollo is still trying to write it. It’s a silent and periodic scuffle between the two of them as Trucy grabs it and yanks it toward her to check something, and Apollo pulls it back to continue writing. Phoenix shudders to think how unreadable his handwriting is from this. “Commonly for a number of heart conditions,” Trucy mutters. “Is this relevant, Apollo?”

“Of course it is!” He reaches across her keyboard and turns her screen toward himself. “Go back to the book - the picture. If she had a heart condition and a physically intensive job—” He taps his pen against the screen. “There’s no visible injury, look, wouldn’t you think a killer whale could cause some damage—”

“Oh! You think that—”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, guys,” Phoenix says. “What are we working on?”

They shriek in tandem, Apollo flinging the pen and Trucy knocking the notebook to the floor and almost dropping her laptop. Athena claps her hands over her ears, belatedly, and braces herself against the doorframe. “Yes, we’re back now,” Phoenix adds. “What’ve you got?”

“First: the capsule!” Apollo moves his hand like he means to gesture with the pen to the capsule in a bag on the coffee table, except the pen is no longer in his hand, so he’s just sort of waving, and his voice still as enthusiastically loud as ever. “It’s a sleeping drug! That’s the brand name on it, ‘3 Zs’. The Shipshape Aquarium vet recently bought a bunch of it from Hickfield Clinic - it’s meant for people, but apparently would work on other mammals.”

“A sleeping drug?” Phoenix repeats. 

Apollo nods. 

That had been Phoenix’s first thought, when he first saw that capsule, but Dr Crab called it poison - sure, enough of it could certainly kill, but he’s a veterinarian. He’d be legally able to get some kind of actual euthanization drug instead of trying to overdose an orca on sleeping pills - if that was actually what he intended with it, and not something else. Why pretend it’s poison?

“And the other thing - Shipshape Aquarium had the woman who died last year, Azura Summers, right?” He doesn’t wait for Phoenix to confirm he knows and barrels on, “She was getting medication prescribed by Hickfield Clinic to help her manage a heart condition.”

“I found an illegal download of that writer lady’s book!” Trucy pipes up. Bless that girl. 

“A heart condition?” Phoenix can’t do much but echo right now, but his mind is racing. What was Apollo saying when they walked in? Jack Shipley removed Sasha from the show for fear that she would come to harm because of her condition - theoretically, that could’ve already happened. “Do you know what the medication she was on was called?”

“Uh…” Apollo glances down at his notebook. “I wrote it down? It’s like—”

Phoenix takes the notebook from him. The writing is exactly as messy as he imagined, jagged pen lines trailing off across half the page when Trucy grabbed it. “That’s the same medication that Sasha is taking,” he says to Athena. 

“So what’s that mean?” she asks. 

“I have no idea.” That’s a hell of a coincidence, but he doesn’t really see how it could be anything but an unfortunate coincidence, even as a man whose policy is to not believe in coincidences. Orla isn’t on trial now, and wasn’t on trial for Azura’s death, either, yesterday. But maybe this information could offer some reassurance, and closure, to Sasha and the rest of the aquarium crew. “But that capsule, now that’s something. Nice work, Apollo.”

Apollo gives Phoenix a wide-eyed, startled look. Has Phoenix really complimented him so rarely?

“Where’s Pearly?” Trucy asks. Her face falls. “Did she go back home already?”

“She’s staying at the aquarium to help out with Orla, with so many of the staff dragged out to testify and everything.” There she goes again, slotting herself perfectly, naturally, in somewhere, like she’s meant to be there, so that no one even questions letting a strange little faery girl in so far behind the scenes. 

The only thing to put him slightly at ease is that she said she would be ready to call in, from the aquarium, through video phone during the trial tomorrow, which holds the implication that she’s not going to spirit Orla off to the Twilight Realm in the middle of the night to keep her safe.

Though she didn’t promise for sure that she wouldn’t, so he should probably call her and extract that promise from her, before he ends up defending in a case of orca larceny. 

[youngjusticeslut]

Crushed

Whoops okay so one lucky anon happened to inspire me into writing my first Bluepulse fic. What can I do? Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy!

Fandom: Young Justice Links: FF.net // AO3 Characters:  Bart Allen, Jaime Reyes, Cassie Sandsmark, Cissie King-Jones, Stephanie Brown, Traci Thurston Ships: Bluepulse, implies Wonderbird Summary: Bart doesn't know what a crush is. Luckily he has Cassie, Traci, Steph and Cissie to explain it to him. Rating: T Word Count: 1960 Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters.

It had been a difficult mission; they’d been split up into three squadrons, each responsible for a different assignment. Wonder Girl, Spoiler and Static had been sent to investigate one of Lex’s product warehouses. Arrowette, Robin and Beast Boy were responsible for watching over the Detroit branch of Star Labs. Traci, Blue Beetle and him got sidetracked from their recon assignment when Sportsmaster had come out to play. By the time M’gann had finished debriefing them, they were left groaning and needing a break.

“Hey, BB!” Bart called, wrapping an arm around Jaime. “What say you and I celebrate the end of a totally crash mission with some sundaes? My treat.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes, yellow from his armor. “I really don’t think you know what the words ‘my treat’ mean.”

“Sure I do,” Bart insisted.

“Bart, ‘my treat’ means that you pay.”

Bart’s face fell. “Oh. You sure?”

“Positive, Hermano. Besides, I can’t. Virgil invited some of the guys back to his place for some video games and I said I’d go.” Jaime maneuvered himself out from under Bart’s arm and shot him an apologetic look. “He would have invited you, but… you know,” he trailed off.

Oh yes, Bart knew very well why he wouldn’t be welcome back to Virgil’s anytime soon. The last time he’d gone for a guys’ night, he’d gotten too excited and accidentally broke the ceiling fan in the kitchen. Virgil’s parents hadn’t been too happy with him, and it took a tremendous amount of mediation from both Barry and the Garricks to get him on their good side again.

“No, no, it’s crash. I get it,” Bart waved off, trying his best to look indifferent. He must have succeeded, for Jaime grinned and nudged his shoulder. The sensation made his stomach buzz, a feeling that was all too familiar.

“Next time, Hermano. I’ll text you later,” he promised before following Tim and Virgil to the zeta tubes. Bart watched him go, the buzzing in his stomach settling to one of unease; the all too familiar sensation of not being invited somewhere.

“-rented the Notebook? Come on, there has to be a better-”

“Name one.”

“Literally any-” “You can’t name a better movie, because it’s impossible,” Cassie said proudly, hands on her hips. Bart immediately turned to the new conversation. The girls stood in a circle, masks off and hoods down.

“Whatever. I’ll find a better one, and then you are going to eat your words Cassie Sandsmark,” Steph warned with a smirk.

“Bart?” Traci called. The girls all turned to look at the speedster, and he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping. “Weren’t you going to go with the boys?”

“I wasn’t invited.”

Cissie’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

“Is it the Virgil thing?” Cassie asked.

“Yupperino. So that leaves me… without plans for the evening,” he ended lamely. “It’s cool, I’ll go hang with my dad and aunt.”

“Bart, you gotta stop calling them that before Iris kills you,” Traci chuckled. “We’re having a slumber party, if you wanna join.”

“It wouldn’t be weird?”

“Weird? No way, it’d be totally crash,” Steph said, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Cassie’s insisting we watch the Notebook, but I’ll find a better movie.”

“There is no better movie. The Notebook is so retro. It’s the pinnacle of all romantic comedies. I think I read that somewhere in the future.”

“Ha,” Cassie smirked, crossing her arms. “Then it’s settled. You’re hanging with us tonight.”

--

Hanging out with the girls was so much better than being with the guys.

Within an hour of arriving at Cassie’s place, they were all in their pajamas with Korean sheet masks on their faces. Cassie had generously lended him one of her oversized t-shirts, so he sat in that and his boxers as Traci painted his toenails a vibrant ocean blue. None of the girls really seemed to mind his presence which made him feel all the better. It was exactly the pick-me-up he needed after the mission.

“So,” Cassie said as she hooked her laptop up to the TV in the living room. “Would you guys kill me if I talked about how utterly dorky Tim is?”

“For the third time today? Yes,” Steph cut in, tossing another piece of popcorn in her mouth.

Cissie looked up from painting her own fingernails. “What did he do?”

“He left me a love letter,” Cassie said with an enormous grin on her face. “It was filled with Star Wars puns and was the absolute nerdiest thing I’d ever read in my life but…” she squealed and shook a little with delight. “I just have such a crush on him!”

“Can you call it a crush if you’ve been dating over two years?” Traci pointed out.

“What’s a crush?”

For the second time that evening, the girls all turned to look at Bart. Only this time, they seemed surprised.

“You don’t know what a crush is?” Cissie asked.

“Not a clue.”

“That’s impossible. I’m sure you know what a crush is.”

“Sorry Traci, no comprendo. Must be an outdated term in the future.”

“Someone’s been picking up some Spanish from Jaime,” Steph whispered to Cassie, who snickered.

Bart’s cheeks tinged pink and he looked down to his blue toenails. “So is anyone going to explain to me what a crush is?”

Cassie took a seat next to him, pursing her lips in an effort to figure out how to best explain it to him. “Let’s see. A crush is like… when you feel really strongly about someone. You get like a weird feeling in your stomach, and you really want them to like you back. When they do, it’s like the best feeling ever,” she concluded.

The blush on Bart’s cheeks only deepened. “...Oh. So that’s what it’s called.”

Steph raised a brow. “No way. You have a crush on someone.”

“Ooh, do tell! You gotta tell. It’s a girls’ night rule,” Cissie insisted, immediately scooting closer to Bart. The speedster wasn’t sure what to say, all the girls were staring at him so intently. He wasn’t aware that it had been such a secret.

Bart shrugged, toying a bit with his fingers. “It’s Jaime.” He grinned a bit. “Thought everyone already knew.”

Traci didn’t look surprised, but the three blondes all stared at him, jaws slightly agape. “You’re gay?” Cissie asked.

“Doy.”

Cassie squealed, immediately pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you! Never in a million years would I have guessed that you’d be coming out to us tonight.”

“Coming out? You guys gotta stop using outdated lingo,” Bart sputtered, trying his best to breathe under Cassie’s crushing hug. Steph eventually pulled her away, and he gave her a look of desperate gratitude.

“Do people not come out in the future?” Cissie asked, grabbing a twizzler off Cassie’s bed.

“Not really.”

“Moving on,” Traci declared, crossing her legs underneath her. “I assume you haven’t told him yet.”

Bart peeled the sticky sheet mask from his face, tossing it in the direction of the garbage and missing. He’d pick it up later. “Why would I? I don’t think he feels the same way.”

“You don’t know that,” Steph scoffed. “You guys both spend every minute together. It’s a definite possibility that he could feel the same.”

Cassie nodded, finally managing to set up the movie on the TV. “I think Steph’s right. Plus, you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“Thank you, almighty motivational poster,” Cissie teased, groaning when a throw pillow hit her head right after. “You should definitely say something, Bart. Pining over a crush is so not the mood in 2019.”

Bart looked away from them, plucking at a few loose threads in Cassie’s rug. Sure, it all sounded great and dandy in theory. In reality, not so much. “And what if he says he doesn’t feel the same? He could think I’m a freak and then never talk to me again.”

“Um, Bart,” Steph cleared her throat, a hand on her hip and a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “Pretty sure he already thinks you’re a freak.”

“Stephanie!” Tracie snapped. “Asshole Venmo, immediately.” Steph rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone, starting to Venmo each of the girls two dollars. She was the worst at this game, no wonder she was always so broke.

“I think what Steph was trying to say,” Cissie eased gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Is that you guys are best friends. I don’t think he’d be so quick to cut you off.”

“And even if he did, you’d have all of us to kick his ass,” Cassie noted, flexing her bicep with a smirk.

“Yeah, pretty sure M’gann could wipe his brain out, make him forget the whole thing,” Traci added. Bart listened to them all with a wary expression; now he wasn’t sure if he felt better, or worse.

--

“I can’t believe you had a sleepover with the girls last night. Cassie’s mom was cool with it?”

Bart sat across from Jaime at a diner in El Paso. Jaime had offered to come to his side for breakfast, but Bart insisted that Texas breakfasts were far superior to Central City’s. Besides, if Jaime rejected him, then he wouldn’t be the one left behind. His heart was pounding a mile a minute as he watched Jaime finish off his coffee, unable to tear his eyes away from him.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, she was totally crash. Made us snacks and everything,” Bart replied, trying to ground himself. “I had a good time.”

“Really? What’d you guys do?”

Bart organized the sugar packets in their little box, arranging them by color. “We just talked. Did face masks, watched movies and stuff. It was actually really fun. I’ve already been invited to the next one.”

Jaime’s face softened and he took Bart’s hand. “You know, I forgot to tell you. Virgil’s mom asked where you were last night. I think it’s safe to say you’ll be invited to the next one.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I tried texted you, but your phone was dead last night. I’m glad you had a good time with the girls, though. Did you find out any juicy secrets?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Funny you should mention that,” Bart said. He took a deep breath, his stomach acting up again but he needed to get it out. “Look, there’s something I want to tell you.”

Jaime leaned back in his seat. “Okay, shoot.”

“I have a crush on you. I think that’s the right way to say it. Actually, I’m still a little unclear on the usage of the word, I may not be understanding it right,” Bart rambled. “But the bottom line is that I like you. A lot. And it’s totally crash if you don’t feel the same. I promise I won’t be moded. I just had to get it out.”

“Finally.”

Bart looked up from the sugar packets. “Finally?”

“Yeah, Hermano. I’ve been waiting for you to say something for ages.” Jaime grinned and lifted up their hands, still entwined. “Khaji-Da has been driving me nuts forever, trying to get me to make the first move. I kept having to tell him that I was waiting for you to be ready.”

“Really?”

“Really. Guess I should stop calling you Hermano, though. It’s kinda weird,” Jaime admitted.

Bart pouted. “But I liked Hermano.”

“I’ll come up with a better one. Lo prometo.” Jaime scooted closer until he was at the edge of his seat. The only thing separating them was the small table and their coffee mugs. “Should we get the bill and get out of here?”

Bart grinned, pulling out some cash from his wallet. “My treat.”

[wendip-week]

Of Masks and Men: Part 4

Abel's eyes widened at the abrupt end to the moment he seemed to be having with his horticultural aunt and uncle. What Grunkle Mason had implied; he didn't like the sound of that. "W-what do you mean? What are you going to do with me?"

"It's just how it sounds, Abel. You know too much, and that, unfortunately, puts our entire race and secret-society at risk," Mason replied, a serious expression etched on the monster's face. "From Dana, to tourists, to the occasional paranormal-investigator looking to leave his mark in the world of science, one little slip-up could be the end of us."

"That means we're going to have to take drastic steps, I'm afraid," said Wendy, somberly shaking her head, a slight rustle sounding from the leaves in her red-hair. "One way or another, you can't be allowed to give us away."

Abel quickly replied, "I won't tell anyone. I swear!"

"First, we don't allow swearing in our house," the plant-woman said.

"And second," Mason continued, removing a rubber glove (one made to resemble a human-hand) and revealing a brown, wooden hand resembling the end of a tree-branch. "that's a chance we just can't take." The male Pistachion stretched out his exposed hand, which disassembled into vines and extended past his human nephew towards a nearby desk. To Abel, that would have been really cool in a movie. A moment later, he retracted it, carrying what looked an old-timey laser with a big light bulb.

He held it up for Abel to see. "Do you have any idea what this is?"

Abel stared a moment before a look of recognition crossed his face. "Wait a minute, isn't that one of those memory guns or something from the Journals?"

"Yes. This gun is designed to erase specific memories from the target. We could erase this entire afternoon from your brain. You wouldn't feel a thing, and by morning, it would seem like just another day."

"Well..." started Abel.

"There's just one problem, though," Wendy said, cutting the boy off. "There's a pretty high chance it might cause mental-issues, especially if you do that more than once. Not exactly something you might want; and nothing we really want to put up with. Plus, how would we explain that to your grandma?"

"Then there's Option 2," said Mason, looking toward the tarp his nephew was tied up in front of. "This." His wife reached over and pulled it off, revealing a more modern interpretation of a ray gun. "It's one of the MULCH devices we use to convert humans who would benefit us or learn something they shouldn't into plant-people like us."

"Oh, crud! No! Please, just no!"

"Of course, there's still the issue with my sister. I doubt, even with a rubber costume, you'd fool her, your grandfather, or your sister for long."

"And we're really not in the business of turning family, anyway," the female Pistachion interjected. "We didn't do it with Mabel, and we aren't about to start now."

Abel's great-uncle stepped forward, looming over his nephew, now looking rather somber. "Sadly, if we can't do anything that'll leave you living with some kind of permanent effect, there's only one option left."

"Mason, wait. Are you sure there's nothing else to be done? He's our nephew; Mabel's grandson."

"I'm afraid not, my love. Either he knows, or he gets changed somehow. But this way is our only choice. This kind of thing happens all the time around here. And Mabel wouldn't suspect a thing," the scientist reasoned.

The pistachio-headed redhead had a despairing look on her face before turning away. "Okay," she whispered. "But you have to do it. I-I can't bear to watch."

"I understand. I'll tell you when it's over." The male-Pistachion turned back toward his great-nephew.

The young pre-teen started thrashing real hard, struggling to break his bonds (to no avail). Finally giving up, he stared back at his former-hero. "Grunkle Mason, please don't!"

"I'm sorry." The Pistachion slowly reached forward, just beneath Abel's head. Too frightened to look, the boy closed his eyes, ready for the end. He felt the wooden fingers brush against his neck. He felt a snap...

Only to feel the vines tying him to his chair slacken significantly. His eyes shot open. Abel looked down and discovered they had fallen off. And the humanoid pistachio-tree that was his great-uncle wasn't reaching toward him anymore. Abel looked up; the man had his arms folded, and he was... grinning?

"W-what is this? What's going on?!" You didn't need to see to realize that confusion and exasperation were on the young man's face.

"We're letting you go," the Pistachion replied simply.

"What? I don't... what?" He heard giggling to the side. He turned to see his great-aunt with her hand over her mouth, trying and failing to suppress her laughter. "Aunt Wendy?"

"Sorry, but what did you think we were about to do? Hurt you? We're your family, dude."

"But I... I thought... Wait, was letting me out the plan the entire time?" Abel asked, still trying to wrap his head around these developments."

"Basically," Mason said with a shrug.

"But-but why all the tricks and tying me up and stuff? Couldn't you have just let me go, or maybe tell me you're going to after you're done talking?"

Wendy rolled her red eyes. "Yeah, like you'd buy our story. 'The pistachio-monsters cornered their human-nephew... to talk to him!!! Dun-dun-duhhhhn!' We had to get you to listen somehow."

Abel groaned as he stood up. "Point taken."

Mason patted him on the shoulder. "Welcome to Gravity Falls. Believe it or not, this is nothing compared to what we've been through, even at your age."

Wendy: "He's right. When I was a human-teenager, I once got turned into a tapestry. Needless to say, when you're not even a person, you kind of appreciate the simple things in life. Well, once you're a person again and actually alive and sentient enough to appreciate life, anyway."

"The nightmares from that..." Mason reminisced. "Anyway, I bet you're still trying to make sense of all of this. Got any more questions?"

Abel looked thoughtful for a moment. "Actually... this explains a lot of things. This is why we don't see you that often, isn't it? You're trying to hide your secret."

"Well, I suppose that's part of it," said Mason. "We do live in another State you know. Plus, our work does sometimes require travel."

"Plus, man, we really don't like leaving Gravity Falls."

"True. You've read about the weirdness of Gravity Falls itself. Right, Abel?"

"Sure. Something about it being a magnet for that stuff?"

"Yes. The valley seems to draw in weirdness. It's essentially the highest-concentrated source in the world. Wendy and I... we basically feel drawn to it. Of course, we called this place our home long before we were MULCH-ed, and we aren't bound inside the weirdness-barrier surrounding the valley, so whether that's a contributing factor is debatable."

Wendy nodded. "And as far as weirdness goes, we're basically a 6 or a 7 on a ten-scale. Anyway, enough about that. What else makes sense to you?"

Abel smirked. "The nut-puns." His aunt and uncle just stared quizzically. "Seriously, 'nut-jobber'? Or how about Aunty Wendy saying how you've always been nuts for her? And there's that joke Grunkle Dipper always says while you're out of earshot."

"What joke?" the redhead asked.

"Wait, maybe we should change-"

"Oh, no. I wanna hear this," Wendy said, not giving her husband a chance to finish that sentence.

"That you're a nut with a rubber bu-"

"Next question!" Mason almost shouted, clearly embarrassed.

"Then there's the thing with Dana's soda and her music..."

Wendy sighed. "Yeah, sorry. Certain soda-brands are potentially lethal to our kind. We're not taking any chances with something unfamiliar. Trust me, she'll get it back later. As for her songs, I just don't like Straight Blanchin' and Chop-Chop. Sue me."

"Okay... I guess this is also why you two lock your bedroom door every night: so Dana and I can't see you without your masks on."

"Yes!" Mason replied (rather quickly, too). "Let's just go with that!"

"Uh, agreed!" said Wendy. "Anything else?"

"Umm... actually, something is bothering me. I'm not complaining, but you said I know too much. Why would you just let me go? I could expose you."

Mason gave a toothy-smile. "True... I guess we're just going to have to trust you with our secret."

"But we really can't have you telling anyone," said Wendy. "And we mean ANYONE."

"Even Dana?" Abel asked?

The Pistachion spouses looked at each other for a moment. Mason turned back to his nephew. "Listen, we're not trying to drive a wedge between you two, but this is strictly need-to-know. My great-uncle Ford trusted me with a secret once that I couldn't share. While that was logical, there was some disdain in there for family due to old, untreated wounds. This isn't like that; we just can't risk anything. We're asking you not to say anything to anyone. Please."

Abel paused a moment, seemingly mulling over all of this. He looked at the two. "I promise," he said with a sigh.

"Excellent," his aunt replied. "And hey! Next time your sister has a slumber party, maybe we can invite the family over and you can see us as we really are."

"Really?" asked Abel. "Man, I think the way I see the world has changed. I have got so much to think about this summer."

"Well, you can start that thinking in your room," said Mason. "You're grounded for the rest of the day."

"Wait, what?"

"Dude, you pulled your uncle's hair. Imagine if it had been real. And even if it was a regular toupee, that would have just been disrespectful."

"But it was Dana's dare!" the pre-teen boy argued.

"And she's grounded, too, as soon as we find her. Take the elevator up and go home. Don't tell the Ramirezes what went down just now. They think you were treated for an alien disease," said Mason. "Your aunt and I will follow; we need to get our masks back on."

"Fine..." he said, defeated.

The two Pistachions waited for their nephew to get inside before they replaced their masks.

"Well, that was something," said Wendy.

"Yeah," her husband replied. "Do you think we're doing the right thing by letting Abel in on this? There definitely is a risk, even if he has no intention of betraying us."

"Well, you said we should make it a point to reconnect with the family outside of the Falls. In fact, isn't that the reason we agreed to look after Abel and Dana? To bond with them? What better way is there than to show that we trust them?"

"But what if Dana finds out? Will that hurt our bond with her or her bond with her brother?"

"If she finds out, she finds out. It'll be alright. Whether things get tense or not, it'll be alright. You and Mabel always seem to hammer things out. Heck, Stan and Ford managed to find that old brotherly-bond they lost years ago. And that's just sibling-bombshells."

Mason chuckled. "You always know what to say, don't you?"

Wendy smirked. "Better believe it. The same way you always somehow give me faith in general just by being you... Dip." She gave the her nut-like spouse a peck on the cheek. "Now straighten your mask and get moving! I'll follow in a bit."

Mason looked confused. "Why?"

Wendy folded her arms. "You think I'm going to give you an opportunity to look at my 'rubber-butt' as we walk home? Forget it, Mister."

Mason gave a half-amused groan. "I'm in the doghouse, aren't I?"

"Pretty much… at least until you make it up to me."

"Well, I'm sure I can think of something."

The End

//

Well, that's the finale. I hope you all enjoyed this. And if it wasn't clear, yes, this is technically a crossover, or rather a sequel to a crossover, with Milo Murphy's Law, which I wrote for Wendip Week. Take care.

[girlobsessed21]

The 100 - 6x04: The face behind the glass review and predictions.

Before we get into the specifics, I’m a little scared of the rehashing of old narratives that comes to surface in this episode especially. Not sure how I feel about all the parallels. In my trailer analysis, I did point out the fact that it does not seem that much different than previous seasons: There are no good guys, we kill them so that we can live and blah, blah, blah. Even so, I’m interested and invested to see what types of unique twists and turns this story will throw at us. Jason Rothenberg, you better not disappoint.

The face behind the glass written by Charmaine DeGrate and directed by Tim Scanlan, who is known for directing the sex scenes on the show. Dead giveaway. Not my favorite so far, but a lot of things happened that has me excited for the rest of the season.

Is there a better way to open an episode than Diyoza joking with her unborn child? It’s no secret she’s in my top 5 favorite characters and keeps climbing the charts. So, the Sanctumites offer her a deal: Save Rose and we’ll take care of your baby, which she takes, to offer her child a life and it’s something to do other than trying to survive. But in known Diyoza fashion on condition of a gun and a bike. 

Then, Simone begs Russel to cancel naming day on account of spies inside the compund. They’ve already been deprived of three primes (Kaylee’s family) and Rose. Pushing them towards extinction at an alarming rate and it once again becomes obvious that Clarke will become Josephine, yet I’m now intrigued by Madi. The cultish way in which these people worship the primes are uncanny and wayward. But then again all cults are weird. I don’t believe in the divinity of the primes either.

Russel disagrees by saying: “If we cancel, Gabriel wins.” Last week I thought that Gabriel will be brought back to life in one of the hosts, but I think there’s something else going on there. It’s clear now that Gabriel and his children are against the revival of the primes, bringing about the question: How has he survived all these years?

Priya and Jordan share some sweet intimate moments where he tells her he feels guilty for becoming another taunting face behind the glass. Which was necessary to show he’s still grieving his parents even while having fun. Her referral to this line later before she becomes a prime is crucial though, meaning there might be a possibility for her to come back.

The four pillars of Sanctum: Repent, Renew, Rejoice, Rebirth. Accentuating rebirth very literally. We know from episode two that Russel Lightbourne does not believe in God, but by killing a person for no reason other than so that someone you love can live is playing god in the cruelest way imaginable.

Embracing their traditions, Clarke decides to repent for her sins. She tries to apologize to Raven who won’t have any of it and compares her to Octavia. For me, the biggest difference between Clarke and Octavia is the remorse she feels. She knows what she did was wrong and she’s trying to make up for it. Therefore she deserves forgiveness. I wonder how Raven will react to Clarke’s death? 

Gabriel? Who the f#@k are Gabriel and his children?

As I said earlier, the old man is definitely Gabriel. We don’t know if he’s dead or alive. It can’t be that he lives within a computer because then his existence would be known. 

My guess is the split within Sanctum came recently (using the term loosely). Gabriel had to be one of the 12 primes since he came with them and his blood was also altered. Meaning his conscience was also transferred into a host. He was against the hostile takeover of innocent bodies and decided to rebel by saving the hosts. 

If this happened sixty odd years ago, Gabriel could still be alive somewhere (perhaps in hiding due to a failed conviction) and old. Very, very old. I’m not sure whether his followers are literally his children or just those that have sided with him, but either way, they want to continue his cause. Which they’ve clearly lost sight of. Save the hosts, don’t kill them.

Or this anomaly they mentioned somehow extends life, only it’s dangerous. Who knows, I’m a bit boggled here.

Xavier purposefully left his bag out to save Octavia and Rose. I’m sure I’ve seen this before. Right, Lincoln kidnapped her and saved her simultaneously. I know this is such a retelling of their story, but I loved Linctavia and thus cannot help boarding this ship.

Another season one throwback to Bellamy and Charlotte. But I think I’ve voiced my concerns about these. Poor, poor Rose. That scene was heartbreaking. 

Boy oh boy Bellarke and their romances

Clarke apologizes to Bellamy and states her reasons even though Bellamy has already forgiven her because he would be a hypocrite not to. And they share what has now become known as a Bellarke hug since it’s all these idiots can ever do.

Clarke hooks up with Cillian (who turns out to be the spy) within two seconds, now I’m not sure about you, but I rolled my eyes. Oh, cute, Clarke has yet another lover added to her long list of previous ones. Finn, Niyalah, Lexa, and Bellamy always on the side. I’m glad it’s a guy though to showcase that she is indeed bisexual and not gay. Bisexuality really needs some appreciation.

No one can tell if Bellamy was only upset with the party as he stated or Clarke having fun with some random dude. Most will say it’s the former and it probably is, yet it’s filmed in a different way. Why did they put him in this scene in the first place? 

When he sees her having fun, he smiles, he’s happy for her. Then the doctor’s all over her and all of a sudden his attitude changes. I don’t want to read too much into it since I had to watch it like six times to draw this conclusion.

He’s hurt and grieving over a lot of things, especially his sister and then he witnesses his “platonic soulmate” in the arms of another man. She’s always known exactly how to get him to open up, what to say to make him feel better and even though he knows he’s not allowed to feel that way, he’s jealous, he realizes he still needs her. 

And that spurs the single tear and his fight with Echo. He even spares another glance over his shoulder when she asks what’s wrong. Or was that just random? Because once he’s calmed down he apologizes to his girlfriend and comforts her when she tells him her backstory after six years of being lied to.

I felt for Echo, her life wasn’t easy, but none of their lives were. Honestly, I just can’t find Becho’s connection. Even though I try, because at some point we have to accept the fact that this is possibly a long term pairing. I’ve made my peace, I’ll ignore them. Give Echo an individual storyline and I might just start liking her more. 

A Red Queen and a terrorist walk into a bar

First of all, I have to show my gratitude for the glimpses of Octavia’s humanity. She’s in there and she’s slowly swimming to the top. That thorned rose is blossoming once again, thank you, Bellamy, for your part in this.

This is a weapon of mass destruction if I’ve ever seen one. A pregnant terrorist and a former evil queen. Yes, this is what I’m talking about. I might just write fanfiction about it.

“The devils of earth become the heroes of Sanctum.” They’re set out to kill Gabriel, but I doubt that will occur. From all I’ve heard, he’s good. Enhanced by Cillian’s words: “There are two sides to every story.” So, they will most likely join forces against Sanctum in some way. Hopefully not blowing up another planet. Please do something interesting here.

Josephine!Clarke

Okay, my first take on Josephine Ada Lightbourne was very wrong. To me, she seemed smart, funny and confident. Now she looks like the devil in disguise (No pun intended.) 

Reverting back to my earlier assumption about Delilah/Priya. It’s evident that Delilah no longer exists within her body which sets Jordan on edge. But that small statement along with knowing the mind of the host is erased but the brain is unharmed propels me to believe they can come back. Somehow. Hopefully.

Simone says, “I’ll prep for insertion, you clear the host.” Did that mean Clarke’s mind might be stored in some device too? They must have a way of extracting consciousness to transfer it to a host. Thus Clarke Griffin’s mind will be backed up somewhere as well. Not for too long before it’s disposed of, I’m sure.

Come on Madi (Lexa and Becca), Bellamy, Abby, Jordan, Raven, Murphy. You have to figure this out and bring her back before its too late. I refuse to believe Princess Clarke is dead. If she is, my mind is blown in a bullet to the brain kind of way. 

One scenario is that Josephine will have to give forth a ruse of being Clarke and willingly accept the “honor” of becoming a prime. She’s been indulging in all their other conventions, why not this one, right? But Jordan now knows what happened to Delilah, so they will try to stop her. Most likely Madi or Bellamy will notice a difference within her.

The dangerous alternative will be for Josephine to simply embrace her new host by saying they brought her to life after Cillian murdered her. Sanctumites, you have no idea how much Clarke’s people care about her. This might even sway those currently mad at her for an investigation.

A few last things

Russel does feel bad about what he’s doing, but so did Dante Wallace.

Raven and Wick (Sorry the other mechanic) what is that? Five minutes after Shaw’s death. Or was it only the motorcycle. Why does this show give us seedlings of relationships that will have no chance of growing?

Is Shadeheda Cadogen and what will he bring to the table?

Madi tasting her first cookie was awesome!

I missed Murphy this episode. His presence is required at all times.

What will happen to Niylah on the ship? And when will Indra make her appearance?

Will Russel and Simone find out that Abby knows how to create nightblood? 

Let me know what you think.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: An Internal Affair - Chapter 13 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: Leonard Snart, the CCPD Captain of Internal Affairs, is known as Captain Cold for a very good reason: He hates corrupt cops with a merciless vengeance, and once you’re on his list, you’re in serious trouble.

His next target?

A CCPD lab tech named Barry Allen who’s developed a suspicious habit of disappearing at random intervals.

—————————————————————————————————

"You'll never believe what I found!" Iris declares, rolling into Len's office like she owns a part of it.

Danvers looks up from her chair next to Len's desk - he'd called her in for a chat they had yet to get to - with a smile. "What?"

"Well, not me exactly - I've been pursuing some other lines of inquiry - but a friend of mine -"

"Is this about the upcoming CSI report on how they believe some of the disappearances might be related to Family targets?" Len inquires before she can get to it, because he's an asshole.

Iris deflates. "You've already heard."

"One of the CSIs called and gave me the short version," Len says, a touch wryly. "Someone mentioned my background to them and they were concerned I wouldn't live too long with a possible super-speed assassin on the loose."

Iris' jaw goes stiff. "Did they mention the part about there being good reason to believe there are two speedsters?"

Based on convincing information provided by one Barry Allen, yes, they'd mentioned it, albeit without specifying exactly what that information was.

Len really wishes he could just talk to Barry - to Allen, damnit, he's still technically a suspect - about this whole Flash thing. It would make everything a lot less complicated.

Unfortunately...

"They did," he acknowledges. "The individual in question also passed along some very interesting facts about how some of the disappearances might be related to the creation of, and evading the ultimate consequences of, the Particle Accelerator at STAR Labs."

STAR Labs, which Barry Allen is currently very close with.

(All those old paranoias coming back up: why did Barry fake a coma for nine months? What was he doing during those nine months? The story about his mom dying checks out, at least, so the investigation motive is still possible - but what is happening at STAR Labs, and why? What's their motive? Why is Allen trying to do this on his own? What's going on?)

Iris blinks owlishly at Len. "So?"

"Two speedsters, both intimately tied to and protecting STAR Labs?" Len asks, arching his eyebrows at her. "Doesn't exactly sound like a rivalry to me. Sounds like -"

"A stable," Danvers says.

Len blinks at her.

"You know," Danvers says. "Like in wrestling? A group of allies working together towards the same goal, usually composed of heels - er, bad guys, that is - and...neither of you know what I'm talking about, right."

"Hockey was always more my sport," Len says a bit blankly. He had no idea that Danvers liked wrestling; that opens up a whole new vista of terrible jokes and even more terrible novelty gifts. "I was never much for acrobatic punch-outs; if people are going to be hitting each other, I'd prefer it be in favor of getting a puck into a net."

"Plus there's all the ice-related puns you can make," Iris adds.

She's gotten to know him well already, Len sees.

Danvers, the traitor, raises a hand for a high-five at that, which Iris gives her.

"The way I see it right now-" Len says, pointedly ignoring his childish and immature subordinates, and also his own hypocrisy. "- is this: STAR Labs is setting itself up as the go-to shop for weird things, either for scientific purposes or the more usual money-and-power motives, and it's deploying one, maybe two speedsters to protect itself. Now, if there even are two, which I ain't conceding without evidence, the speedsters might still be working together -"

"But there have to be two! The Flash wouldn't be involved in Family -"

"You don't actually know that, beyond one or two personal interactions with the guy," Len points out. "No matter how good you think you are at reading people, that’s not enough; serial killers can be quite pleasant, I’ll have you know. As for whether there are two speedsters or not, right now the only evidence I've gotten that there are two speedsters are unconfirmed assertions -"

By Barry - by Allen, who, to be fair, is probably a good source about STAR Labs business...assuming that he’s telling the truth about it.

"- and some stuff about one wearing red while the other wears yellow. And even if different colored clothing - which people can and usually do change pretty often, let me remind you - was a valid reason to differentiate between them, we can't actually prove any of this because they run too fast to be seen."

"Ouch," Iris says. "I hate your logic. Don't you ever have faith in people?"

"No," Len says. "As demonstrated by the fact that I'm still alive. Go on, ask me about the background check I did on you."

"You did a..?"

"Don't ask," Danvers says with a sigh. "Yes, he did one, yes, it was extensive, and also high school girls in Central City have a memory that goes on forever so you really, really don’t want to ask for details. Next subject?"

"Please," Iris says, looking pained.

"Getting back to the point," Len says, "we don't know if the speedsters are working together or if this is a right-hand-doesn't-know-what-the-left-is-doing sorta scenario, so there's a chance - a chance - that your buddy the Flash is still mostly in the clear -"

After all, it could have been this mysterious other speedster that killed Allen's mom. The Flash appeared pretty young the two times Len met him, and he did save all those people on that train...

Still: verify first, trust second. That's been Len's motto for a long time for very good reasons.

"But you don't think so?" Iris asks, crossing her arms.

"I don't know what to think," Len confesses. "Someone is clearly up to something here, something big, and I've got no clue what the fuck it is. The Accelerator gets built, the Accelerator blows, possibly on purpose - why? We don't know. Speedsters one or two are disappearing people for the Families at a rate not seen in years without any apparent discrimination between which Families' interest they're serving - why? We don't know. The Flash claims that he's trying to save the city - from what? Who? Why isn't he working with the police? We just don't know."

He shakes his head. He hate mysteries, he really does.

"I get it," Iris says. "Cui bono, right?"

"Who benefits?" Danvers agrees. "As far as I can tell - no one. Maybe the Families, from the hits, but from the Accelerator? No one."

"Not quite true," Len says. "STAR Labs benefits."

"Their reputation was ruined by the Accelerator blast," Iris protests.

"Reputation, yes," Len says. "But that's about it. No major lawsuits - a quickie settlement paid 'em off, with the most litigious hold-outs that wanted to go to trial disappearing - possibly literally, has anyone checked into that? - and no jail time for Wells, and now he has a deserted building in a prime location that suddenly has speedster assassins on offer?"

"That's a pretty elaborate sham, though," Iris objects.

"Maybe turning mercenary was plan B, who knows?" Len says. "We won't, not until we start arresting people and getting answers outta them. Now, here's the facts: I'm willing, tentatively, to believe in the possibility that the Flash is largely innocent of this Families business, maybe because he's getting manipulated or something, but no matter what, he's definitely involved with STAR Labs, and STAR Labs seems like it's the center of everything."

Iris nods. "We need to investigate Wells, and any possible connection he has with the Families," she says. "Eddie and I can do that."

"Good," Len says. "Be careful. We don't want you to get disappeared."

"I'm not on any Family hit list -"

"You don't need to be," Len says harshly. "You make sure you have company and protection at all time, you get me? Especially if these disappearances are happening at super-speed – we don’t have a way to stop them. The only way we can even try to slow something like that down is making sure there are people around you to see the disappearance happen, since thus far whoever is doing them seems to want to avoid that."

Iris frowns. "What's with the sudden concern?"

"We went back to check on Mardon," Danvers says quietly. "Since nothing happened at the dockyard and it was getting late in the week. He was gone."

"Gone?"

"His house was a mess," Len says. "Not like it was tossed for stuff; more like something went through it super-fast, sending all the lightweight objects fluttering into the air. A speedster, causing a disappearance – and if there are two, we don’t know which one did the job. Now, if someone figures out that we went and talked to the guy, and if the goal was to silence him for whatever reason, we’re next on the list. They'd have no reason to assume we didn't learn whatever it was they took him to hide."

"I'll be careful," Iris promises, looking disturbed. "I'll make sure Wally is, too - he's staying with Eddie and me for now, since he was sleeping out of his car while his mom was in the hospital."

“Have you told...?”

“No, not yet,” Iris says, with a wince. “I don’t even know what to say about it! It’s just – he just – argh! Do you know that we’re actually full siblings? Wally and me?”

“What?” Danvers asks, as blankly surprised as Len feels. “How is that possible? He said his mom is in the hospital, and I thought you said –”

“Yes, I said my mom died,” Iris says. “Because that’s what I was told.”

...ouch.

“I’ve thought she was dead since I was five!”

Double ouch.

And here Len’d assumed something simple and straightforward like some sort of affair or something.

“So on Eddie’s advice I’m just kinda not talking to Dad right now,” Iris says. “At least until I’ve figured out a way to, uh…”

“Not get arrested for patricide?” Len suggests. “Or, at minimum, assault, battery, and possibly grievous bodily harm when you kick his balls into his lungs?”

“...yeah. Basically.”

“Well, at least you have your investigation to devote your time and feelings to,” Danvers says brightly. “Work is good for getting out rage. Or punching things! That also works.”

“We should go to kickboxing class together sometime,” Iris tells her.

"Nah, I do it, uh, freestyle, but thanks for offering!"

Len doesn't want to know what Danvers has been punching. He really doesn't.

Okay, he does, but he's not going to ask or anything.

He's opening his mouth to ask, because he is weak, when his phone buzzes.

Len blinks.

Danvers blinks.

"...aren't you going to get that?" Iris asks.

"The boss doesn't get calls," Danvers says. "Texts, sometimes, but calls...? It’s mostly just me."

Len checks the number. "It's not the hospital."

Danvers' shoulders slump.

Len agrees entirely. For a moment, he'd hoped – maybe – but no.

Still no news.

"Probably just one of my contacts deciding they’re too good for texting," he says, and hobbles out the door - he's trying out the leg braces again - to answer it. And possibly rip whoever it is a new one, because Len hates getting calls.

"Snart," the voice on the other side of the line says.

Len frowns, recognizing the voice, however unexpected. "D'Angelo? What do you want? I thought you'd left town."

"I did, and I’m still not back," d'Angelo says. "But there's this job I thought you might be interested in hearing about."

"A job? You know I'm not in the biz anymore. I don't do jobs."

"This job's different - it involves the Flash. I figured since you took an interest last time..."

Len's eyebrows go up. "Okay," he says. "I'm listening."

A few minutes later, he walks back into his office. "Iris," he says. "Two questions: one, do you really believe the Flash is innocent? And -"

"Yes, of course!"

"Let me finish. Two: how do you feel about getting that hazard pay?"

Iris, not being an idiot, immediately looks highly suspicious. "Before I answer that one, exactly how are those two questions related?"

"I just got intel about a trap some guys are planning for the Flash," Len says. "They want to get him caught on camera to 'out' him as a real life superhero -"

"Why?" Danvers asks.

"Merchandising."

"Merchandising?"

Len shrugs. "He doesn't seem like the type that'd sue over trademark infringement. They've got plans for a line of action figures, shirts, mugs, the works."

"What," Danvers says dubiously, "is wrong with some people?"

"I know, right? That's Central City corporate shills for you - it's just dumb enough to be believable. Anyway, they've hired some thugs to do the dirty work and their original plan for getting the Flash's attention was to just go and bomb STAR Labs -"

"And this is a problem?" Iris asks.

"Given that we're investigating STAR Labs? Yeah, it is," Len says. "We don't want the whole operation to go underground and make us lose all our best leads. So I offered 'em a better deal."

"And the better deal is, what, using the fact that I’m the Flash's favorite journalist to lure him in?" Iris asks skeptically.

Len looks steadily at her.

"Wait, really?" Iris looks disturbingly flattered, whether it's because people agree the Flash is likely to come rescue her or because Len's agreeing to take her into the field. "Okay, that's awesome."

"You think that's awesome, just wait; you haven't heard the rest of the plan yet," Len says. "We're going to challenge the Flash to a public showdown, using Iris as the bait to appeal to his heroic nature -"

"Why are we agreeing to this at all?" Danvers asks. "Shouldn't we just continue investigating him? Even if the Flash shows up, we won't be able to catch him."

"The guy thinks I’m a supervillain, right? I'm going to be 'kidnapping' Iris," Len says. "Once she's 'rescued', she can grab him and hold him in place until I show up to ask him some questions and get to the bottom of his motivations once and for all. Moreover, it'll strengthen our hand considerably with the force for the Flash - the guy we're supposedly tracking - to be recognized as more than an urban legend; we've got plenty of circumstantial evidence, but nothing quite works as well as live footage."

"And you think it'll be fun," Danvers concludes.

"It's going to be so much fun," Len agrees.

"I'm in," Iris declares. "Eddie's going to flip his lid, but I'm in."

"He can man the police barricades for the section of Central we wall off for this showdown -"

"Why in the world would the police barricade off a part of Central to let people fight?" Danvers protests. "That makes no sense - if they thought there'd be collateral damage, wouldn't they just arrest the people involved?"

"A, as you pointed out, we can't actually arrest the Flash, we don't have the evidence for it yet," Len says. "B, it'll look good on camera, so the Commissioner will go for it."

Danvers groans. "Election year. Imminent primary. Right, I nearly forgot. Man, Central City, sometimes..."

"Are we going to arrest the corporate guys?" Iris asks.

Len shrugs. "We could get them on conspiracy to damage property, maybe, or for trying to start a fight, but for anything beyond that, our involvement would render it entrapment. I'll imply heavily that we're just taking pity on them this once and that they'd better never do anything that dumb again; it'll probably work."

"You really don't care about property damage, do you?" Iris asks, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing.

"Not my job. I'm Internal Affairs," Len sniffs.

"And a thief," Danvers teases, then grows serious. "Boss, this is Flash stuff. You promised -"

"Fine, fine, I'll wear the mask," Len says. It worked surprisingly well to be a simple mystery man; he hasn't been attacked while out and about in that mask yet. "Happy?"

"A mask, Iris, and an army of policemen barricading off the street available to protect you?" Danvers says, pretending to think about it. "I guess I'll have to accept it. Maybe a nice protective bubble while we’re at it?"

“Hah, hah.”

Danvers convinced, the rest of the set-up is easy enough: Len gets in contact with d'Angelo, who puts him in touch with the thugs' bosses, Len convinces them that a kidnapping of the Flash's favorite reporter would be a much more surefire way to draw out the Flash than a bombing - and Thawne's follow-up visit "investigating" a possible conspiracy to damage property with some hinting that the thugs were indiscrete seals the deal.

The thugs are fired, Len is hired, and Iris plays the damsel in distress in a short phone-filmed hostage video that took maybe fifteen takes to get done because Danvers wouldn't stop sniggering as she filmed it.

"I feel kind of bad setting the Flash up like this," Iris says as they head to the rendezvous point.

"Just imagine," Len says, "actually getting all of the answers we’ve been wanting, to your satisfaction and to mine, so we can identify whether he's a victim or a perpetrator -"

"Oh, shut up," she hisses, amused. "I'm not getting cold feet; I know it's for his own good that he finally gets a chance to prove himself to you -"

Iris is of the opinion that merely showing up to do the rescue would already be a good sign of the Flash's heroism; Len disagrees, since there's plenty of ways to be a hero with corrupt motives, but he must admit he's a bit hopeful.

"- and I know, being a journalist, that being 'exposed' as a hero trying to save a girl is only going to be good for his public reputation. So we're helping, not hurting, even if we are tricking him. Also, has anyone ever told you that your voice is almost unrecognizable under that mask?"

"It's never really come up," Len says dryly. "Everyone I encounter while wearing it either already knows who I am, or I don't want them to."

"Aren't you worried at all that this will make people think you're a bad guy?" she asks.

"Given that this mask is basically only useful when I'm at risk from criminals? No, not really. This will help solidify the masked man's rep - and distance it from me, since I ain't never gone in for kidnapping, not even when I was a thief."

"Fair," Iris acknowledges. "And I'll tell the Flash what's going on the second I'm 'rescued' so that he can stop worrying about your motives...oooh, there he is!"

The Flash comes to a stop a few dozen feet away from them, his face blurred with vibrations.

"Captain Cold," he says. He almost sounds - disappointed.

"Flash," Len says, then pauses, surprised.

Only cops call him ‘Captain Cold.’

The Flash is a cop?

Or, no – it’s possible, albeit just barely, that the Flash just heard the term being thrown around by some cops while snooping on police radio. Possible, but highly unlikely: even if the name got mentioned, putting it together with Len when he’s wearing a full-face mask without any assistance is doubtful.

More likely, there’s a cop on the STAR Labs payroll that gave them the term.

A cop, in other words, that is willingly working with an extremely illegal vigilante.

Damnit, Len hates corrupt cops.

That annoyance is probably why he snidely says, “You just can’t resist shoving your nose into everything, can you?” instead of, well, anything more diplomatic.

“I can’t – you literally put out a video challenging me to a fight!” the Flash protests.

Len fires a warning blast at the Flash’s feet. “You want to fight? We can fight.”

“Is this part of the plan?” Iris hisses in Len’s ear. “Or are you just being a bitch for some reason?”

“No one calls me Captain Cold but the cops,” Len murmurs.

“So what? So he used a stupid nickname; who cares about –”

Len can see the second the meaning of that hits her.

“Oh crap,” she says.

Len bares his teeth under his mask. “Yeah,” he says, a little savagely. “Looks like this whole thing just came back under my jurisdiction.”

He raises his voice. “Surrender now, Flash!”

“That’ll be a cold day in hell,” the Flash shoots back.

“It might happen faster than you think!” Len replies without even thinking about it.

It’s – it’s not even conscious at this point.

“Oh my god,” Iris groans. “Are you – are you two quipping?”

Punning! Not quipping!

Len's willing to consider compromising on 'bantering'.

“Against you? I don’t think so,” the Flash replies cockily. “I think you just need to chill out.”

“Slow your roll, Flash,” Len says. “Going up against me might not be your brightest idea.”

“Why? You gonna put me on ice? Chances of that are below zero.”

It would be very inappropriate for Len to fall in love with a second suspect, especially one that’s a law-breaking super-human vigilante. Very, very inappropriate, and also not fair to Barry.

But surprisingly tempting.

“You know what they say,” Len replies. “Live fast, die young...”

“Please stop,” Iris says, covering her face. “Both of you. Anytime now. I’m dying of second-hand embarrassment here.”

The Flash looks at her with a frown. “You don’t seem all that distressed about being kidnapped,” he says, sounding suspicious.

“She’s assisting in police inquiries,” Len says, because she is and he’s working on not being so much of a liar anymore now that he’s gone straight, and fire his cold gun again in another warning shot.

He slightly misjudges the shot and hits a fire hydrant, causing it to burst and then immediately freeze over.

The Flash, who had immediately dodged to the side in order to evade a shot he’d assumed was aimed at him, ends up slipping on the frozen over part and landing flat on his ass.

There’s a moment of silence.

“Did that just happen?” Len asks, marveling. “Please tell me that just happened. And maybe that someone caught it on camera.”

“Freeze – er, stop where you are!” one of the cops hollers from the sidelines. “Both of you! You’re under arrest!”

Len can’t even blame them.

“Right,” the Flash says, and Len swears he can see a blush underneath the rapid vibration that's blurring out the visible parts of his face. “That’s it.”

He moves forward in a burst of light, aiming right at Len.

Len automatically fires, because twenty years undercover does not make a man comfortable with being attacked, but the Flash persists despite the slight freezer burn, yanking Iris out of Len’s arms and disappearing.

The police are on them (well, just him, now) a second later, pulling the gun out of Len’s hands and slapping on handcuffs, which is really unnecessary. He’d told Thawne to make his ‘capture’ realistic to preserve the masked supervillain identity in case of future need, yes, but there’s realistic and then there’s being shoved into the back of a police car with –

No Thawne.

Worse, Len recognizes the guy already in the driver’s seat.

Walter Lloyd.

Cichowksi’s old partner, back when they were both rookie beat cops together.

Shit.

Len starts surreptitiously getting himself out of the handcuffs.

He’s about two-thirds of the way there when he hears the very distinct click of a gun being cocked in his direction.

He looks up.

Frank Peterson – aka, Cichowski’s current partner, at least before he went to prison – is aiming a gun at Len’s face.

“Don’t move a muscle,” he warns.

Len stops moving.

It’s a good idea to do what people with guns in your face tell you to do, however distasteful – it might not help, in the end, but it means there’s a chance you might survive long enough to do something to get that gun out of your face.

Keeping the gun aimed at such close range that even a barely functional alcoholic like Peterson wouldn’t be able to miss, Peterson reaches over and pulls Len’s hands forward, grunting when he sees that Len’s almost out of the cuffs.

“Goddamn thief,” he says, snapping the cuffs back on, and adding a few zip ties for good measure before pulling out some duct tape. “Once a thief, always a thief, huh, Snart?”

“Even for me, three zip ties and duct tape seem like a bit much,” Len says, holding his hands as wide as he can unobtrusively manage while they get wrapped up. Not that that’ll help him all that much. “I’m a thief, not fucking Houdini.”

“Yeah, well, we’re just making sure you’re not going to Houdini yourself out of this one,” Peterson sneers.

Hands well and truly fucked, Len opts to lean back in the seat, casually put a knee up on the back of the driver seat’s chair to achieve a proper lounging position, and say, “This one being – what, exactly? Going to drive me to the docks and put one between my eyes? Seems a bit...cold, even for you.”

“Jesus,” Lloyd says. “He knows he’s gonna die and he’s still fucking annoying.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got the satisfaction of knowing that your faces were undoubtedly captured by cameras back in the fight,” Len says. “So when they find my corpse, you two are going to go down for so long your little buddy Cichowski’s going to be drinking champagne in thanks on your graves –”

“Don’t you fucking talk about him,” Peterson snarls. “Don’t you dare fucking talk about him. Not after what you did to him and Mary.”

“What I did was my job,” Len says. “And what he didn’t do was his. Oath to protect the laws of this city – something you two’ve clearly forgotten about.”

That makes them uncomfortable, at least – he can see Lloyd’s hands tightening on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white, and Petersen gnawing at his lip like it’ll make this easier on his conscience.

They’re not innately corrupt, these two, or at least they don’t think of themselves that way. But corruption is something you do, not something you are, and Len has no sympathy for them.

“So what’s the plan?” Len says, goading them. If he’s going to die, he’s going to go down fighting every last step of the way. “Well?”

“Shut up,” Lloyd snarls.

“You gonna take me down the docks where someone’ll see you and snitch? Or maybe cut the crap and just shoot me here in the car so the CSIs can find my blood?”

Sorry in advance, Barry. This wasn’t how Len wanted him to find out about who Len was.

“Or maybe –”

“Shut the fuck up!” Lloyd roars.

The car swerves.

“Better be careful there,” Len says sweetly. “Speeding is the leading cause of all traffic fatalities –”

“God, you’re a pest,” Petersen says in disgust. “I can’t wait for the Families to get rid of you.”

That shuts Len up.

For exactly three seconds, anyway.

“You’ve gone over to the Families?” he asks, sneer curling his lips. He should’ve known: corruption always tells, in the end, and these guys were real close to someone just convicted of getting too close and personal with the Families. Fuck, he hates corrupt cops. “Really? You two? Clearly I’m gonna have to have a much closer chat with Cichowski when I get outta here –”

If.

“– if he missed a chance to turn over some new Family sell-outs when doing a deal for sentencing…”

“We’re not sell-outs, Snart, no matter what you’d like to think,” Petersen says with a sneer. “We just hate you.”

“Like you said,” Lloyd says. “We’ve been seen leaving the site with you. But if you told us to drop you off in some location to go keep on investigating, well, what can we do? You’re the boss, right, Captain?”

“Some location where some Family thugs just happen to be waiting to take me off your hands,” Len says. “God, you’re so fucking stupid.”

That gets them both to tense up.

“Not sell-outs my ass,” Len continues, rolling his eyes. “If you weren’t before, you will be the second you give me up – or do you really think they won’t turn around and blackmail you the second they need something from you?”

That clearly hadn’t occurred to them.

“Walt –” Petersen starts.

“Ignore him,” Lloyd says. “He’s trying to get under our skin, that’s all – if they try anything like that, we’ll fuck them up.”

“Because the Families are so bad at blackmail that it’ll be that easy,” Len says.

“We’re committed,” Lloyd tells Petersen, ignoring Len. “If we turn back now, he’ll just have us run up on attempted murder charges.”

He’s not wrong, just a touch smarter than Len would like him to be.

“Sure I will,” he says, all friendly-like. “But you’d probably get out pretty quick, s’long as I wasn’t dead – momentarily deranged with grief, let’s say, over your good buddy going down, making you do things you’d later regret –”

“Oh, I’m not going to regret this for one fucking minute, Snart,” Lloyd says. “We all know you’ll go after us with every damn thing you’ve got for this if we don’t take you down first.”

Again: not wrong, just smarter than Len would prefer.

“You’re not going to be satisfied till you take the whole goddamn department down,” Petersen adds, nodding.

“If they’re all corrupt, then they all deserve to go down,” Len snaps, his temper flaring up. He’s usually pretty good at keeping his cool, but damn if he doesn’t hate corruption more than anything else on this goddamn planet. “Some things are more important than your fucking little code of blue, and if you had any goddamn sense of loyalty to this city, you’d realize that.”

“We’re the ones protecting this city –”

“No, you’re just on a fucking power trip that you’ve mistaken for protecting the city,” Len says. “Taking me out to get killed like this – you’re just like that Hood-Arrow asshole over in Starling, ‘cept you don’t have the balls to do the job yourself. Stop it with this ‘protecting the city’ bullshit! You’re the ones people need to be afraid of, you assholes that think you can take justice into your own hands, playing judge, jury, and executioner all at once. You’re not better than the rest of humanity just because you’ve got a badge!”

“Shut up!” Lloyd shouts. “Peterson, if he says one more fucking word, shoot him in the knee.”

“But the blood –”

“We’ll ditch the car if we have to. Just – keep him quiet.”

Len shuts up, seething.

If he lives – a big if – he’s going to come after these assholes so hard that their grandchildren are going to feel it.

It’s a tense but silent ten minutes – nine minutes, fourteen seconds, to be precise – before Lloyd pulls them in near a warehouse downtown, an old steel foundry.

Len knows this place.

Unfortunately, with his hands tied the way they are, all that means is that he has enough time to brace himself as they drag him out of the car and throw him down one of the old smelting vats.

Smooth sheer round sides – even if Len’s hands weren’t tied, he wouldn’t be able to get out, not without help.

“Enjoy your – heh – Family reunion,” Petersen says.

That was almost a good one.

Len settles down to wait, since there’s nothing else he can do about it.

He wishes he could at least remove the stupid mask, since it’s getting itchy, but he can’t get his taped-up fingers to pop the clasp.

It’s not too long – eighteen minutes, forty-three seconds – before he starts to hear voices.

Voices he knows.

Voices –

Hold up. Something’s wrong.

Something is very, very, very wrong.

Len stands up and presses himself as close as he can to the wall of the vat, straining to hear, but no. He’s not wrong. He does know those voices – Family lieutenants, people he’s worked for or with and sold out to the Feds and the CCPD with a smile on his face.

But if he’s right about those voices, then everything else he knows is wrong.

The world turned upside down –

Almost as if the thought acted as a summoning, Len suddenly finds himself in motion. Not motion of his own accord, but a sickening blurring sensation not unlike being on a runaway whirligig at the local carnival.

Next thing he knows, he’s not in the vat – he’s outside the warehouse, in an alleyway, and the Flash is looking at him.

Len coughs and clears his throat. “Rough ride,” he croaks, waiting for his stomach to settle down and his side and leg to stop acting like they just got shot all over again.

“Sorry about that,” the Flash says, sounding apologetic. “It doesn’t feel bad to me, but I know it can be hard on people – feel free to throw up if you need to.”

“Inside the mask?”

“…ick. Never mind.”

“Yeah, thought so.” Len straightens up with a force of will. He’s thankful for the leg braces, as much as he hates them; if he’d been using his crutches, Lloyd and Petersen would’ve taken them away from him and he’d be truly screwed. “Thanks for the rescue, kid. That was a bad situation – which seems like it ain’t all that uncommon when we’re meeting.”

“All things considered, I feel like the train crash was probably worse,” the Flash says dryly. “Between the two.”

Len snorts, not disagreeing. “Yeah, true, but I hate being trapped in confined spaces. Old phobia from prison –”

Only partially true; the real trauma came from having being trapped in a tiny room being tortured for three days. Prison, with its legal requirements about things like fresh air and contact with the outside world, was comparatively tame.

“– you know how it is. Anyway, how did you know where I was...?”

Yes, okay, he’s paranoid. But as tonight showed, he’s clearly not paranoid enough.

The Flash shrugs. “Iris made pretty clear that the whole thing was an act to make sure STAR Labs didn’t get bombed by some corporate thugs looking for merchandising rights,” he says, his shoulders going up around his ears in what seemed to be embarrassment. “And she said that you had some questions to ask me, questions that might convince you that I’m not actually evil, except – well, you never showed up.”

“So she started worrying?” Len asks, amused.

“She said one of her friends –” Danvers, no doubt. “– told her you were very good with timing, so she started freaking out a bit. And then Eddie showed up –”

Interesting – ‘Eddie’, not ‘Thawne’.

Could Thawne be…?

No, surely not. Len’s met the guy; he’s not that good a liar.

“– and he was freaking out, too, because he was getting pulled around the scene on a bunch of stupid stuff until he realized that the cops around him were intentionally delaying him, but he didn’t know why until he realized you were gone in a car that didn’t have him in it and realized it must have been Family cops –”

“Not Family cops,” Len says grimly. “Regular cops. Cichowski – that’s a guy I took down for corruption – well, turns out he has some old buddies out looking for a little revenge and hoping the Families would do the job for them.”

“...shit,” the Flash says.

“No kidding,” Len says. “But we’ve got bigger problems.”

“We do?”

“I’m going to do something very unlike me and take it on faith that you actually want what’s best for this city, no questions asked,” Len says grimly. He doesn’t want to do it, especially given that there’s a chance this Flash guy might be the killer Barry’s after, but he doesn’t think he has a choice. He has to take a chance. “Because in that warehouse right behind you is a bigger danger to this city than anything you might represent.”

The Flash turned to look at the building. “What do you mean?”

“I heard voices,” Len says. “Voices of Family lieutenants, ones I recognized. Rizzo Hovsepian, Darius Petrosyan –”

“Darbinyans,” the Flash says, proving that he recognized the names of some of the most fearsome enforcers in the city, or at least could identify it when they sounded Armenian.

“– as well as Simon Boccaccio and Giuseppe Condutti.”

The Flash’s head jerks back a bit in shock. “Santinis? Santinis and Darbinyans in the same place? Either they hate you more than they hate the Feds, which is unlikely no matter how good you are, or...”

“Or two different Families - the ones most famously and most viciously known for being constantly at war with each other - are for some unknown reason working together on some type of joint project,” Len finishes. “You see the problem.”

“Yeah, I do. That would be – bad. Really, really bad. What’s the plan?”

“Right now? The plan is for you to get my hands loose,” Len says, holding his hands out in front of him. “And then we go inside and try to learn everything we can about what they’re up to. In the event it’s something we can sabotage or delay, we do that, but our number one goal is to find out what’s gotten these guys teaming up and make sure the info gets back to headquarters. Family stuff’s never good, and the bigger it is, the worse it is. You in?”

The Flash nods, his jaw firming with determination.

Len really hopes that this guy’s just being misled and that the theoretical other speedster really is the one behind all those disappearances and possible murders; the kid really seems like he’s trying to do the right thing.

In a ridiculously wrong way, of course, but he’s trying; that counts for something in Len’s book.

“First things first, though,” Len says, nodding down to his hands.

“Right. I’ve got you.”

The Flash’s hands move as fast as his feet do, apparently, and it’s only a second before Len’s hands are free from duct tape, zip ties, and handcuffs all.

“Thanks,” Len says with a sigh, flexing his stiff fingers and wincing as proper blood flow returns. “Appreciate it. Now, let’s get down to business.”

And then he reaches up and takes off his mask.