#because they were like ‘we need to make her look like a spy! quick give her a weird coat and glasses!’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tothosewholisten · 3 months

Text

Forever Healed | TUA insert

Chapter: 05

<<previous chapter | next chapter>>

Masterlist

…

Five and I discussed our new plan on the way back to the academy.

“We need to go back, now.” Five insisted as he paced around his bedroom.

I stood by the door trying to distance myself from the angry teen.

“I know..” I pause. “But you already saw how demanding works. And also you're a kid, of course they didn't take you seriously.”

“Why is this eye so important anyway?” I ask.

He huffs. “Whoever has this eye brings upon the end of the world. I need to figure out who it is.”

Every time Five repeats that the world is ending I try to ignore it. But with the D-day getting closer and closer I realize I need to do a few things on my bucket list.

“We need someone else.” He mutters, breaking me out of my thoughts.

He's right, our story wasn't convincing at all. You need a strong narrative to get information out of suckers. So we need a dramatic person who can play a part.

Suddenly it dawned on me. We need-

“You know, I am so thrilled to join your guys' spy mission! It's just like old times.” Klaus reminisced with sappy tears in his eyes.

“I don't think we've ever done this.” Five retorts.

I know that the boy wasn't the most excited about getting help from Klaus but I told him if Klaus puts his mind to it, we're getting that information.

Five and I went over to the dining room where Klaus was snoring on the couch. In his underwear.

At first he wouldn't get up, that was until Five offered him twenty dollars and he bolted upstairs to get ready. We trailed after him back to Five’s room where he was waiting on Five's bed.

I love Klaus but his outfit choices have always been questionable even when we were teens.

“What are you wearing?” I asked disgustedly.

I did not receive an answer because Five heard a noise and peered his head out the door.

An annoyed look on his face appeared when he turned back around to us. “Vanya's here. Klaus hide.” He whispers.

Klaus gets up from the bed and dashes around the room, looking for anywhere that's big enough to fit his lanky body. I point to Five's closet.

He contorts himself to fit inside and closes the door behind him. Just in time too because Vanya walks into the room.

“Thank god, I was worried sick about you two.” She expressed her uneasiness.

I frowned. “Sorry, we left without saying goodbye.” If only I wasn't dragged by that little boy I would've loved to talk to her more.

“No look. I'm the one who should be sorry.” Vanya turns to Five. “Yeah, I was dismissive, and I– I guess I couldn't process what you were saying. And I still can't to be honest.” She stutters out.

I couldn't tell if it was an act but Five’s face turned almost sad. “Maybe you were right to be dismissive.” He says.

I'm not sure where this acting was when we were at Meritech. But I match his hurt look.

“Maybe it wasn't real after all. It felt real. Well like you said, the old man did say time travel could contaminate the mind.” Five continued.

Five is interrupted by a loud crash that comes from the closet. I ran over to stand in front of it trying to distract from the noises Klaus was making as they kept talking.

“Then maybe I'm not the right person for you to be talking to. Look, I used to see someone. A therapist, I could give you her information.” Vanya shares.

Five is quick to feign a smile. “No thanks, but I think I'm just going to get something to eat. It's been a long time since I've had good food.”

Vanya nods and steps back out of the room.

As soon as Five goes back to the door to make sure that she is gone, the warm look on his face disappears and his permanent scowl returns instead.

The closet behind me starts to shake and I take a step away hoping that Klaus doesn't decide to fall on me.

His curled body leaps out of the closet. “That was so… touching!” He trips over fallen junk from the closet. “All that stuff about family and Dad and time. Wow!”

“Will you shut up, she'll hear you.” He yells.

“I'm moist.”

“What the hell Klaus.” I scoot further away from him.

Five takes a moment to look him up and down. “I thought I told you to put on something professional.”

The outfit he put on was a green button-up shirt with frilly red-lined sleeves. Honestly atrocious.

“What? This is my nicest outfit.” Klaus cries.

“Let's go look at the old man's closet,” I suggest pushing Klaus out of the room.

Five groans before following us out.

“As long as I get paid,” Klaus exclaims.

“When the job is done.”

He stops us. “Okay, but just so we're clear on the finer details. I just gotta go into this place and pretend to be your dear old Dad. Correct?”

“Yeah, something like that,” I replied.

“What's our cover story then?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Five gives him a puzzled look.

“I mean, was I really young when I had y/n? Like, 16? Like, young and terribly misguided. Then yada yada some years later you came along, Five.” Klaus rambles putting his hands on his chest.

“Sure.”

“Your mother, that slut.. whoever she was. We met at.. oh! The disco.”

I cackle at Klaus’s backstory but Five couldn't look more concerned.

“Remember that.” The man snaps. “Oh, my god, the sex was amazinggg.”

“What a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain.” Five turns to go down the stairs.

Klaus holds out his pointer like a stern dad. “Don't make me put you into time out.” He yells.

“Like I said to your son and daughter?” The same doctor questions us from before.

We arrived at the same part of the building but this time the man had the decency to bring us to his office.

“Yes, these are my children,” Klaus replies affirmatively.

He now had on one of Reginald's many suits; it made him look the part.

“Yeah, can't you tell?” My hand messaging my temple as I throw that in, trying to mask my sarcasm, cause well none of us looked alike.

“Well, like I told your children earlier, any information about the prosthetics we build is strictly confidential.” The man emphasizes each word to us like we are all babies.

Klaus sat in a chair across from the man's desk and I sat in the other, but Five stood up in the middle of us with his hands on the doctor's glass desk. Getting ready for round two of his yelling match.

“Without the client's consent. I simply can't help you.”

“Well, we can't get consent if you don't give us a name.” Five yells.

The doctor looks defeated. “Well, that's not my problem.”

I’m sure Five wished his powers were laser eyes instead of teleportation because of how he was staring at the man so intensely.

“Sorry. Now, there's really nothing more I can do, so–”

Klaus looked up from his lap. “And what about my consent?”

“Excuse me?”

Everyone turns to look at him.

“Who gave you permission… to lay your hands on my son?” Klaus cried.

“What?” Five, the doctor and I all say at once.

“You heard me.”

“I didn't touch your son.” The man states matter of factly.

Klaus slowly gets up from his chair “Oh, really? Well, how did he get that swollen lip then?”

“He doesn't have a swollen-”

The man didn't have time to finish his sentence because Klaus suddenly swung at Five and slapped him in the mouth.

I hide my expression with my palm and watch.

He inhales sharply. “I want it. Name, please. Now.” He slaps his hands onto the doctor's desk.

The man stutters trying to think of something to say. “You're crazy.” He replies.

Klaus fakes a chuckle. “You got no idea.”

He picks up the snow globe on the man's desk. “Peace on earth? That's so sweet.” He reads out loud.

He then smashes the snow globe into his head causing everyone to let out a shriek as it breaks into tiny pieces. I cringe looking at all that blood on his head.

He screams out. “God that hurt.” Water from the snow globe dripped all over his face.

The man doesn't break eye contact with Klaus but hurryingly reaches for the telephone on his desk.

“I'm calling secur– what are you doing?” The man yells out but Klaus takes the telephone right from his sweaty hands.

“There's been an assault… in Mr. Big's office, and we need security, now. Schnell!” Klaus screams into the telephone before slamming it back onto its post.

He sighs. “Now, here's what's gonna happen, Grant.”

“It's… Lance.”

“In about sixty seconds two security guards are gonna burst through that door, and they're gonna see a whole lot of blood and wonder ‘What the hell happened?’ And we're gonna tell them that you… beat the shit out of us!” Klaus rambles.

“While making googly eyes at my young daughter!” He sobs.

Five stares at Klaus admirably.

“You're gonna do great in prison, Grant. Trust me, I've been there. A little piece of chicken like you. Oh my god, you're gonna get passed around like a…” He moves his hips in a circle to make a point.

Then shutters thinking back at old memories. “You're just– you're gonna do great. That's all I'm saying.”

Lance almost cries out looking at all of us. “Jesus, you are a real sick bastard.”

Klaus stares at him blankly. “Thank you.”

He spits out a piece of snow globe glass. The look on Five face is priceless, I'm for one so proud of Klaus right now. He never went Broadway but this was pretty close.

Lance rushes over to a long line of filing cabinets. Searching for the information that will satisfy us. Klaus sat on top of the cabinet making the doctor go even faster, fearing for his life.

“Oh, that's strange.” He says.

“What.” Five ask.

“Uh, the eye. It hasn't been purchased by a client yet.”

Klaus jumps off the cabinet and gets up into Lance's face. “What? What do you mean?” He whispers.

“Well, uh, our logs say that the eye with that serial number… This can't be right. It hasn't even been manufactured yet.” Lance looks up at Five. “Where did you get that eye?”

Five huffs. He walks away from all of us to the elevator and leaves us with Lance.

I grab onto Klaus to move him outside as he blows Lance a smooch before we go into the elevator as well.

We walk out of the building's doors when Five starts to talk again. “Well, this is not good.” He says.

“I was pretty good, though, right? ‘Yeah. What about my consent, bitch?” He laughs.

“Klaus, it doesn't matter.” The boy sighs and we stop walking.

“What? What, what's the big deal with this eye, anyways?” The hurt Klaus asks.

I grab onto the two men to heal them of their injuries before answering for Five who looks like he's about to explode.

“There's someone out there who's going to lose an eye in the next seven days. And they're gonna bring about the end of life on earth as we know it!” I say, rubbing my forehead.

“Yeah, can I get that twenty bucks, like, now, or what?”

I stare at my adopted brother with my brows furrowed. “You're not gonna question what I just said, at all?”

Five steps closer to him. “The apocalypse is coming and all you can think about is getting high?”

“Well, I'm also quite hungry. Tummies a rumblin.” Klaus wiggles his fingers to imitate grumbling.

“You're useless.” Five shakes his head while walking away from the two of us to sit on the building's steps.

“Oh come on, you need to lighten up old man!” Klaus mocks. I move from Klaus to sit near Five and listen to the rest of Klaus’s spiel.

“Hey, you know, I’ve just now realized why you're so uptight. You must be horny as hell!”

Klaus’s laughter is matched by my own as he sits next to us. “That’s not funny Klaus,” I reply still giggling. Five on the other hand wasn’t amused, he looked deep in thought not even staring in our direction.

“All those years by yourself, it's gotta screw with your head, being alone.”

Five concentration breaks, “well.” He starts. “I wasn't alone.” Klaus and I immediately go silent and stare at him.

“Spill,” I say.

“Her name was Delores. We were together for over thirty years.” The small bit of happiness on Five's face was very easy to see.

“Thirty years? Oh, wow!” Klaus chuckles. “God, the longest I've been with someone.. I didn't know for three weeks. And that's only because I was so tired from looking for a place to sleep.”

Klaus went on like that for a good five minutes rambling about his love life and how hard it was not having anywhere to stay. I yawned in desperate need of a break from whatever this was. And it looked like Five was ready to blink away.

I turned to him and signaled that we should leave by nudging my head to the busy road that was right in front of the building. He nods back at me.

“He did make the most fantastic osso buco, though. It was..”

Five takes hold of my sleeve and we blink from the steps into a taxi. “Don’t stop, just keep driving.” Five demands of the panicked driver.

“Hey! Where’d you guys go?” I hear Klaus yell as we drive past him. Five turns to the window and gives Klaus a wave that makes him instantly stand up and try to run over to us.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, what about my money?!” He shouts but we’re long gone by then. I would’ve felt bad if this wasn't so funny.

Five was bleak at times and angry, and a lot of other things but he had his fun moments. We missed a lot of time getting to know each other but, this made up for it.

“So where to now?” I ask.

“I am going to run, uh an errand. I'm dropping you off at the academy.”

“Sounds good to me.” I smile. I needed this break to rest today. It was exhausting. “Our adventures have been fun, we should do it again.”

He turns to me, “Oh yeah?”

I hum in response.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The sky turned a vibrant shade of dark blue by the time we reached a familiar street, we were almost at the academy. I kinda wanted to join Five on his errand but I didn't say anything.

I paid the taxi driver the spare tens in my pocket for not freaking out and reminded myself that I'd pay Klaus tomorrow too. And walked up to the doors of the Umbrella Academy.

“Goodnight Five!” I call out as I open the front door. But I walked in before hearing his response, only hearing the sound of the taxi driving away.

I found myself in a spot I always went to when I needed to escape my ‘father’. It was a storage closet-like room that had a tiny balcony where Ben and I would hang out in the late hours of the night.

But now I was by myself and Ben was nowhere to be found. So I lit a cigarette and stared at the night sky. It’s a bad habit that I picked up during all my time with Klaus, It did help me calm my nerves though.

“Y/n?”

I turned around to see Alison in the doorway. A frown was painted on her beautiful face.

“It's good to see you, I didn't expect you to still be here.” She expressed while sitting down next to me.

“Me neither but I had a busy day chasing around a fifty-something-year-old. Thought I'd stay just to see what else happened around here. Or the truth could be I just kinda missed it around here, I'm not sure.”

Alison nodded. “I'm glad you're here, we haven’t really talked at all I've just been so busy with trying to get in touch with Claire and-“

I briefly cut her off. “Yeah, is everything okay with that?”

“My ex-husband, Patrick is trying to make it seem like I don’t care about this court stuff. Since I'm missing a session of mandated therapy.” She huffs.

“Can I have a cigarette?”

I reached into my black jacket pocket and pulled out the pack. Half of it was already empty but I just bought it before I came here, I guess I need more.

“Wouldn't the court recognize that as like, certain circumstances?” I ask.

“Yes! That’s what I tried to tell him. But he won't listen at all.” Alison groaned, holding the now-lit cigarette.

I smirk. “He sounds like an ass.”

“You don’t even know,” we both shared a good laugh.

“But,” she says while laughing. “What’s been going on with you? I know that's very broad because we haven’t seen each other since my wedding but, have you been doing anything new?”

I look forward to the pitch-black sky. “Yeah uhm, not much,”

Alison thinks for a moment, “Oh! I know. Whatever happened to your boyfriend? The guy you brought to my wedding.”

I froze, my mouth slightly open and the cigarette I held between my lips fell to the balcony floor. “Oh him..”

“Did something happen Y/n?”

“No no, we just broke up I guess.”

Alison grabs onto my hand, squeezing me tightly. “I'm so sorry.” She says.

It’s not that I forgot about my ex, no I couldn’t. I just liked to pretend that he was a part of my childhood nothing more. But in reality, we only broke up about half a year ago.

“We didn’t have the best relationship,” I told her. “He wasn't the nicest guy but I stayed. We were on and off but I officially broke up with him a couple of months ago.”

She fiddled with her curly hair. “I would’ve never been able to tell, he just seemed so nice at the time. I thought you guys were the perfect match. Y/n I'm so sorry, forget I brought him up.”

“It’s okay, I mean you didn't know,” I reassured the woman.

“If you need anything I'm always here for you, you know? I don’t think we were ever the closet but. I'm here for you.” Alison states.

I wasn't sure how to respond, this was all so surreal. Telling someone how I felt was like a boulder being lifted off my chest. I was comfortable enough to do it again.

“Thank you, Alison, I appreciate you.” I grinned

“Miss Alison, are you up here?” Pogo's voice called out. The ape walked into the room as dapper as ever in his suit. “Ah, Miss Y/n you’re up here too good.”

“I was looking for you.” He said to Alison.

We quickly put out our cigarettes and turned our attention to Pogo.

“How did you, uh.. How’d you know I was up here?” She asked.

“Well it wasn't hard, this is where you two would always come when you were upset. I remember it, yes.” He nodded.

I didn’t know that Alison would come here too. All of our childhood I felt myself slightly put up against her when really we couldn’t be more alike.

“Who told you I was.. Luther.” She sighs.

“It was Miss Vanya. She called to make sure you were okay.”

“What happened?” I blurt out.

Alison stretches her legs by walking around the room. “I said some pretty

unkind things to her earlier.”

Pogo shook his head. “She’s your sister. She knows you didn't mean it.”

“Doubt it” Alison scoffs. “She doesn't know anything about me, which is fine because I don’t know shit about here either.”

That was the downside of all of us branching out, we never stayed in touch. If I had moved to a different state I would’ve never known how Klaus was doing and how I could help him. How different my life could’ve been, I mean what if I didn't come to the funeral? Life would’ve died without me having the slightest clue.

“Language”

Alison chuckles at his humor. “Sorry.”

Afraid of just sitting there, I cut into their conversation. “It has been a while since we’ve lived under the same roof, you know?”

They both agree with my sentiment.

“Almost thirteen years,” Pogo said

“Wow,” Alison and I both remark.

“How did you do it? Also in this big house for so long?” I ask.

“Well, one grows used to things, even if sometimes.. one shouldn’t.” He replies, the sadness evident in his voice.

I should’ve visited him, I'm an adult, Reginald can’t scare me anymore and no one was here. I was so close to them but still, I never wanted to come back without a reason. This place was my home for many years, yes, but it wasn’t my first home.

Pogo senses that we’re both down in the dumps. “You two should come with me. I want to show you something. It might just cheer you up,” he says.

We followed Pogo downstairs into one of the mansion's many rooms. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen this room before. The hallway was dark with only a few orange lights that barely helped see anything.

The tiny room was filled with rows of old TVs and controls with glowing buttons. Most of the tvs were black but there were a few Pogo must've turned on. Then he went into a box and pulled out a tape. He placed it into the TV closest to him.

The tape played old security camera recordings of us as kids, probably around thirteen from what we looked like. It would’ve been creepy if it didn't make me sad, these memories are some of the good times at the academy that I ignored because of all the bad.

Alison and I gawked at the footage. We sat in two chairs that were in front of the TVs as Pogo talked to us from behind. “Your father stopped recording years ago. But I still come here from time to time. When I'm missing you kids.” He said.

Alison was the first to speak. “Pogo, this is..” she sighs. “Most families have home movies to look back on. We have surveillance footage.”

“I hoped it might cheer you up.”

I laugh. “This definitely does.”

Previous to the new tape Pogo just put in, some of the other TVs had more footage. My eyes drifted from screen to screen soaking up all the cute moments.

“Oh my god look how little we were,” Alison tells me.

One screen was Alison and I in her room trying on Grace’s clothes. “Ohh, I remember this,” I said.

And Alison turns to see the one I'm looking at. “This was so fun! Mom always had the best clothes.” She exclaimed.

Grace's dresses were obviously too big for us, but that didn't stop us. Her clothes were modeled after old housewives of a different time and might look strange and out of date to others. But we loved them.

I moved to another screen of me, Ben and Klaus talking. We were sitting on one of the main staircases. I wish I could freeze time to that moment forever, just the three of us again.

Alison follows where my sad eyes are staring. “I miss him so much.” She said upsetly.

“Me too” I whisper.

The screen next to that was of Vanya, playing her violin alone. You could hear the sound of us children in the background and Alison’s voice while she played by herself. It was the heartbreaking reality of our childhood.

“Why didn't we include her? I mean if anyone ever treated Claire like that, I can’t even imagine.” Alison wonders.

“You were children, Miss Alison,” Pogo replies.

“Yeah.. but I'm not anymore and neither is she.”

Pogo straightens up like he’s getting ready to head out. “If you two aren’t in a hurry. There’s more tapes in that cabinet.” He nudges his head to a large cabinet overflowing with tapes with all different labels.

The man drops the key into my hand. “Make sure to lock up when you're done, things have been disappearing lately. These are too important to lose.”

I tell him I will and Pogo heads back out through the door. But before he leaves he gives us one more look. I turn back towards the screens and rethink back to those happier days.

Alison stands up to go over to the cabinet, she picks up a similar-looking tape. But above the box, there was a rusty tape. The label was gone and it looked scratched up.

“What’s that?” I ask. She opens it and slides it into a screen.

“I don’t know but I guess we're gonna see.” She hits rewind and it starts to buffer before playing. The video was harder to make out than all the other black-and-white films. Alison and I both leaned in and once my eyes focused it was clear what was going on.

“Oh god, Dad.”

…

Aug 14 update:

If you'd like to be added to the tag list for rest of the series (starts at chapter 10) say taglist in the comments!

91 notes · View notes

onyour-right · 1 year

Text

First things first, I'm gonna need Gen V to never fucking do that again. How dare they release such a good episode and only have it be 34 minutes??? Is it a fucking sitcom??? They do that again and we WILL have problems.

Now, Cate. I done told y'all she was the mole and now look. I mean do I still love her? Absolutely. Do I think she is a victim of Dean Shetty's manipulations? 100%. Do I believe she thought she was protecting her friends? Yup. But do I also think Andre was right somewhat in what he said? Yeah, kinda do. Listen, with all the good intentions in the world the fact that she repeatedly made Luke forget about his baby brother when she knew the type of turmoil it was causing in him is twisted. The same way she was going to confess to Andre before the text came is the same way she should have confessed to Luke. Granted I think the reason she was even going to confess to Andre was because of how wrong things were going. But still, she ain't right for that..

So, I see three possible avenues they might take with her: first, kill her off at the end of the season in order to redeem herself to her friends; second, she could become an antagonist to the group (tho this is less likely); or third, she may act as a double agent and spy back on shetty so they can find out what's really going on..

Jordan Li. My beloved. My baby boy/baby girl. I can understand why they thought Marie couldn't accept both sides of them and I'm so glad they explored a bit more into their character's history. But baby, Marie wants to love on you no matter what your gender so just let her!!! At least they got to a point where they realised they were being unfair to Marie over the whole situation though, so hopefully episode 6 will have them talking about it properly. Alsooooo, Jordan getting pissed when Marie's brain was tampered with again? Good fucking food. Jordan moving closer to Marie at Cate's reveal? I was eating that shit upppp. Jordan this whole episode was kinda unhinged and you know what? I wanna see more, please and thank you!!!

Alsoooo, can we talk real quick about Jordan's conversation with Andre and Cate because I cannot have been the only one who was straight dyingggg through it. "is it a black thing?" "...oh my God!!!". The way Jordan didnt even dismiss the fact that him and Marie made a good couple too. Likeeeee. C'monnnnn.

Marie, my sweet girl. Once she finds out the true extent of her powers its over for everyoneeeee; she's gonna fuck everyone up and I personally will be cheering her on at the sidelines!! Slightly worried though because 1) who is her benefactor?? and 2) what if they are able to capture her somehow??? She is yet to go unhinged and I would like to see it, especially if it's in relation to something happening to Jordan.

Emma and Sam. I mean you know its real when one half of the pairing's mind has been wiped and still there is an undeniable connection between them.The fact that Sam went out of his way to find Emma after all the shit that went down??? Ooof, I'm living for itttt. The fact that even though Emma hadn't gotten back her memories she still believed him? Don't make me cryyyyy. I loved how Emma realised how wrong her mother was about her "getting big" & how she's beginning to carve out who she wants to be for herself. Also, her and Marie's friendship is honestly just goals.

Also, lowkey everyone should have just let Sam kill that Dr Cardosa because he's gonna bring big problemssss I fear, and on that note they should have him kill Dean Shetty too because ole girl needs to skedaddle her way out (although the person who takes her place could be even worse, so idk about that yet)

Also, someone please give Andre a hug that boy needs it. Seeing him unhinged tho?? Ooofffffff 10/10.

#anyways these are my thoughts #long i know but #gen v #jordan li #marie moreau #cate dunlap #emma meyer #andre anderson #marie x jordan #limoreau #emma x sam #i cannot believe i have to wait yet another week ffs #feel free to message me and just scream thoughts over this show

352 notes · View notes

red-balloon12 · 8 months

Text

Sooo since people are complaining about Chaggie/Vaggie being boring and stuff (though I don’t see much of people trying to give ideas to how this could be fixed-)

I’m gonna give a layout to make both Vaggie and the relationship more spicy.

So I think the best route to go about this is to have Vaggie still be a fallen Angel. But the thing about this is that Charlie doesn’t KNOW she’s a fallen Angel. As far as Charlie’s concerned, she met Vaggie a while ago while wandering the streets of hell trying to find someone to aid her in her “Happy Hotel” start up quest.

She meets Vaggie at some coffee shop and the two make quick friends. To Charlie, she just met Vaggie but to Vaggie, she had already met Charlie, some time ago during the last execution.

Vaggie, still as an Angel, did not like heaven. She thinks it’s full of hypocrisy and she’s not all that well treated there. But the two things had kept her from leaving heaven was the fear of hell her hatred of demons. (I’d imagine she probably hated Charlie a lot because she’s the daughter of hell) Until one execution where she was about to kill one demon but said demon was saved by Charlie. Hell, they could even have a face off. But in those moments, Vaggie’s worldview is challenged by Charlie’s unwavering want to protect her people.

The angels retreat and Vaggie is stuck with her battle between her and Charlie replaying over and over in her head. If the daughter of hell can have kindness….then maybe other demons can? This thought finally pushed Vaggie to leave heaven (or get kicked out. Idk how it works-)

She decided to transform into a moth demon with Charlie in mind (because cute moth to light allegory).

Flash forward to current times and Vaggie is the manager of the Happy/Hazbin hotel but, as we can see from what’s out already, the past has come to haunt her in the form of Adam. Throughout the show Adam will constantly tease and hint at Vaggie’s past and Vaggie will have to work hard to deny everything. After all, why would Charlie ever love someone who tried to kill her and her people?

Hell, Alastor could even get in on the tea after finally putting together the pieces. Have him constantly plant seeds of doubt within Charlie, saying something along the lines of “you’re love with Vaggie isn’t as strong as you think it is” and such. Have Charlie slowly start to doubt Vaggie on her love and loyalty to not only the hotel but to her. Have Vaggie dig herself deeper and deeper into a hole with every lie she tells Charlie.

And when the truth finally comes out, due to either Vaggie trying to protect Charlie from something and accidentally outing herself, Alastor or Adam, Charlie feels betrayed…but not because of anything Alastor would try to say to Charlie (spinning things so that it would look like Vaggie was a spy sent from heaven to ruin the hotel) but because Vaggie didn’t trust her enough to tell her about Vaggie’s past.

This angst can go one for maybe an episode or two. Through events Vaggie can talk to Lilith about stuff and Lilith can say something along the lines of “the people who truly care about you wouldn’t care about who you were then, but who you are now and you have to do that for yourself.” For you see, this story isn’t just about Charlie and Vaggie but it’s about Vaggie realizing how much she’s changed but also how much she needs to grow. She needs to learn how to forgive herself and stop letting her past as an Angel hinder what she has now.

And for Charlie (as much as this isn’t her fault) reflects (maybe with her dad) about Vaggie. Lucifer tells Charlie about how Lilith found out about him being a fallen Angel and how they made their relationship work and how fell apart. How he doesn’t want the same for her and Vaggie.

The two meet up…maybe at the coffee shop where they “first” met and they talk after a while. Vaggie goes on to apologize for lying to Charlie, the executions and explains the real reason she fell into hell. And her reasoning makes Charlie fall in love with her all over again. Vaggie chose hell over heaven for her, she chose to work with her to get her passion project up and running and stuck by her despite all of the backlash the idea gave them. Despite the backlash and consequences for being a traitor of heaven.

It makes Charlie appreciate Vaggie so much more than she did before. And she expresses this. Yes, she’s hurt that Vaggie wasn’t honest with her, but she understands why she wasn’t. Charlie tells Vaggie that she’d love her no matter what and she shouldn’t have to be afraid to tell her anything. She reflects that maybe she’s helped a little bit in that insecurity, being so wrapped up in the production of the hotel, constantly letting other people sway her mind and being a little neglecting towards her. Charlie apologizes as well and the two get back together, stronger than ever.

Is this perfect….nope. But I think it does the duo some justice while also utilizing other characters as well. Lemme know what you guys think.

#chaggie #charlie x vaggie #Chaggie criticism #but also Chaggie sugar #hazbin charlie #hazbin critique #hazbin hotel criticism #Hazbin Vaggie #hazbin alastor #hazbin lilith #hazbin lucifer #slight Hazbin fandom salt

112 notes · View notes

gaysindistress · 1 year

Text

When Night Comes - seven

Summary: Who would win in a staring contest? New York’s resident mob boss and master of the side eye Bucky Barnes or the daycare teacher who really wants to go home and smoke?

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: mob!Bucky, cursing, the feels, angst, I’m not nice to Yelena in this chapter

word count: 4k

six | masterlist

Tag list: @vickie5446 @cakesandtom @buckybarnessimpp @hidden-treasures21 @unaxv @mal-adaptive-dreams @elizacusi-blog

a/n: “If We Were Vampires (feat. Wesley Schultz)” by Noah Kahan inspired the last part of this chapter so give it a listen when you get closer to the end. I also need to stop making a posting schedule. I never follow it 😂

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

“If you can hear me, clap once.”

“If you can hear me, clap twice.”

“If you can hear me, clap three times.”

“And if you can hear me, put your hands in your lap,” Sunny smiles as the kids follow her instructions, “Thank you, thank you. Now we are going to go outside so when I call your name, please grab your things and go line up. I want a spy line; no one should be able to hear or see us walk down the hallway, yeah?”

The kids shout ‘yes’ in response and eagerly await their turn to line up, their tiny bodies nearly shaking with excitement to play outside. One by one they collect their things and line up, each having a little side conversation while eyeing the two teachers in the room because they know they’re not following expectations. Jessica, always the fly on the wall, sneaks up behind two boys and surprises them when she whispers, “Aren’t spies supposed to be silent?”

They nod in agreement and quickly shut their mouths, turning to face the person in front of them. Most of the time she’s able to surprise them and scare them (with love) while other times she has to whip out her maternal look of scorn to get them to follow rules. Sunny, however, can glance over in their direction and the kids immediately shape back up. All it takes is one fleeting glance and the kids know to listen. The more challenging ones might need a verbal reminder but sweet little Wyatt Rogers is quick to do that for the teachers. Jessica likes to joke that he will grow up to be a teacher or police officer one day with his love for rules and enforcing them.

Today is no different with him quickly stepping in to gently correct his peers before Jessica or Sunny have to. Unease fills Sunny though when she meets his startling blue eyes. She convinces herself that he has no way of knowing about Strigoi and that she knows about his parents even though the way his eyes are piercing her at the moment might be telling a different story. She offers him a small smile, hoping to ease her own worry. He smiles back before looking away to talk to the boy behind him. With his eyes no longer analyzing her soul, she should feel a way of relief washing over her but she doesn’t.

The phone rings, telling them that a parent is there to pick up their child, and she jumps at the sound. Jessica gives her a puzzled look as she starts the headcount and Sunny answers the phone.

“Hello, dragă.”

The honeyed voice strikes fear into her core and she freezes as it continues to speak, “I’m here for Wyatt. As much as I like Jessica, I’d rather you be the one to bring him out.”

“Uh… yeah okay, I’ll bring Wyatt out,” she stutters, hanging up the phone too quickly and shoving it into her sweatshirt pocket.

“Wyatt!” she calls over to the boy, “Wyatt it’s time to go home.”

“I can take him,” Jessica offers, still not blissfully unaware of everything that had happened a few days prior. All she had gotten out of her was that the date had gone well. Other than that, not a single word about Bucky or Alix.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it.”

Jessica catches her wrist before she can walk out of the door, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” and with that, she pulls her wrist away and places her hand on Wyatt’s shoulder to walk him to the main entrance. Standing with his back to the door is Bucky in a black and white tweed jacket with black jeans and a matching striped sweater under. Wyatt races to open the door when he sees his uncle, pushing the door open with all of his might and letting the devil in disguise in.

“Uncle Buck! Mama said Daddy was going to pick me up today.”

“He got caught up with work and asked me to,” he tells him, ruffling up his blonde hair as he signs him out, “Go wait in the car.”

He allows the boy to duck under his arm as he opens the door before setting his sights on Sunny.

“Yelena told me that you refused our help again. How am I supposed to be a gentleman if you don’t let me?”

“I don’t think you qualify as a gentleman anymore.”

He raises his thick brows at her insinuation, “And what about me disqualifies me?”

“I know what you’re doing and I’m not falling for it.”

“I’m not doing anything but asking what you mean so please enlighten me.”

She cocks her head in annoyance, “I need to get back to the classroom.”

“Enlighten me,” he repeats, voice dropping a few octaves.

To the human ear, they might hear the slight hitch in her breathing but to him, he can hear every intake, how it sticks to the inside of her lungs and refuses to release. He can hear how her heartbeat quickens when he looks or speaks directly to her. He can hear the blood rush throughout her body and pound against the inside of her veins. Everything is laid bare to him and she is painfully aware of it hence why she finds the words spilling out without a second thought, “She told me that you’re a Strigoi and your business is how you know Alix.”

“Oh, she did? What else did she say?”

“You don’t know what she wants with me and that she’s putting herself in a lot of danger coming here.”

“And?”

“That’s all.”

His eyes narrow in disbelief but he lets it go, eyes softening at the fear that sours her usually sweet scent, “I’ll see you tonight, dragă.”

Too paralyzed by fear, she doesn't ask him what he means and just watches as he lets the door close behind him and gets into the car. It’s not until after his car pulls back onto the road that she snaps back to reality. Her body trembles as she walks back, air Jordans scuffling the linoleum that is probably as old as she imagines Bucky to be.

Jessica peeks her head out of the doorway, “What took so long? Was he being… a meanie head?”

The girl in front of the line squawks at her choice of words, chiding her for calling someone a name.

“He just wanted to talk,” she quickly says before turning to the kids, “Remember spies in the hallway, and then you can go wild outside.”

An eruption of excited squeals comes from the line but they all settle down the moment they step into the hallways. Too focused on walking backward and keeping a close eye on the line, her body returns to its normal state and she doesn’t feel the text vibrating in the back pocket of her jeans.

“Are you going to tell me what happened Friday night?”

“I already did.”

Jessica snorts, “No you did not. Something else happened so spill.”

Sunny’s trained on watching the hoard of children running around the playground, “Nothing else happened, I swear. It went well.”

“What happened with Bucky then?”

“Again nothing. He kept texting me all weekend but I told him I need space until I can figure out what to do.”

“So that’s why you came back terrified, okay, yeah,” sarcasm drips from Jessica’s voice as she mocks the lies, “You don’t have to tell me everything but at least quit lying about it.”

But she can’t.

She can’t tell her the truth, even a sliver of it will have Jess calling the cops because of how insane she sounds. The underlying pain in her voice tugs at her heart but it’s not enough to make her break and she maintains her cover-up.

“Jess, seriously, I’m not lying. It’s all just a lot. I wasn’t expecting that from him or to like Yelena so much so it’s just a lot trying to figure out what to do.”

“Yeah well, I know what to do.”

“Do tell.” “Dump him and focus on her. She’s clearly more interested than he is no matter how downright gorgeous he is. I wouldn’t even give him the time of day. Ghost him.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Jessica sends her one glance and parting words before heading over to diffuse a fight she sees brewing, “There’s no thinking, just ghost him.”

The knock on her door disturbs her peace, drawing a deep groan from her as she stubbornly gets up. The intruder knocks again, more harshly this time as if saying ‘Hurry up and answer the damn door.’ The edible she took earlier needs to kick in faster if she’s going to deal with whoever decided that 10 pm is the perfect time to bother her. Before the third round of knocks comes, she swings open the door and levels a very bored look at Bucky.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“I told you I was coming over.”

“And I thought you'd forget but here we are,” she goes to close the door but his large hand stops it.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Is that a part of the Strigoi thing?”

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’ a little too much as she steps to the side and lets him in. It’s dark enough inside that he wonders if she was about to go to bed, however, the music video that’s playing on the projector tells him otherwise. Sza has been playing on repeat since she got home and she’s definitely not about to pause it for him.

He looks around her apartment, taking in every detail he can about her and the side she never lets anyone see. Ms. Sunny the daycare teacher is not the true representation of who she is aside from a few key characteristics. She is loving, warm, and amazing with kids however those are usually hidden behind her favorite blank stare and quick comebacks. Something about her is distinctly unique and maybe it’s the way she casually knocks his ego down or it’s how quickly she got under his skin without trying.

Either way, he has to harass her for the basket of edibles on the coffee table, “I didn’t peg you for a stoner.”

She drops back into her spot on the couch, wrapping herself in a blanket, “Says the drug dealer.”

“I’m not a drug dealer,” his retort goes over her head as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch.

“I find that hard to believe,” leaning forward, she pops open a container and takes another edible. This man requires at least 20 mg for her to put up with his shit. She can feel his eyes burning holes into her back so she offers the container to him. Maybe a little THC will chill him out and he won’t be so unbearable

“I’m not like Alix.”

“So you’re not a mobster and not human?”

“Well you got me there but I promise I’m not in the same business as she is.”

“What business are you in exactly?”

He takes a seat at the other side and says, “Is that the question you really want to ask?”

“It’s the first one I’m going to ask.”

He pops one into his mouth, eyes on hers the entire time like he’s trying his hardest to devour her. She pays him no mind and turns her attention to her phone to change the playlist. She contemplates putting on a show or movie to pass the time until the edibles hit them but he has other plans.

“Strigoi and Lycan’s business is different from what you’re thinking.”

Settling back into her corner, she narrows her eyes at him, “Different as in you traffic people?”

“We don’t do that. That’s more of a Lycan thing now. We are more about controlling our population and keeping our existence under wraps.”

“But you did do it at one point?”

“No, I didn’t but it was a Strigoi matter years ago. We don’t need to kidnap people to feed.”

“Next question; can you even get high?”

He lets out a small chuckle and slings his arm across the back of the couch, “Yes but it doesn’t last as long as it does for you. It acts as a dampener for the thirst.”

Her eyebrows shot up in shock, “Are you always ya know… bloodthirsty?”

“It never really goes away so in a way I guess but I can control myself. There’s no need to be afraid of me,” he softens his voice towards the end, smelling the fear that has started to rise in her.

“How do you know I’m afraid of you?”

“I can smell it and I’m not stupid. It’s written all over your face.”

She drops her face to look at her hands wrapped up in the green blanket her brother gave her before he died.

“Yelena has been tracking that Lycan woman you saw me with. Alix doesn’t seem to know where you are yet.”

“Key word is yet,” she scoffs, picking at the lint balls on the blanket.

“If you let us, we could protect you. She might be desperate but she wouldn’t risk years of peace to get to you.”

“You clearly don’t know her.”

“So tell me then; what does she want with you?”

The challenge in his words quickens her heartbeat and he snaps his eyes shut to will away the Strigoi inside as the blood rushing becomes overwhelming. When he opens his eyes, she’s staring at him with a knowing look.

“No need to be afraid of you?”

“What can I say? There’s something about you that makes me lose my self-control,” he chuckles however she’s unamused.

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“It should be flattering if anything,” he says as he takes off her leather jacket to reveal a simple gray t-shirt and black jeans. His signature superstars Adidas give him a domesticated look that is all too deceiving when she knows what lurks beneath the surface.

“How exactly is that flattering?”

“I’ve been around for a while, not many things tempt me let alone lose control. The fact that just being near you tests that aren’t just a coincidence; there’s something special about you.”

She has to resist her own urge to rack her eyes down his form as she speaks, “Maybe that’s why Alix wants me so bad.”

“Maybe,” he dryly chuckles as the hand on the back of the couch flexes in a not-so-humorous manner at the mention of her ex.

“How do you know her?”

“I don’t personally know her but I know of her and her reputation.”

She nods her head slowly as the edible sits in but it does nothing to help with the storm in her mind. Everything about Alix and her brother swirls inside as she stares absentmindedly in his direction.

“I wanted to apologize for the other night,” he starts slowly, hoping to gently bring her back to him, “I saw you with her and it just… I saw red but that isn’t an excuse for how I treated you.”

“You’re right,” she whispers still fixated on his watch.

“What?” “You’re right,” she says louder now, looking at him head-on, “You were an asshole about the worst possible thing ever. It’s so confusing sometimes how sweet you can be but within seconds, you’re a completely different person.”

It’s his turn to hang his head, “I know and that’s not how I want you to see me. Like I told you, I don’t view this as a fling…”

She interrupts him, “Are you really giving me that bullshit? ‘I can see this turning into something real’? No this,” she gestures between them, “isn’t turning into anything. You blew that chance.”

“I still owe you a dinner so at least let me make that up to you before you completely write me off.”

She stretches out her feet and nearly touches his thighs with them, “Why should I give you a second chance?”

“Because you want to” The hand on the back of the couch falls to her sock-covered feet and drags them to fully rest on his lap.

Rolling her eyes, she scoffs, “No what I want to do is kick you out but I’m not entirely convinced you wouldn't sneak in through a window.”

“I wouldn’t need to because you wouldn’t do that. You like me too much.”

She pulls her foot back slightly but his hand holds onto it tighter and stops her from pulling away. His touch is not unwelcomed however the protector inside of her screams for her to push him away.

“Jesus every time you talk, circus music needs to play with how far-fetched some of the shit that comes out of your mouth is.”

“You’re the one who needs circus music. I see the way you look at me, how your breathing hitches when you see me, how hot you get when I get closer,” his hand is dragging up to her ankle as he continues to mock her, “Don’t you think I can tell when I have an effect on you?”

“You have the audacity of a middle-aged man who just got divorced,” she tries to deter him from moving his hand up by insulting him.

It has the desired effect and his hand freezes on her ankle, chilling her to the bone, “Do I look like a middle-aged man to you?” “No, you look like someone who’s wormed their way into my life and made it a living hell ever since then.”

“I can leave,” he offers, taking his hand off of her ankle and gently nudging her feet off his lap.

The way he so casually offers to give her what he wants is a surprise, a shock even to her and it takes her a moment to process what he said. In the meantime, he takes his chance to look over her. Anxiety has taken away her ability to sleep and the circles under her eyes have grown more prominent in such a short amount of time. The way she slouches into the couch is also evidence of how stressed she’s become since learning of Alix’s arrival. It pains him to see her in disarray and turmoil but he knows he caused it. Had he taken the time to slowly reveal everything to her maybe she’d be doing better. Had he allowed her to feel comfortable around him so that when he finally did tell her, she would’ve sought comfort with him rather than with Yelena. He’d practically driven her into her arms so he had no right to feel any jealousy about their budding relationship but a part of him wanted to destroy it.

“Do you want me to call Yelena?” he asks hesitantly.

“No, it’s fine. You don’t have to leave. It’s just… It’s just a lot,” she sighs as she stares at her feet, “I wasn’t expecting her to find me and then for all this to happen. I just don’t know how to handle all of it and it’s not like I can tell Jessica. She wouldn’t understand.”

His nose involuntarily wrinkles at her name but Sunny doesn’t catch it. Sure she’s a lovely girl and a good friend to Sunny but she’s with Peter in some capacity. He tries not to show his annoyance as he speaks, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Make it all disappear so I can go back to my normal life,” she half-jokes as she drops her head against the back of the couch.

“I can do that. All you have to do is ask,” he jokes back, resting her hand on her ankle once again, “But I can’t make Strigoi or Lycan go away unfortunately.”

“Or bring my brother back,” slips out before she can stop it. A horrified look takes over her face when she realizes what came out but a soft expression overcomes his.

“It will get easier even if it doesn’t seem like it right now,” he mutters while his thumb rubs small circles into the skin of her ankle.

“That’s what they all say but I don’t believe them. It’s been five years and it’s just gotten worse,” she glances down at his hand and then back up to him, “Did you have any siblings?”

“I did but that’s a story for a different time,” he tells her after checking his watch. 11:11 pm flashes back up at him and she tries to hide a yawn under her blanket but is unsuccessful.

He gently pushes her feet off and stands, extending a hand down to her, “Come on, dragă. It’s time for you to get to bed.”

Furrowing her brows at his persistence, she obliges and takes his hand, nearly bumping into his chest from the force of him pulling her up. He smiles softly down at her as his arms enclose her to his chest. Once again they find themselves inches from each other with their noses nearly touching as he leans down. His breath fans over her lips as his barely brush against hers and she lifts onto her toes to meet his but he drops his head on her shoulder. Although she can’t see, he is squeezing his eyes shut to force the animal side of him back into its cage.

“Hey,” she gently coaxes him to look at her, a hand cradling his face, “Bucky.”

The tender call of her voice brings him to his full height regardless of how much the voice in his head is screaming at him to stop. Black veins are retreating under his red eyes as he regains control of himself and awaits her reaction. The hand that cradles his face drifts over and her thumb brushes where the black veins once were. Her warm touch unthaws emotions deep within him he thought were lost to time and he finds himself dipping back down to catch her lips against his better judgment.

He knows this can’t go on forever. It’s guaranteed that one of them will spend their days alone. They’d be lucky to get maybe 40 years together but one day, one of them will be gone. That doesn’t stop him from giving what he can to her in this kiss. All of the promises and emotions he can possibly convey are done with the flicker of his tongue and slide of his lips against hers. Her soft noises urge him to keep kissing her as if she alone will sustain him rather than the blood in her veins. His hands slide up her back and find their rightful place holding her face against his, deepening their kiss.

Sunny stills as she pulls away and tilts her forehead against his, “We can’t do this.”

Chuckling albeit in a sad manner, he agrees. Yelena is at the forefront of their minds and so are the implications of their relationship as humans and Strigoi.

He expects her to pull away entirely but she doesn’t and instead, drags him back into a feverish kiss that ignites a fire he hasn’t felt in years. The black veins threaten to return and the red begs to flood the blue eyes she’s grown accustomed to seeing in her dreams. Fangs poke at her bottom lip and she smiles, gently kissing his nose as she pulls away. His natural state, one of animalistic desire, is terrifying to most however she is the exception. There is not a hint of fear and worry in her eyes as they stare up at him. The warmth that his body can no longer proceed is found there and a hint of emotion he prays will develop into more.

“I need to go to bed.”

He pauses to allow his body to regain its composure. Emotions overwhelm his thinking and words tumble out without hesitation.

“I’ll give you every second I can find,” he whispers, voice hoarse and quiet.

“I know,” she whispers back, drawing him into a hug, “Good night.”

143 notes · View notes

mickmundy · 1 year

Text

spy headcanon thread! just some of my personal thoughts and musings about his character :-) enjoy!

starting off by saying that spy is Absolutely Everything to me.. i've put his thread off for so long because i have SO much to say and im afraid i'll leave stuff out BUT we're going to take a Stab at it (😏) and i guess i'll just add more stuff later if i need! As Usual this is just pasted from my twitter so i'm sorry for any wonky formatting issues!

the most important thing to me about spy's character is that it is Varied and can be Contradictory. i say this about all of the mercs tbh but spy is among the Most important given his role/occupation as a spy. he IS A Spy, but he's also Just Some Guy (gender neutral).

spy is a bit dry; very sarcastic, a bit stoic, but he's definitely not heartless. i think he's very "emotionally in-tune" to those around him and prides himself on being able to read a room exceptionally well!

... but just because he knows what people might be thinking doesn't mean he's going to do anything about it! he likes being in the know but seldom ever enjoys interfering; it's best if he keeps out of the fray, or so he tells himself!

that being said, i Do think spy makes exceptions to this rule (which To Me is what makes his character Interesting!).... as we see in expiration date! he spends his "last living days" helping scout become a worthy date for miss pauling!

if he sees someone Floundering or really stuck in some kind of emotional squander, he'll pass by with a hand on the shoulder and a concise, discreet, kind word of advice in their ear and move on. no need for thanks, he's just Sharing an Observation! if you try to thank him, he'll give you a coy look and be like "for what?" but he knows. he's just letting you know you don't need to thank him <3

loves breaking balls. he'll help you if you ask him, but not before he gives you a LOT of shit for it. he'll volunteer himself to help you (even if you tell him you need his Stinking Help!) and he'll roll his eyes and say "ha! you are So helpless! i know you're glad i'm here to see this through with you uUu" LOL

but he will give you genuine insight and Surprisingly Good advice. huh, you didn't know he knew you so well! despite his job as a spy, he'll tell you to be authentic and will encourage you to listen to your instincts.

is an Observer First and an Action-taker second. prioritizes being in the know and likes being in the background (despite how good he is at being in the spotlight!). always thinks before he speaks, very calculated in everything he does!

got wiser with age. when he was younger i think he was quick to save his own skin and thought only about himself. among his first "selfless" acts were running out on scout and his mom to "protect" them, but with the wisdom of hindsight, that wasn't the smartest idea!

firmly believes in the power of respect. seems to have a positive relationship with all of his teammates (yes, even sniper, engineer and pyro lol) and scout's mom, too (regardless of how u see their relationship). tells scout that he has to earn pauling's respect to be worthy of her!

won't hesitate to stick his neck out for/work with people he appreciates. in the comics, he works with (and even prioritizes the safety of) miss pauling, helps sniper, and obviously comforts scout when he's dying in the way that Scout would want to be comforted. good job pops!

which brings me to dadspy... how i love you... i could make an entire other thread about my dadspy thoughts BUT i'll keep it "brief" here. i don't think he ever "treated scout like shit" nor do i think he was abusive to scout's mom or scout. he's just the world's most mediocre absent father to me... KDSKF

i think scout's mom knew What Spy Was and knew that at some point, he'd have to leave her. i think she's a perfectly capable woman who spy is genuinely still in love with (they have an open, long-distance relationship!) and is quite the deadly catch herself! perhaps i'll make a thread on her if that's something people would want....

i don't think she resents spy for running out and i think spy has complicated feelings about running out. he's convinced himself he did it for everyone involved's safety but in hindsight he Does feel a Bit (emphasis on Bit. it's not Earth Shatteringly Dramatic, just a little demon that sneaks up on him now and then...) guilty and tries to "make up for it" by Trying to get along with scout even if it's... not easy LOL. him turning into tom jones when scout died was to comfort scout the way Scout would want, which i think says a lot about spy's character.

however, once scout finds out the truth, i think he tells spy that he shouldn't have lied to him about it ("what kind of dumbass lies to their son on his deathbed! 🧍") and spy's like "ah... i suppose that... was also a mistake." and they smirk/smile at each other.. Road To Forgiveness begins..

also i personally love the running gag that everyone knows that spy is scout's dad (except for scout), not because i think spy would tell all/even some of the mercs but because it's SO obvious that all of them are like "i mean yeah.. doy". extra points if their knowledge Also surprises spy. "WHO TOLD YOU? HOW DID YOU KNOW?!" and the mercs are like ??? "erm... we have eyes...?" LOL

DESPITE being Stoic and Unknowable and Mysterious, he is also Quite the Doofus. one of my favorite and most important thoughts on his character. i think his authentic laugh is his snort laugh and i think that's what made scout's mom fall in love with him... :') has a great sense of humor.

loves playing pranks, causing mischief and being a Smug Cunt. will hide behind his Carefully Crafted Facade, but those who really know him (heavy, scout's mom) can see right through it! teaches scout some of his "best ones" (though not before pranking HIM with them first! it's okay though. scout's a good sport and gives him props LMAO)

a short list of spy's "best ones":

cleaning a glass door REALLY well and tricking the mercs to run into it at full force

oil on the kitchen floor so that anyone who comes running in will slam into the oven that engineer Just Fixed God Dammit! and destroy it

mentos in soda

scout and spy have the "same laugh" when they REALLY start howling. snorting, wheezing.... they sound almost identical. usually if they're laughing THAT hard, the rest of the mercs are looking at them like this >__> (covered in soda, can't get up from the ground because oil, etc)

obviously enjoys literature! language is one of his favorite things, though. loves learning about different dialects, slang, accents and learning the intricacies of grammar, too! likes studying the other mercs for this reason. the base is a fun, mixed bag for him!

the best secret keeper. contrary to popular belief, spy will NOT air your business if it's Serious. he might "let it slip" to medic that sniper sleeps with a stuffed animal, but he won't let anyone know that heavy has ptsd. he likes giving people shit, but not genuinely causing harm!

ah.. breaking balls as a love language.. this is something that i think is shared between spy, scout, and scout's mom. they LOOOOVE to give you shit, but it comes from a loving place. i think a lot of scout and spy's banter in exp date is like this:

it's not actually Insulting to either of them (spy calling scout a failure, scout telling spy to go to hell, etc) and is in fact more like a thing of Endearment. if you know people like this then you know what i'm talking about. idk how else to describe it KSDFKS

he is very girlfailure that thinks he's a girlboss but is actually a girlfailure and is coming to terms with his girlfailing. as i've said, spy isn't heartless. he knows he's made mistakes and knows his job has costed him a lot and now he's trying to reconcile with it. sometimes it's funny, sometimes its angsty!

is a total foodie and has a LOT of opinions about all kinds of cuisine! loves cooking with engineer and pyro (YES i think pyro is an INCREDIBLE chef. they only burn things because it's fun/funny! for the bit. you understand), and heavy has a perfect palette (just a personal hc of mine heh) so he always gets to tag along and taste test! <3

if spy is involved with any of the other mercs, scout's mom knows about it. they're in an open relationship and spy values her just like he'd value any of the mercs in a romantic relationship. she knows all of them and they're all very polite to her (ala like they are with miss pauling), but she quickly surprises them by being snarky and playful like spy and scout! she also doesn't hesitate to begin telling the mercs the most Humiliating Dirt on spy AND scout! HEHEHE

i don't think he'd cheat on her nor do i think he'd bother cheating on any of his partners. he's very open with communication when it comes to his interpersonal relationships (this is ironic to everyone but him because his relationship with his son is currently in shambles). he's good at it when it comes to romantic relationships though!

his love languages are, well, any and all of them! he loves being in love, he's a huge romantic and is not shy about showing it. will absolutely DROWN his partner in gifts and pretty words (that he really does mean!) and so on... perhaps to the point of it being a little overwhelming! at his partner's request, he'll dial it back... but he still loves to spoil his lovers, and THAT is something he WON'T apologize for! >:)

as i touched on earlier, has a good rapport with all of the mercs and pauling. he's patient with soldier and the other mercs hear him out about the bucket list idea (and are all Quietly Amused by how scout promptly ruins that for him. team dynamic ykwim). i think he's the closest with heavy (i'm a spoovy enjoyer), engineer, pyro, and sniper (BUT in kind of a "unique" way. perhaps i'll elaborate) but he enjoys the company of all of the other mercs as well!

is Informed about engineer's, demoman's and medic's research (though not on the levels they are of course) and likes being in the know about things going on around the base. he mostly shares enemy intelligence with these three over anyone else. they talk frequently and Love to gossip (engineer SWEARS its not gossiping but demo and medic are like "no. its gossip!" SKDFKSDF)!

will absolutely always enable you to treat yourself. scout, spy, medic and demo are the KINGS of "go on!! treat yourself!! :D" no matter what it is. if spy sees you really struggling about whether to get something, he'll slip it in with his own purchases and gift it to you later. "this one is from me, so you don't need to worry about compromise. <3"

in battle, he's a bit more sadistic than his teammates; likes making people squirm and is more than capable of getting under your skin. information extraction is part of his job and he treats it as such: Part Of The Job. he doesn't get a LOT of pleasure from hurting others, but he Does enjoy starring in a good revenge tale!

no, i do NOT think the world's most absent father cares about his 30 year old son's sex life nor do i think he's even "fiercely overprotective" of scout just in general. i think he knows scout is a grown man who has to make (and account for) any failures and fumbles he makes in his life. he'll be there with a kind word (and a few snarky ones!) when shit hits the fan, but he's not running around fighting scout's battles for him. scout loves battling too much to let him anyway! LOL

he teaches him things that Spy Himself values (like respect) because he... values it and since spy IS trying to be a bit more of a Dad to scout, it's also a reflection on him (to spy. scout doesn't care or think of it that way). insists on the value of self improvement! (something he himself didn't learn until he was Much Older... but scout doesn't need to know that!)

#ok FINE this is good enough for now...#-_-#hit tweet limit three times <3 i have things to SAY #dutchfoolery #dutchiehcs #mercthreads #<- yeas i have other mercs in there.. take a look if u want... heh #tf2 #spy #rrgghhh sorry for the tags... grrhhh

73 notes · View notes

gemini-sensei · 1 year

Note

Uhh I can't remember the exact post and now I'm mad, but you talking about Lawrence!Reader has me thinking about the post where Hawk and Miguel think Robby is dating a new girl and their pissed, but really it's just his sister.

I think we need to make a comeback post for that~😈

Sensei-Venus💕✨

@sensei-venus I don't even know where that is but yes. I remember bits of it and it was something like Hawk and Miguel thought he was trying to cheat, and that's why they were pissed. But still yes, need more of that. (Unedited thought dump)

Like, they see Robby with this girl all the freaking time and at first it's like, "oh cool, he's got a girlfriend," but slowly it becomes weirder as they realize Robby is also trying to get with Sam... 👀

And it seems like every time they see Robby with this girl, something happens. They're hugging or she's playing with his hair or he's giving her his jacket because of course she left her own at home.

But to Robby and Reader, that's just their sibling dynamic. She's a hugging type of person and Robby craves a lot of nurturing attention likebthat. She loves ruffling his hair and messing it up because he makes it all too easy for her to do. When he gives her his jacket, he's just looking out for her well being as a good older brother would.

However, Miguel and Hawk are sure that those two are dating and they don't know what to do. Hawk wants to, naturally, beat him up. Because even though he was acting all tough and said he wanted a "full rotation" of girls, Hawk is huge on loyalty and such a thing would never actually happen. So to see Robby, this supposed goof guy, two timing someone who looks so sweet and happy, upsets Hawk. He wants to tell her the truth.

Miguel wants to tell Sam. He wants her to see Robby isn't that great of a guy. Maybe that'll push her back into her arms if he's honest with her about what he's been seeing and learning about one Robby Keene.

Omg imagine Sam has met Reader though and they're fast friends. She knows Reader is Robbys sister so of course she knows there nothing to worry about...

But one day at the mall, Hawk sees Reader and decides to approach her. He starts with a seemingly casual introduction and as soon as he learns her name, he cuts to the point.

"Look, I'm just gonna come out and say it. That guy you've been seeing is a total asshole. He's trying to date some other girl out in Encino."

Reader looks at him confused and asks, "what guy? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about two timing Robby Keene."

"You did not just say that..."

"I did. I'm sorry to break it to you, but I just thought you deserved to know. A pretty girl like yourself-"

"He's my brother, you mohawkwd idiot!"

Whatever sweet demeanor she had before is gone and replaced with a rough and tough look of anger. For a moment, Hawk feels like he's seen that look before, and as the pieces fall into place - brother, that look, her quickness to anger - he realizes he's talking to Sensei's daughter.

"Oh shit!"

"Oh shit is right! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you just spend time spying on girls or something? What the fuck would make you think I was dating my own brother? Who even are you?"

She's mad. She's so fucking mad and Hawk doesn't know how to fix this. He just kind of stands there, frozen as she berates and badgers him for the mistake. She calls him a creep before telling him to watch himself because she knows karate-

"And if I ever catch you watching me again, I'll kick your ass so hard, you'll need more than a prayer to fix the damage."

She walks away in a huff and Hawk watches her go, red faced with a burning fire in his heart. He's never been so turned on in his whole life, but doesn't doubt the part about kicking his ass. Peek scared but horny.

Miguel gets a text that just reads: HOLY SHIT WERE IDIOTS THEYRE SIBLINGS!!!

And doesn't know what that references until he meets up with Hawk later, who recounts the incident to him.

Side note, but I totally see Reader and Robby has half siblings. They just don't care about the "half" part. Like, Reader lived with her mom primarily but forced Johnny to spend time with their daughter and that's why they're closer than Robby and Johnny are l, but it was never every weekend or something like that. It also put Robby in some awkward positions growing up and at one point he was jealous of her relationship with their dad, but then they started hanging out away from Johnny and that really made their bond stronger. Reader's mom and Shannon are cool and joke to each other all the time that the only good thing Johnny did for them was give them great kids (Shannon never struck me as the type to get petty about any other women in the lives of the guys she slept with. She's more the type to be friends with the other woman and take the guy down, imo at least lol). I don't know. This is just the lil backstop my brain came up with 😅

#lawrence!reader #hawk moskowitz x lawrence!reader #just a tad bit #cobra kai headcanons #cobra kai #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai x chubby reader #cobra kai x plus size reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #robby keene #miguel diaz #eli hawk moskowitz #gemini sensei #sensei venus

102 notes · View notes

sshbpodcast · 2 months

Text

Character Spotlight: Tom Paris

By Ames

Strap in and get ready to go fast! A Star to Steer Her By has Tom Paris in the driver’s seat for this week’s character spotlight. Tom is a solid character throughout all of Voyager, with many faults that leave him room to develop over the seasons. He starts off as kind of a badboy with a heart of gold and grows into a good friend, loving husband, proud father, and designer of the Delta Flyer… who occasionally still dabbles into badboy with a heart of gold for fun.

Lt. Paris has a ton of hobbies (perhaps too many hobbies) for the show to mine for plots, but deep down, he’s just a guy with a ton of pressure on his shoulders, looking to redeem himself from past mistakes, and I give Voyager some credit for the Best Moments we’ll explore below, and even for some of the Worst Moments too. So pick a character from The Adventures of Captain Proton and hop in the holodeck with us as we highlight all things Paris below and on this week’s podcast episode (speed over to 55:35). Invaders! Invaders!

[Images © CBS/Paramount]

Best moments

Am I discerning a personal problem here, gentlemen? We can’t be the only ones who hated the childish love triangle between Neelix, Kes, and Paris, and clearly the writers were sick of it too because they knew enough to fix it. Watching Paris and Neelix putting aside their differences in “Parturition,” while predictable and a little obvious, was exactly what their characters needed to get rid of that jealous rivalry no one asked for.

To infinity! And beyond! I will always defend “Threshold” … up until the last five or so minutes of the episode, which go off the rails. But up until then, we get so much great character work from Tom. His speech alone about how much pressure his father put on him to make something of himself and that’s why he needs to be the one to break the warp 10 barrier makes up for all the lizard babies out there.

Always make a pilot your wingman Paris is also just a good guy to all his friends on the ship, even the Doctor, with whom he’s constantly butting heads. So when the EMH is seeking advice for how to progress his relationship with Danara Pel in “Lifesigns,” Tom is there to suggest a trip to makeout point in the back of a Chevy convertible, which definitely does the trick!

There has been a spy aboard Voyager, but it isn’t Tom Paris While I was quick to give Tuvok some sass for how convoluted, dangerous, and bad his plan in “Investigations” was, Tom is what made it work in the end. He plays his part so well that he is able to foil Seska’s plan, expose the true traitor on the Voyager, and save the ship from attack by Kazons. And it is nice of him to apologize for all the insubordination part of the plan.

The cavalry’s here! Speaking of foiling Seska’s plans, Tom gets to save the day from her and the Kazons yet again in “Basics”! Where Chakotay was always too trusting of that secret Cardassian, Tom knows exactly where to tell Seska to shove it. His efforts allow him to escape the commandeered ship to bring back Talaxian reinforcements, sneak a message to the EMH, and thwart the Kazons for good!

I’m telling you again, he’s mine The friendship between Tom and Harry starts all the way back in the premier and comes a long way throughout Voyager, but it is on special display in “The Chute.” Tom protects Harry when he first arrives at the Akritirian prison, even getting stabbed to try to get them a chance at escaping, all while resisting the clamp that was agitating all the inmates’ minds.

Sexy, in a Howdy Doody sort of way You either enjoy or get fed up with the antics of an episode like “Future’s End,” but you’ve got to admit that Tom had chemistry like whoa with Rain Robinson. Watching two B movie fans geek out in the SETI lab was just endearing, and it makes me kinda wish we could have kept Rain around a little longer if only so she and Tom could play something silly on the holodeck.

If you let these instincts take over now, you’ll hate yourself We’ve scolded both Tuvok and Torres for their rapey actions in “Blood Fever” (and here’s an extra scold for Vorik, that dick), but the crew member who treats the situation correctly is Paris. He rightly declares that he will not take advantage of a person who has no ability to consent due to the pon farr, which should be a bar low enough for most people to easily clear.

You’ll miss the whole point of what it means to have a family Again we see Paris being a supportive friend in “Real Life” when the Doctor declares he’s shut down his holo-family program. Tom provides the human perspective that the Doc has needed and convinces him to let the rest of the story play out in a really lovely little peptalk. EMH really seems to get something out of experiencing both the good and the bad sides of real life.

Does the name Captain Bligh mean anything to you? While we were torn in our assessment of Chakotay’s handling of Annorax in “Year of Hell,” we know exactly where we stand on Tom’s approach: a standing ovation. Tom sticks to his guns in refusing to help the Krenim mess with the timeline, getting more blood on their hands. Instead, it’s his provoking Obrist to mutiny that ends up allowing Janeway to take them out in style!

Heavy is the chest that wears the puppet Though we’ll see in a moment that Tom does a lot of dumb things in his relationship with B’Elanna, they’re also a great match and truly love each other. We see this in “Nothing Human” when Torres is stuck under a puppet the entire episode, and Paris is at her bedside pretty much the whole time, being with her and keeping her spirits up.

I hereby reduce you to the rank of Ensign We, and many many fans apparently, have a jaded view of the Prime Directive sometimes. Tom is fully for breaking it in order to save the Moneans’ water planet in “Thirty Days,” standing up supportively for the little guy. So we frankly applaud his efforts, even if certain captains ensured they’d fail, when he tries to do what was morally right even if it breaks a frequently stupid rule.

—

Worst moments

At least he’s a step above Nick Locarno When we first meet Tom Paris in “Caretaker,” he’s in a Federation penal settlement in New Zealand, serving time for covering up a pilot error that caused the deaths of three other officers, which is a coward’s move even if he eventually fessed up to it. This sets him up for a character redemption arc, which I’ll at least say other Robbie McNeil–played characters don’t deserve.

Isn’t there some Indian trick where you can turn yourself into a bird and fly us out of here? What’s less forgivable is this line from “Caretaker” in which Tom makes some racist comment about Chakotay’s indigenous heritage that just comes off as crude. This line insinuating that Chakotay can turn into a bird comes absolutely out of nowhere and probably only serves to remind the audience that his character is Native American, and also that Tom is a tactless pig.

Birds of a feather, stick together On the subject of birds: whatever relationship Tom had with Lidell in “Ex Post Facto” was a terrible idea. Janeway talks so much smack to Harry when he has a consensual adult relationship with Tal in “The Disease,” when really she should have gotten on Tom’s case for having an affair with this molting bird woman who acts like a femme fatale out of a noir.

A whole crew full of women and I have to fall for the one I can’t have Another woman whom Paris really shouldn’t have gone for was Kes. We really don’t know what the writers were thinking with this love triangle, as it makes Tom look like a sleaze and Neelix look like a brute. Tom buys Kes a necklace in “Twisted,” when it was inappropriate as hell. And then “Parturition” starts with him moaning about his crush and being a big baby about it.

The house always wins Tom continues to look like a sleaze when he starts a sort of gambling ring for replicator rations in “Meld.” Tom’s sure got a lot of room to grow in this show because he does start off as this ne’er-do-well character, who is clearly taking advantage of his crewmates and pocketing all the replicator rations for himself because there’s never a winner of their little lottery pools.

Go, grease monkey, you’re burning up the quarter mile At some point, the show just decides Tom is going through a perpetual midlife crisis: adopting more hobbies than any other crewman; neglecting his duties, friends, and girlfriend; and generally seeming like a douche. And the episode that exemplifies this is “Vis à Vis,” in which he gets so fixated on fixing up a ‘69 Chevy Camaro that he becomes insufferable to everyone.

Building a new vessel from scratch, that’s an engineer's dream come true As I said last time, I mostly like Tom and B’Elanna as a couple, but every so often you wanna smack him for how oblivious he is. So while he does create the Delta Flyer in “Extreme Risk,” Paris ends up so distracted it makes him look like a buffoon because he hasn’t noticed that his partner has been having a crisis ever since learning months ago that her Maquis friends died.

The rain in Spain falls mainly in my brain This one’s mostly on the Doctor, but in case we don’t bring it up in a couple weeks when we spotlight his character, let’s blame Tom a little bit for this one too. The two of them make that inconsiderate bet about Pygmalion’ing Seven into a lady in “Someone to Watch Over Me,” and ya know what: she’s already great! Why these two men feel they need to fix her is frankly brutish.

Go ask Alice when she’s ten feet tall... and also a ship We remember from earlier in the show (and in this list!) how fixated Tom tends to get on his hobbies, bordering on obsessive behavior especially when it comes to cars and ships. So even though the eponymous ship in “AIice” is messing with his noodle a little, it’s still a bad look for Paris to get so fully infatuated with yet another piece of technology vying for his attention.

Party until the cows come home This is just a little moment, but I feel like including it. It’s just kinda mean for Tom to trick Harry into kissing a cow in “Spirit Folk.” Not only is it disrespectful to eavesdrop on his date, even if it is with a hologram (especially if it is with a hologram!), but Harry is making himself vulnerable for Maggie the Irish lass only for Tom to point and laugh at him. Be a better friend, Tom.

I didn’t think you liked the mushy stuff One more example of Tom being a dick to his girlfriend (I swear, I do like them together!) is how he constantly neglects her in “Drive.” They’re having a visceral fight about their future as a couple and B’Elanna has been earnestly planning to break up with him. So when Tom proposes, it really does feel like it’s just to get out of the argument and not because he really wants it.

The silent treatment The whole show, Tom’s character arc has focused on his desire to make his father proud of him. So you’d think when they’re finally onscreen together in “Pathfinder,” this’d come up. But no. The two characters have exactly no lines together. Even in the series finale “Endgame” when Voyager gets home and Tom has a daughter to introduce to her grandfather: still nothing! WHY?

—

We’re coming in for a landing in shuttle bay. Thanks for joining us on that little joyride around the Delta Quadrant. We’re back next week with more character spotlights here on the blog, and more Enterprise watchalong episodes over on the podcast (which you’re surely following on SoundCloud or wherever you podcast). You can also hail us on Facebook and Twitter, and remember: two Delaney sisters are better than one.

7 notes · View notes

officialfoxsquadron · 25 days

Text

shiny happy people

7.2k words | my ao3

rating: mature

cw: discussions of starvation and eating disorders, vomiting and emetophobia, general bad coping mechanisms for trauma

summary: Cassian Andor does not know Pazima Reynard, except to know that they are one and the same; cold, cruel and calculating spies. When the asocial woman-and Cassian's sometime barber-returns to Rebel Base with a fourteen-year-old girl, he finds himself wrestling with the realities of being young during wartime.

“Would you like to hear the news?”

K-2SO’s clipped voice, typically so flat and emotionless, sparkled with a bit of excitement. Cassian Andor, Rebel spy, was sick to death of news. The Rebel droids were worse gossips than the organic beings. Besides, his whole damn job was news and gossip.

“I am going to hear it anyway,” Cassian grumbled, flipping the switches for the landing cycle. Crait, the home of the new Rebel base (and, Cassian supposed, his home), was a desolate, salty planet. The surface ran red as soon as you stepped on it. It made him uneasy.

K prattled on, some nonsense about the Senate and who was sleeping with who and who died. No one Cassian knew or cared about. But he let the droid talk as he watched the Rebel base grow larger, a bloody wound on Crait’s salt-white flesh.

“Oh, and Pazima Reynard is back at base. She is married to Wedge Antilles and has a sister now.”

That caught his attention. Not necessarily Pazima Reynard’s personal life-frankly, he didn’t give a fuck-but it did remind Cassian he needed a haircut.

“What did we bring back to trade?” He looked over his shoulder, making a quick mental intake. Booze, cigarras, nudie holos, food from off-world–some combination of those would be enough to trade for a trim. He had not looked in the mirror since stitching up a blast wound back on Daiyu, but he knew that his hair had grown far too long. It fell sometimes, greasy and dark, in front of his eyes.

A shame I cannot see the back of my own head, Cassian mused. Then I could just take care of it myself, and be done with it.

“Perhaps something for the girl,” K suggested, his voice surprisingly light. “She is fourteen.”

Fourteen . He sniffed. What madness had possessed Pazima to bring a teenager into an army base?

He shot K a dark look. “I don’t care,” he declared.

“As you say.” The droid paused. “Do not worry, Cassian. They will send you away again soon enough.”

He grunted, but said nothing. The voice of some traffic controllers crackled onto his comms, and Cassian responded in kind. He landed the ship without incident, and braced himself for the next few weeks in the cesspool of doomed young people he called home.

“I brought you something to trade.” He held up a holotape, something he had found stashed away.

Pazima Reynard, tall, stern and statuesque, stood blocking the doorway to her bunkroom. He had not seen her for more than a year. He had almost forgotten how beautiful she was. Almost. Pazima, who wore her black hair in tight knots, complementing her angular face and tattooed copper skin, was not the type of woman to let you forget.

She eyed him skeptically, lifting an eyebrow. “You said whisky.”

“This is better. Music from before the Empire,” he said, stepping forward. He knew music was her great weakness. She snatched the tape from him, examining it.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Don’t remember.”

She sniffed, looking over the tape, and then down at him. “Fine,” she said haughtily, waving her hand and turning her back, “but only because you look pathetic, like a wet runyip.”

Cassian allowed himself to laugh and followed her into the bunkroom.

The bunkrooms on Crait are small, claustrophobic, dreary things, more like the prison cells on Narkina 5 than comfortable homes. At the very least, they had windows into the cavernous hallway, the artificial light providing a facsimile of normal family life. There was barely enough space for a chair and table, smushed into the back of the room. One of their four bunks was overflowing with junk. Above it sat Pazima’s new sister, curled into a ball and staring at him.

The girl was fourteen, according to K, but hunger had stunted her growth. She looked healthy enough now, if a bit pale, but Cassian saw the signs of past malnourishment. Limbs too short, skin covered in scars and stretched too taut, bones jutting like knives beneath her skin, threatening to pop at any moment. He was probably close to her age when he saw them in his own reflection, older still when he truly understood what it meant.

Still, he had grown into his looks. He wondered if she ever would. She bore a scar on one eye, red and angry and unsettling, making the pupil cloudy and gray. A shock of curly orange hair erupted from her head, messy and unkempt, falling to her shoulders.

A one-eyed ginger. What a catastrophe.

“Lottie,” Pazima said, gentler than he ever imagined her speaking, her deep voice the comforting rumble of thunder. “This is a colleague of ours, Cassian Andor.”

“Hello.” It came out shorter than he expected. It’s not that he disliked children, he just didn’t know what to do around them.

She blinked at him, then tilted her head, sizing him up like a fighter in the ring. Then, quick and quiet as a ghost, she scurried down the ladder and out of the room.

Pazima sighed wearily, watching her sister flash by in a red blur, shutting the door. “She hasn’t been talking much,” she said absently. “We thought she made some progress, but-” She turned to him abruptly. “You don’t care. Sit.”

She was right, of course. He respected Pazima, which was kind of like caring for someone, when respect is all you are allowed to feel.

“Colleague?” he teased lightly.

“What would you call it?”

He pondered that. “Hunters who sometimes chase the same prey.”

She grinned with approval. “Sit,” she insisted, gesturing again to her chair.

He breathed in and out, steadying himself. As much as he needed to be on base, to check in and regroup with his allies, he hated it. It was too banal, too domestic, too structured.

Relax, Cassian. It’s just hair.

Maarva cut his hair once. She was very bad at it, chopping roughly and chiding him to sit still through gritted teeth. Eventually, she gave up and outsourced it to an old man down the road. His name was Jossam, and he always had a sweet for him.

He sat in the chair and allowed Pazima to wrap an old blanket around his shoulders.

“Where did you learn to do this?” he asked, something he is sure he has asked her before.

“I went to an all-girls school,” she replied, as if that explained everything.

“Is that true?”

She snorted. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

The scissors snipped at his hair lightly. It was uncomfortable, yet somehow relaxing to have someone touch him so matter-of-factly. Not insistent or passionate, like a lover, nor rough and feral like an enemy. The kind of touch that just is , and it’s enough to lull Cassian into a kind of madness.

His eyes fixed on the empty bunk where Pazima’s sister once was. Was he ever so young?

How old were you when you first killed someone? Do you even remember?

“I didn’t take you for the type,” he said quietly.

Pazima groaned like a teenager. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Judge.” Her eyes narrowed in warning when he turned to meet them.

“I’m not judging, I just thought-“ Thought you were too cold-hearted for that. That’s what we are, after all. Automatons made of stone and ice, sent to kill without thought, without question. He focused forward again, looking at the door. “Does she know what you are?”

“Of course she does, Cassian. Better than you .”

“And so what, so she will be-“

“Why do you care?”

It’s a sharp question, and a good one.

“I was a soldier too young.”

“So was I. I gave her a choice. I didn’t just take her.”

He woke up on Maarva and Clem’s ship with a deathly ringing in his head. Their voices, speaking frantically in hushed tones, grated on his ear. Worse, he couldn’t understand a thing they were saying-Galactic Basic was still harsh, discordant gibberish to him then.

I didn’t have a choice.

Then again, Maarva would always say she didn’t have a choice either.

Pazima, ever the observant spy, snipped the scissors decisively. She twisted her mouth into the idea of a smile.

“Perhaps we’re just getting old, Cassian. Bail Organa has brought his daughter to base.”

Yes, he knew that too. It was hard to miss the stalwart column of a girl standing next to her father, going from meeting to meeting in a pristine white dress, large brown eyes observant and calculating.

“She isn’t much older than Lottie,” she suggested.

She is looking for absolution, Cassian realized. Absolution from me.

He was sure he had woken up in the underworld that day. It was like they always told the younger children on Kenari, when the sun fell and the flickers of the campfire elongated their fingers into long shadows. Wander too far from the group, and you’ll end up in the world below ours. The one the off-worlders found when they dug too deep.

“Will they be my new allies? This…flock of teenage girls?”

“Believe it or not, Cassian, I wasn’t thinking of you when I found her.”

“Then what were you thinking?” There it is, the kill shot, the question Cassian really wanted to ask. He wanted to grab her and scream it in her face. What is it, that compels you to rip a child away from their home, teach them a new language, force them to fight for the galaxy?l

Pazima stopped, taken aback by his fervor, before stepping in front of him. The sound of her boots echoed on the cave floor. She gripped the arms of his chair, one, then another, her pair of scissors balled into a fist. Cassian felt himself leaning back, and watched as that facsimile of a smile twisted into something uglier, meaner, as she leaned forward, filling the empty space with herself.

“You’re in my home, Cassian.” Her voice was soft, but sharp, a velvet glove concealing a steel fist. The muscles in her long tattooed arms twitched in anticipation, as if her body itself hungered for a fight. She lifted an eyebrow, brown eyes delighting in his physical disadvantage. She was stronger, taller, and had him practically trapped beneath her.

In other words, he was prey, and she the predator, deciding if she would devour him. If it was anyone else, any time else, Cassian would have reached for his blaster.

But regret slowed his hand. What was he doing? He hardly knew this woman, only that she was dangerous, and he had questioned her, threatened her, pushed his own past into her present.

“Mind your tone.”

It was an order. He nodded.

Quickly, and as if nothing had happened, her hands left the chair and she walked back behind him, trimming his hair again.

They passed a few moments of silence, enough for Cassian to continue wallowing in remorse. She takes another strand of hair, and before cutting, decides to speak.

“Do you remember the Jedi?” she asked.

What a strange question. He had been alive when the Jedi were active-or so he thought. Kenari was far away from such things, and the idea that there was any sort of power in the galaxy besides the Empire was a distant fantasy.

“No.”

“They took children away from their parents. There was a Jedi general in the Clone Wars who was twelve .”

“I didn’t know you were religious.”

“I’m not. I just remember.” Pazima ran two of her fingers through Cassian’s hair, snipping away again. “This galaxy has always forced children to grow up too fast. With me, at least she will have steady meals and a bed.”

“She will be in a war.”

“She always was.”

The conversation lulls, and the monotonous sound betrays the electric charge in the air. Both of them knew what was happening; they were digging and digging, getting dangerously close to something honest.

Neither of them liked honesty. Honesty is what kills you. Lies kept you alive.

Yet honesty was irresistible, a gravitational pull. How many times had Cassian seen it–one truth spilled out, then another, then another, until you were weeping, telling your life story to someone you barely knew? How many times had he exploited it?

Pazima knew that too. They were liars, both of them.

When she spoke again, he wasn’t surprised to find the truth pouring out of her. Her voice was distant, quiet, as if it came from someplace far away.

“You and I won’t be alive to see the galaxy we hope to build. Surely you understand that.”

“Yes.” Wars were fought by teenagers, twenty-somethings. Pazima was in her thirties, Cassian not far behind. Young by peacetime standards, practically elderly in wartime. The clock had never ticked louder.

“What are we doing it all for, if not for them?”

That’s just love. Nothing you can do about that.

“I suppose you’re right,” Cassian admitted, his eyes on the empty bunk. “But I don’t remember ever being so young.”

Pazima sighed, long and weary, following Cassian’s gaze.

“Neither do I.”

A week goes by, maybe more, and the next time he passes the Reynards’ bunkroom, it’s a muffled roar of sound.

Cassian can’t help himself. Ever the spy, he slips into the shadows and looks through their window, curious at what he will find.

Wedge Antilles, Pazima Reynard’s husband, was the very model of a Rebellion pilot. Young, cocky, brash, and handsome. The type of man other men with too much adrenaline love to idolize. Not exactly who he thought Pazima would go for, but then again, he barely knew her.

He observed Wedge with an attempt at cool disinterest, though in truth, he found himself jealous at the easy way he flitted in and out of the window’s view, the winning smiles he gave the men gathered around him.

Laughter rose and fell, and then rose again, the sharp noise growing louder as Wedge opened and closed the door.

“Lottie! Where the hell have you-” Cassian made to scurry off, but it was too late. Wedge’s eyes locked onto his. “Oh, hello. Cassian Andor, right?” He stuck his hand out. “Wedge Antilles. Pazima said she cut your hair.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” he said, shaking his hand, searching quickly for an escape.

“This what you like to do?” Wedge said, flashing that smile and stepping forward, a bit of a sway in his walk. “You like to watch?”

Cassian snorted, the side of his mouth twitching despite himself. “I am an intelligence officer. It’s my job to be curious.”

“Well, you’re welcome to join us.” He gestured to the door with a beer bottle in his hand. “It’s a tight squeeze, but you’ll fit.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “Crowds make me uncomfortable.”

“Suit yourself,” Wedge said, shrugging. His manner was easy, but Cassian saw something in the young man’s eyes, a fierce intelligence. He knitted his thick black brows together, darting his eyes up and down the hallway. “Have you seen Pazima’s sister, by the way? Short, redheaded, one-eyed. Very hard to miss.”

“No.”

“Worth a shot.” He clapped Cassian on the shoulder, before pointing a finger at him. “Don’t be a stranger. I’m serious.”

Cassian wanted to curl up in a hole. This was exactly the type of social interaction he hated. What an embarrassing thing it was, to need people.

Still, he nodded. Wedge seemed to be a worthy ally.

“Good night, Captain Antilles.”

“Night.”

The door closed, and Cassian walked away, determined to get back to his ship and sleep alone. He hated it here-all of them crammed into bunks carved into a cave, He longed to get a mission, any mission, fly with K2 somewhere shady and seedy and terrible, away from this prison of domesticity.

A sound from the shadows pricked at his ears, pulling him out of his reverie.

He knew the sound of drunken retching far too well, and someone was heaving, little gasps coming in between deep eruptions of sound.

He wanted to turn away, but something told him to stay. He should at least try to be a part of a community again.

“Hello?” he called, stepping towards the sound. “Do you need a medic?”

Two eyes peeked out from the shadows, the cold artificial light causing them to sparkle like stars.

Then Lottie Reynard stumbled forward, and promptly vomited onto Cassian’s shoes.

“What the fuck,” he groaned, shaking his foot and recoiling in disgust.

The girl blinked, scanning Cassian’s face as she wiped spittle from her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked truly pathetic, gripping the neck of a liquor bottle with white knuckles, chunks of vomit intertwined in her ragged red curls.

He almost pitied her, until he found himself slammed against the wall, a shriek ringing in his ears and a blade digging into his skin.

This is what you get for being kind, Cassian. Puke on your shoes and a knife at your throat.

He looked down at her, this tiny, savage animal.

“I could reach for my blaster and kill you,” he whispered.

Her eyes flitted towards the weapon, then back to him, jutting her chin. “You would hesitate,” she reckoned, eyes narrowing as she scanned his face. Pazima said she didn’t talk, and perhaps it was better that way. Her voice was squeaky, so high-pitched it was almost grating, with a nearly indecipherable accent. “You are the type of man who hesitates to kill a child.”

“Am I?” He looked down at the weapon at his throat. Its wavy edges were sharp and fine, the blade decorated with etchings he could not quite see. “Your knife is very beautiful,” he said calmly. The tip pricked the skin of his neck, drawing blood. He groaned and held his hands in the air, a gesture of peace, but his irritation was clear. “I am only trying to get back to my ship.”

“You startled me,” she said in a much smaller voice, before withdrawing and sheathing the knife against her thigh.

“You shouldn’t draw a weapon on strangers here. Not everyone is as kind as me.”

“You kill children,” she hissed, closing the gap between them once again. He could smell her sickly-sweet breath, see how her mismatched eyes shook with nervous energy.

He leaned closer, keeping his voice even.

“So do you.”

That was enough to get her to back away, working her jaw, wiping her mouth again before taking a swig from her bottle.

It was jarring to watch a teenager drink from a bottle like one born to it. His heart, stupid thing, spoke before his brain. “I was like you once.”

The girl scoffed, face twisting in disgust as she rolled her eyes, tossing her messy hair. “So what does that make you? My daddy?” She said the last two words with such mocking disdain, and he found himself laughing in spite of himself.

“I am too young for that.” I hope. “I meant I was very hungry once. Did you eat something today?”

“I-” She blinked, shaking her head, turning into herself. “No. I forgot.”

“You should,” he said. He pulled a ration bar from his pocket. “Especially if you plan on drinking half a bottle of gin.”

She looked at the bottle in her hand, before taking the bar and devouring the way only starving children could, crumbs falling onto her shirt. “I shouldn’t, I know, I just…I don’t sleep so good anymore.”

“So well.”

“What?”

“So well. Basic wasn’t my first language either.”

“Oh, great. A Basic lesson as well as a fucking lecture.” Her words slurred together, and she slumped against the wall.

Cassian shook his head, getting up. “Good night. I’ll tell Wedge where you are.”

“No-wait, Cassian.” She reached out, trying to tug at his jacket, his leg, before falling and stumbling again. He turned around.

“I’m sorry,” she said, something startlingly honest and pleading in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that. I think I’ve forgotten how to trust people,” she added quietly, folding further into herself.

“That’s alright,” he said, as gently as he possibly could. “I have too.”

Quicker than lightning, she stood up and swiped at the blood on his neck, collecting it onto the tip of her finger. He watched her, stunned, as she observed it dripping on her fingers, illuminated by moonlight.

Then, she closed her eyes, swaying just a bit, before nodding.

“You will die on a beach, in the arms of the woman you love,” she said, quiet and assured. She opened her eyes and smiled, a sincere attempt at comfort. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

She shook the blood off of her hands and disappeared. They never spoke again.

The years have changed them all.

Cassian is still sullen, but then there is Jyn Erso, all fiery hope and determination, and she pierces him straight to the core. She makes the world come alive again, and with her, Cassian feels that there might be a future. Not for him, maybe, but for someone.

Scarif is a beach planet, and there is very little time for goodbyes.

Pazima Reynard is not a part of the Scarif mission. Whoever she is off of base, on base she is a mechanic. Even with a welding mask over her face, she was easy to spot. Her hair was now dyed a bright greenish-blue, locs piled onto her head, adding even more height to her tall frame. Sparks flew around her as she worked, illuminating her tattooed skin.

He was not a loud man, but he called her name. She lifted the mask, running her sweat and oil-slick hands into a towel.

“Your hair is very bright,” he observed.

“Cassian.” Her face remained passive, but her voice was rich with warmth. “Got bored on a stakeout.”

“A stakeout? Funny place for a mechanic to be.”

“Yes, well,” She abandoned her thought, crossing her arms. “I hear you’ll be leaving soon.”

“Keep it quiet.” he said, voice dropping to a semi-serious, conspiratorial whisper. “If we need it, can we rely on you to rally the pilots?”

“Of course. I’ve roped Bail in as well. You’ve got people here rooting for you.”

He took a look around Rebel Base, maybe for the last time. This one, built out of an abandoned temple on Yavin IV, is much better than Crait. There’s something freeing about Yavin, like the Rebels have carved out a slice of the jungle, hidden away just for them. For a year or so, it felt like nothing could touch them.

Then Jyn Erso, and the Death Star.

Time waits for no one. He won’t inherit the galaxy they’re building.

I’ll miss this, he thought, surprising himself. I’ll miss being on the outside of this, the great concentric circles of people, orbiting around each other. He had not had a home for a very long time, but Rebel Base was as close as he could get.

A chorus of shrieking giggles interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see Lottie Reynard laughing with a Mirilan medic, the two child-women passing cards between them and the droid mechanic K loved, some teenage boy with thick glasses.

Their eyes met, very briefly, before Lottie ducked her head down, hiding the bright pink blush creeping up her skin.

Her words have rattled around in his head. They were easy enough to pass off as the drunken, nonsense ramblings of a half-mad fourteen year old.

Then he met Jyn, and saw the Death Star’s destruction.

“Sorry,” Pazima said absently, putting a hand on her hip. “I have tried to tell her she laughs like a Kowakian monkey-lizard. You can imagine how that went.”

Cassian shook his head. Truthfully, he took some kind of comfort in the fact that despite everything, teenage girls will always giggle too loud.

Then it hits him. Lies require time. The truth is something immediate, something to do when there’s no time left.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You’ve done a good job with her.”

It was like watching a mask come off, seeing the confusion on Pazima’s features. Her brows knitted together, and then a smile. She had dimples when she smiled. He had never noticed before.

“I thought you didn’t care,” she said, after a moment.

“I don’t,” he said. “So you can trust me. A neutral observer. A former skeptic, even.”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head, looking at Lottie, then her boots, tapping her foot absently. “Well, glad you’re convinced,” she mumbled. “I’m still not.”

“I don’t think parents ever think they do a good job,” he said. “My mother thought I had too many women, too many secrets. She still loved me, though. And that was enough.”

Pazima hummed, and he watched as she looked over at her sister again, before turning to him, sighing deeply.

“I’m not good at this kind of talk,” she admitted.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss her worries. “Then I’ll let you get back to work. But…” He looked at her, really looked, noting the deep-set inner corners of her eyes, her flat, straight nose, her full lips, her high cheekbones, her square jaw, the freckles dotting her cheeks. He let himself take in the sight of a supernaturally beautiful woman, for no other reason than he could.

“Can I ask you for a favor? You’re the only one I can trust with it.” He reached for her hand, not caring about the oil and grease staining them, only caring for a desperate moment of connection.

If Pazima was confused before, she was even more so now, shocked at his sudden display of emotion.

“Cassian-“

“There is a woman, her name is Kerri. She’s from Kenari. She’d be twenty-nine, maybe thirty by now. If…if you hear about her doing whatever it is you do, look into it for me, okay? She’s probably dead, but someone has to.”

Pazima squeezed his hand, nodding like one taking a solemn vow. “I will.”

Lottie has always been an awful sailor, which is one of her more irritating qualities.

Pazima had thought, when she first found her, that she would take to it. She had hoped the ocean could be a mother to Lottie, the way it is to her. But she didn’t-her fingers so deft with a blade were clumsy with a knot, and she couldn’t remember half of the things she needed to.

Just follow the wind, Pazima. Chart your course, but follow the wind.

It was a rare opportunity for them, this trip to Ethamaia. One day, Wedge and Jax had announced proudly that they had swindled Wedge’s own parents out of the place. One of their ridiculous schemes, but it had paid off. Like so many times before, the Rebellion splintered after the battle of Yavin, scattering and hiding until a new, safer base could be found.

But for the first time in many years, this didn’t feel like hiding. It felt like resting. It felt like exhaling.

They needed this, fuck , did they need it. The battle of Scarif was a bloodbath, a litany of dead allies, dead friends. Alderaan was worse. And then the battle of Yavin, a desperate last stand against total annihilation…

Bail Organa used to tell her this was a war of a thousand cuts. Well, Bail, she wanted to ask him, do you still think that will work? Because we’ve all been cut a thousand times, and yet here we are, bleeding out.

Of course, Bail was dead now, blown up by a superweapon, and she could hardly rage against his nineteen-year-old daughter, showing up to command armies in her soiled white dress.

She exhaled and looked out at the sea, bundling rope in her hands. This was the last part of her past she allowed in her life. She was someone else once, someone with parents and brothers, and the sea was a part of her very blood. No matter how much she tried to forget–and she did–the sea still remembered. It still called to her, the vast expanses of blue, broken up only by white, sparkling sands. She looked over at her sister. She perched on the rail of the ship, swinging her legs absently as she smoked. Did she pick up that habit on Coruscant, or from Pazima? She couldn’t remember, and had never cared to stop it. You had to deal with the war somehow, and it was either that or the bottle or bad, weird sex. Pazima had tried all three, and found a cigarra the least destructive.

There was something striking about Lottie-not always the best quality in an assassin, Pazima would admit, but it drew her in. Her face was that of a brutalized doll. It was heart shaped and sweet, with something bullish about it too—a missing eye, a crooked, broken nose, round cheeks that went from cute to jowly depending on her mood. The sun was setting, which made her orange-red hair more brilliant. A bit of fire amongst the endless waves. It was her one truly beautiful feature, and Pazima watched as it twisted, blown by the salty sea air.

She is a woman now, Pazima lamented. Lottie has been for a while, but sentiment-stupid thing-stopped her from seeing clearly.

Cassian Andor once asked her why she had taken Lottie in. The answer still eluded her. There were some ready made ones, of course. Lottie was a sad young girl who Pazima helped to safety; the sob story she gave the Rebellion. Lottie was prodigiously talented at killing with a finely tuned survival instinct, able to move between man and woman, innocent and cunning in an instant; the reasons she gave Wedge, and the reasons why Lottie made such a good assassin.

But none of them sufficed. None of them were right.

There was an idea the Creidye had, the lower-level Coruscanti cult that had spawned Charlotte Reynard into the galaxy. They thought families could be forged, built by durasteel knives and blood bonds. Pazima despised most of their ideology, their fanaticism, their slavish devotion. But the Creidye had helped her when she needed it. She owed them a debt, like it or not.

So when she found herself in the lower levels, after a decade away from the planet that raised her, and found it filled with feral children, what choice did she have?

“Stop looking at me.” Lottie had eyes in the back of her head sometimes–something Pazima had trained her to have, an acute awareness of her surroundings. She felt a blush of pride at her sister’s perception. “Or at least tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Just thinking we’re the same, you and I.”

“Oh?” She turned to her, exhaling smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Well, I would think so, we’re sisters.”

Pazima snorted out a laugh. A secret smile passed between them.

Lottie spoke again, hopping onto the deck with a dancer’s flair. “Cassian Andor said the same thing once.”

She crossed her arms. “That you’re sisters?”

“That he and I were the same.”

“Huh.” She was fairly sure Cassian held a personal grudge against Lottie for existing. The things you learn after people die. She took the cigarra from her sister’s delicate fingers and inhaled, before croaking out a response. “I didn’t know you talked to him.”

“I didn’t. I put a knife to his throat once.”

“ Charlotte! ”

“I was drunk, it wasn’t a good decision,” Lottie shrugged, as if that was an excuse.

Pazima pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling the cigarra again, feeling the smoke choke at her lungs. “Please tell me this was an isolated incident.”

“If it wasn’t, one of us would’ve died a lot earlier,” Lottie pointed out.

“That-” Pazima exhaled, in and out, attempting to find patience. It was a hard thing to find around Lottie, even harder when she was right about something. “You are aggravating.”

“Yes.” She paused, blinking. “But you have to admit it’s kind of funny.”

“I once was under Imperial torture nonstop for a week. Guess what I admitted?” She bent over, curling her lip in triumph. “Nothing, little sister.”

Lottie blinked, taking the cigarra from her. “Only you could find a way brag about surviving Imperial torture.”

Do you know why I chose you, Pazima? His voice, the Fox assassin that had taught and trained her, the one she had held in her arms as he died, rose from the whirlpool of memory. Because you, dear one, can endure.

“Just trying to impart some wisdom. A lesson for you.”

“I’m bored with lessons.” Lottie slouched onto the side of the railing, tossing her hair. She could be quite glamorous when she wanted, curls of red hair and curls of smoke intertwining, a budding femme fatale.

She could also be supremely annoying.

How many times had Pazima heard that particular complaint? Trying to teach her to read was the worst. It’s so booooo-ring, Pazzy. All the letters switch up and dance in my mind.

“You will be the only Fox left after I die,” Pazima said. The Fox, an ancient line of assassins, reduced now to two women on a boat. The history of whatever they were was gone. “Someday, you’ll miss my boring lessons.”

“No, that’s not right,” Lottie said, scrunching her nose and shaking her head. “We’re both meant to bear witness.”

There she was, the priestess, spouting inane prophecies. Lottie saw time differently. They all did, the Creidye, giving up individual Force sensitivity for something different, something communal. Something borne of a world with no moon and no sun and no seasons. Something kept hidden and locked away. Something even the Jedi feared. Something that it took an entire city-planet to bury.

How does one stop the tide , Pazima wondered. How does one stop the rain?

“You have to stop saying odd shit, Lottie. Especially when you’re not around me.”

“Luke says odd shit,” Lottie pouted, tossing the stubbed cigarra with deadly accuracy to a trash can.

Pazima groaned, throwing her head back. Luke this and Luke that. He was Lottie’s most recent obsession, the Jedi descended from the very heavens to save them all.

“Luke blew up the Death Star.” And he’s a man and a fucking Skywalker, she wanted to add. Two advantages we both lack.

“Everyone remembers the Jedi more than the Coruscanti,” Lottie said.

“He’s as green as they come,” she countered. Greener . “He’s from the Outer Rim, things are different there. And you’re not just Coruscanti.” Pazima smirked. “I’m sure you tell him quite a story about your homeworld.”

“And what of it?” Lottie hissed. “Am I forbidden from even speaking of them now?”

Pazima scoffed, but shook her head. This was the hardest thing to articulate to her, the kind of wisdom that only came with age. Pazima was old by Rebel standards-thirty-five-but so damn young compared to real people.

The things Lottie had survived created only two things. Cynic, and zealot. Lottie had latched onto religion, despite Pazima’s objections. Now this kid, this son of Skywalker…

This is a war for the zealots now, fought by idealistic, traumatized teenagers. She looked up at the stars, just beginning to wink at her as the sun dipped below the horizon line. She found the light of Alderaan, still blazing bright, a beacon from a better time.

Endure, Pazima, endure.

“You are still dreaming of a world that does not exist.” Or maybe it did once. Perhaps the brilliant under-levels of Coruscant, with its boundless love and fiery magic and theatrical trickery, the one Pazima knew filled Lottie’s head, perhaps it still existed, burning alongside Alderaan.

“You don’t like Luke,” she observed, tilting her head.

“My personal feelings have nothing to do with it,” Pazima said, grateful for the change in topic. “He’s dangerous, we’d all do well to remember that.”

“Yeah, but he’s kind,” Lottie insisted. “Like Cassian.”

“Yes,” Pazima admitted. Which made him all the more unpredictable. What happens when the kindness burns away, and only the ashes and his raw power remain? He’s already killed millions, they just happened to be on the wrong side.

Perhaps someday I will be done with grief , she thought. She could have all the time in the galaxy, and it still wouldn’t be enough to list those she had lost. It’s hardest to mourn someone like Cassian, someone who she barely knew yet knew better than anyone. They were too similar, the two of them, too intense and brooding.

Cassian was giddy when he smiled, like a little boy. It was so rare and it always made Pazima’s heart stop for a very brief moment. She did not love him, she hardly knew him. Yet it was enough to remind her of all she had lost.

“Why did Cassian say you were the same?”

“I dunno,” Lottie shrugged, voice quiet. “Something about being hungry.”

“Hm.” Lottie had been hungry, that was true enough. The Creidye were rich in revolutionary ideas and dusty legends, but very poor in any real resources. She hadn’t known Cassian was hungry. But then again, she never asked. Pazima had long ago learned to live with regrets, to let them wash over her like waves.

“Everyone always sees what they want in me,” Lottie muttered. “No one ever sees me for me.”

Her brow furrowed. Her sister was as prone to fits of melancholy as she was to vague prophecies. As far as Pazima was concerned, one had as little value as the other. She couldn’t have Lottie fall into despair, any less than she could have her go mad.

“I see you.” She petted a hand over her sister’s hair. Pazima knew she was bad at this. She was too direct, too cold, all of the warmth burnt out of her long ago.

It’s a wonder Lottie’s only a chain-smoker.

“No,” Lottie said, tracing a finger over a scar on her arm. “No, you don’t.”

A small crack formed in Pazima’s heart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry , she wanted to say. I hope I gave you enough time to be young.

Then Lottie shrugged, easy and languid, so much like Wedge–the warm brother and father Pazima never quite could be, the one Lottie so desperately needed. “That’s okay. I don’t think I see you clearly either.”

Pazima huffed out a laugh, relieved that the gloomy spell seemed to have passed.

“By design,” she said. “A blank, beautiful slate, for idiots to see what they want.”

“Are you saying I’m an idiot?”

She wrapped an arm around her sister, pulled her to her, and kissed the top of her head.

“Yes.”

She stood up, walking over to where she had set up a little holotape player. Pazima was done talking. How foolish she had been, so many years ago, thinking spycraft would be all blasters and fast ships and fabulous dresses. It was mostly just talking, navigating the asteroid fields of wit and words and agendas.

At the very least , she thought, looking over at Lottie, she’s better at that than I am.

She thumbed through her box of tapes, finding the one she was searching for.

Cassian had swindled her out of a haircut for it. She had high rates–after all, along with being the best mechanic and the best shot in the Rebellion, she was the best, and for a while the only, hairdresser. Still, she had let him pay with just this one little holotape, big brown eyes, and a sob story.

Your enemies must think you are strong. Only you, Pazima, can know you are weak.

“Cassian gave me this,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Lottie, holding the tape between two fingers. “On Crait, after we got back to the Rebellion from Laakteen.”

Lottie scrambled to her feet, snatching the tape from Pazima’s hands, wrinkling her nose as she read the title. “Chaos Theory by Senators of Rhythm. What is this, jizz? Gonkrock?”

“Nah, more…electro-twang, I’d call it, but a little funkier than that. I never thought this would’ve been Cassian’s thing.”

“The kind of music you used to sing?”

Pazima smiled, allowing herself a bit of wistfulness. “No, little sister. But a good kind of music nonetheless.”

“Won’t the neighbors hear?” Lottie asked. They had docked on a little inlet, far enough from any real trouble, but still close enough to see the tops of the shell-white mansions peeking over the horizon line

She smirked. On Ethamaia, their neighbors were arms dealers and Imperial swine.

“Fuck ‘em.” she declared, and Lottie giggled giddily.

Pazima could’ve admonished Lottie for the laugh-it was loud and wild, much like her, and certainly too attention-drawing for any assassin-but how could she? If there was anything that drew the sisters together, that drew all Coruscanti together, it was music.

Pazima wasn’t a Coruscanti in the way her sister was. She wasn’t born under the city, nor even in one of the skyscrapers of the wealthy. Her home planet, Xuhiri, was vast and blue and sparse in a way someone like Lottie could only imagine. But like all of the female scions of great noble houses, Pazima was shipped off to Coruscant to learn how to smile and please, to host dinner parties and flatter the egos of wealthy men. It was in that great orchestra of a city, a symphony of speeder horns and conversation, that she first knew what love was.

Love was the sound of a Bith soprano at the Galaxies Opera House. A street busker strumming their double viol on the streets of Uscru Entertainment district, nodding and smiling as Pazima tossed a credit their way. And love, well, of course it was the Creidye performance troupes, emerging from the lower levels, soaking up the meager sun as they beat their heavy drums, their long hair swaying in time with the music and their dancers twirling their swords, the blades running over scarred skin and somehow never drawing blood.

She pressed play on the holotape and closed her eyes. She heard the familiar beat of a song long forgotten, a drum kit cuing in the singer and the backing band.

Her sister was already fidgeting in time with the music when Pazima reached out her hand, as if the music coursed through her very blood.

She took her hand gladly, and Pazima spun her sister around, watching her beautiful red hair twirl around her.

Dancing with her, on the deck of this ship that was somehow theirs, feet remembering steps she had learned long ago on Coruscant, to the music given to them by a dead man, Pazima couldn’t help but feel like this was all a dream. It was too nice, too sweet. The laughter came to her unbidden, flowing like a stream from her belly to her breath.

She watched Lottie, seventeen and hopelessly alive. Their two bodies moved in time as they danced, one scarred, one tattooed, both wearing their histories on their skin.

She felt again that prick of guilt, the one that threatened to consume her, the one Cassian had found so long ago, when Lottie was still half-mute. She was dancing now, and Cassian was dead.

There was no room for guilt, not anymore. The cause was still a hopeless one when Pazima brought Lottie to base. That had all changed now, thanks to the sandy-haired Jedi’s son from Tatooine.

He could win them the war. And Lottie, well…

Pazima sent a silent prayer to the waves.

If she dies, let her die young. Let her become a martyr and stay young and wild and beautiful forever.

And please, please, please, let me die before her.

#my writing #star wars fanfiction #star wars one-shot #star wars ocs #cassian andor #cassian andor fanfiction #eowyn speaks

4 notes · View notes

piracytheorist · 1 year

Note

What's your take on Fiona Frost?

Quick reminder that I don't read the manga so all my views here are only from what the anime has shown! Which, considering she's only been in like, 3 and a half episodes, it's a lot. (I also don't want spoilers for what happens next!)

I enjoy her presence in the story purely for the dynamic she brings in. I don't like her character, I don't like how she treats others (even with Twilight whom she supposedly cares for, her adoration is completely unhealthy for both of them) but I like how, because of her obsession with Twilight and how actually good at her job she is, we get to see a side of Twilight we weren't allowed before. I like that she's not a mere romantic rival to bring tension and an always unnecessary love triangle (love triangles are stupid fight me on this). First of all, I don't think anyone's naive enough to think she poses any threat to twiyor, so she barely even counts as a "rival", but she's also not as shallow-written as most such rival characters are.

She is delusional about Twilight's feelings for her (or his potential to grow feelings for her), she is obsessed and willing to throw others under the bus to get what she wants, but she's calculating and perceptive in parts that make her an interesting part of the story. If she were less obsessed and perceptive, she wouldn't have noticed the truth behind Twilight's smile in episode 21 (that scene is an entire changing point of the family dynamic you cannot change my mind). If she were less ambitious and confident that Twilight could become her partner, she wouldn't have pointed out that truth in the smile because it wouldn't have hit her as hard. In her mind, it's a given that she'll end up with him, there is absolutely no question about that. And it's exactly because of that that she's able to notice and confirm to the audience what we've been sussing all along; that he's slipping and falling in love.

Now, you'll tell me, you enjoy a female character's existence in the story only because she promotes a man's story? Well, here's the thing, Nightfall has something most such characters don't have; surprisingly honest methods. While she's fully willing to step on others to promote herself, she doesn't use deception. She doesn't make herself look better, nor try to make someone look worse than they are. Her intentions with Yor are to expose any weak spots Yor may have that would make her a bad asset in Operation Strix. And as for Twilight, she wants him to see the real her. She wants him to admire her for her true strengths and skills and achievements. And that's honestly quite rare for romantic rivals - usually they're depicted as sly snakes that will use any means necessary, first and foremost lies and deception. But Nightfall actually strives for honesty. She knows that a good relationship needs honesty, she craves for Twilight to respect her for who she is (and is confident enough about who she is that she doesn't seem to give a shit about what other spies say about her behind her back, pretty much to the detriment of her romantic plans), and she is unwilling to make up false weaknesses about her enemies.

With all that, she's pretty fucking interesting and I hope that down the line we get to see more of her, that her place in the story grows past the "plot device to prove to the audience that Twilight is actually growing FeelingsTM" and that her dynamic grows past her "notice me senpai" thing. I'd like to know her backstory and what inspired her to become a spy (we know that having Twilight as a mentor inspired her to work hard but I'd like to know how she got into that line of work in the first place) and I'd like to see her grow into a person whose happiness doesn't depend on a single person noticing her, who can define herself outside from how that person perceives her, and who will stay the fuck away from Yor and Anya until she learns to control herself XD I think just from her short appearance in the anime there was enough given from her that such a progression can be justified. Maybe I'm a little too hopeful, but Endo's writing seems so conscious and well-informed that I can't help it XD

#sxf #sxf Nightfall #lentachorum #ask and ye shall receive

37 notes · View notes

symphonic-scream · 1 year

Text

The Phantom Queers Notes

Thanks to the ever patient Cap for putting up with me gushing about them nonstop! Love you cap

Anyways. Ahem.

Firstly; the Noir's mural. I said it was based off of official art from Mementos Mission? Yeah so I wanted to add that image to this post so anyone who hasn't seen it can see it and know what I meant

So it's like this. But with more vines.

And now onto the notes

Haru's dad slowly adapting to his daughter being with someone like Makoto and just,

Okumura: invite your wife to our next brunch. I'm ready to have a meal with the person who makes you glow

Haru: are you ready for that? Neither of us want to push you

Okumura: I'm ready. I love you, and you love her so much. It's about time I let you show me such

This is after like. Eight years of him knowing Makoto. There were some very awkward talks in the beginning but mans did his research! He knows how to be respectful!

He even frames a photo of their little family and keeps it on his desk, with little trans and lesbian flag stickers in the corners. He updates it every year as his grandsons grow older

(THATS RIGHT I HAVE MORE ABOUT THE SONS YOULL GET TO LEARN ABOUT THEM)

Teenage Makoto and Haru going to see a spy movie as their first date as girlfriends, Makoto nervous because sure Haru knows she's trans already, but what if-

They end up making out halfway through in the back of the theatre.

Haru: this was lovely! We should go on some more dates, yes?

Makoto: y-yeah! That would be very nice,

And Haru gives her a goodbye kiss, a full one right out in the middle of the street, waving her fingers with a little wink as she gets on her train, Makoto just standing there watching her new girlfriend walk away with her heart beating out of her chest

Their first place together is a dorm at university. They push the beds together to make a double, though they sleep so closely they'd only need a single. Little flags on the bag of the door, little polaroids from dates and hangouts with their new friends on a wall, the way Makoto's study space is sparse, with clicky pens and things to safely chew on, and Haru's having plants and life and so many colours-

Makoto finding out Haru's actually pregnant and just. She's so relieved. She didn't ruin it all for her love,

But Haru would've been so happy either way, even if their kid didn't have Makoto's eyes or, like their second and third, her rebellion and cute little nose-

Okay gonna lay out the sons real quick! They have three sons; Seiji is their first born, has Makoto's sharp red eyes, Haru's curls, and a general softer shape to him. When he's like middle school age he goes a bit emo, remains into dark colours and music. And he loves to cook! Loves food

Then there's the twins, Kazuto and Hiroto. Dark curls, Haru's softer eyes, but they have that Niijima spark, they look more like Makoto did as a kid. Identical twins too! Pure evil. Menaces. Cunning and with sharp grins, their moms are lucky they aren't into arson

Sae, just barely out of university, now the legal guardian of her little brother and just. Sitting there as this little middle schooler comes out to her, and-

Well. She has to do everything she can for her sister.

Makoto: here, let's look at my childhood photos

Hifumi: you, do that? Look at photos from before you transitioned?

Makoto: it's different for everyone. I'm fine with it, I know Yusuke has a select few saved, Futaba doesn't like it for other reasons-

Makoto: I did change my name though. We have nothing that remains with my dead name on it. That is where I draw my boundaries. I cannot handle hearing it on my worst days

Hifumi: I see

Makoto: it wasn't me. And while I'm not as feminine as you or Haru, I'm still a woman

Hifumi: I'm starting to make sense of this all, thank you so much

Makoto: that's what family is for, sis

-new note-

Haru: if you want to discuss, hm, reassignment procedures, with someone, I know Yusuke is rather open about his. He'll even give you his professional's number

Hifumi: why are you saying it that way?

Haru: Makoto has, a thing with. *Hospitals*. So, I tend to reword those things

-new note-

Makoto: I'll wake up early and make Haru breakfast in bed for our first mother's day, I'll have the little one strapped to my chest nothing can go wrong!

Hifumi: what happened to you

Makoto, sitting on the kitchen floor covered in flour and butter, her infant son playing with Johanna on the couch: I tried to cook with a baby. Help me please

Hifumi entertains the baby while Makoto makes a plate of scones, an omelette, and a little fruit salad for her wife

"I just get so distracted when he's with me. I lost all focus"

"yeah but the flour?"

"I was measuring it. Saw Seiji clap. So, I clapped."

"Ah."

Haru wakes up to her son giggling on Makoto's side of the bed, her wife tracing soft kisses up from her hand

"happy mother's day, baby"

"Happy mother's day, Love"

They both have the day off, and just spend a nice day with their lil guy

Haru: if this is mother's day, I wonder what you'll do for my birthday?

Makoto: ah, well Seiji won't be helping me with those plans. That'll be a very special night out, just us two. After a morning with his plans of course

Haru: I'm so lucky I have you,

Makoto: sjdbskdhxidbdj baby,,

-new note-

Makoto: happy birthday baby

Haru: you, bought that small building between us and the shop next door?

Makoto: let's go inside and you'll see your gift. Full home gym, with a little sauna and hot tub room in the back

Haru: ...not gonna lie Love this looks more like a gift for you

Makoto: did you notice the lounge chairs? This is a private show for you~ I know you hate coming to the gym to watch me, so-

Haru: I LOVE IT

Makoto: you can have a private showing whenever you'd like, baby. All for you

Haru: can we, have a go right now?

Makoto: of course. Are you okay with me working on arms and upper body?

Haru: YES

haru just in her lil lounge chair aggresively sipping water

cause shes thirsty

(green was Cap akfhdj)

Staring at the back muscles

Makoto has to wear a long sleeve shirt to her run with Ryuji the next morning. Normally she runs in the like, sports bra thing. But her arms, back, and abs are. Covered. From Haru enjoying her gift

Haru: I'm gonna kiss every muscle on you

Makoto: oh wow

Ryuji: whyre you wearing a shirt? You hate the sweat cling

Makoto: Haru's birthday yesterday

Ryuji: ...fuck I forgot to get her anything she's gonna kill me- wait. GROSS DUDE DONT TELL ME ABOUT-

Makoto: I DIDNT MAN STOP YELLING

Makoto and Haru at like a parents night for the preschool Seiji goes to just trying to ignore the straight gossip going around all around them

One couple: hehe we're trying to give her a sibling, trying for a baby is soooo much work

Makoto: ...they're just openly admitting they fu-

Haru: shh, Love. I know. Don't get too stressed though, you have to be in good health for our appointment tomorrow.

Makoto: think we should tell people we're also trying? But heavily imply we're just fu-

Haru: yes. Absolutely. Put your hand in my back pocket, I'll leave a little mark on your neck-

Makoto excitedly explains this at the appointment they go to the next morning, she's had to take those. Relax pills before so she's a lil loopy, and Haru just smiles so tenderly as they run the tests on her wife. She loves their little family,, so glad the medical field has a way for them to have kids (I'm making shit up idk man. Au magic this world made it possible I don't wanna think about it too hard)

Makoto: ...do you also find it weird we only have sons

Haru: shh don't think Love. Happy moment, no gender thoughts. Hold one of the twins, be mesmerized by the baby

Haru adores her wife and their sons so much. Even if their oldest turns emo and the twins are feral demons

Akira: when I first met you two you were getting the drunkest out of the group at every night out, dancing all over each other- I'm pretty sure you two were making out more than you weren't

Makoto: I remember our uni days, ha

Haru: mm, good times

Ann: you guys were. All over each other then

Haru: it was our first time getting to be open about us! It was exciting.

Makoto: we're just as all over each other now, we just know how to close doors

Ryuji: and DONT ACT LIKE YOU AND SHIHO DONT JUST MAKE OUT ON THE COUCH

Ann, three drinks in: you think that's all we do on that couch?

Yusuke: ...I think we need to sober her up before my roommates kill each other

Akechi, already grabbing the hose: on it

Ann and Ryuji, very wet the next minute:

Akechi: problem solved. Hey, lesbians. If you get too handsy you're getting sprayed next

Haru holds her hands up in the "don't shoot" position

Hifumi just sits to the side and drinks with Futaba, watching them all

Futaba: you want to stay on our couch tonight? Going home with Mrs and Mrs "Horny Drunk" won't lead to good things for your mental health

Hifumi: ...please tell me you're not speaking from experience

Futaba: me? No. Goro? Oh yes. Watching him be unable to look at either of them for four months was hilarious

Hifumi makes it back home around noon and notices only Makoto is in the house space

Hifumi: hey, where's Haru?

Makoto: hm? Oh, she's working downstairs. Want some tea? I can make you a plate of eggs?

Hifumi: Haru out drank everyone, how is she functioning?

Makoto: she's somehow immune to the hangover. Nah, I'm kidding. She drank water between every drink. Then it was the Gatorade and coffee mix, with a plate of my "Hangover Eggs". Neither of us have ever had a rough morning. Not since the first month of uni

Hifumi: ...I'll take a plate of the eggs, please

The day Haru finds out she's pregnant is. One of the best days in their household

She and Makoto had been having monthly appointments with their doctor over the last year, and. She'd felt off since the week after the last one but- she thought takin the test was wishful thinking

But the eight tests all read positive and- man she's gotta think of a way to tell Makoto

Before she gets a chance some dude tries to rob Noir's, barely nicks her with his knife but she goes to the hospital as a precaution cause tetanus

Makoto gets a call from one of the workers telling her her wife is at the hospital, they were robbed, and she gets there and is so relieved to see Haru looking alright, just some bandages around her arm, and Haru just Smiles

Eventually a doctor comes in to give Haru the all clear, but he pauses before they leave like: oh, and we did check. You're coming along just fine

Makoto: what does that mean?

Doctor: the pregnancy. Ms Okumura is early on, but all is going well

Makoto: ...it worked? Youre-

Haru: surprise?

Makoto is excitedly telling everyone for the next few months. Sure Haru was the one who wanted children more of the two, but that doesn't mean Makoto didn't want this. Her wife is pregnant! They're having a kid! And by some miracle, it's their kid

Ann: wait. How

Yusuke: but. You're on estrogen? There should be no way-

Ryuji: GROSS YOU GUYS DID IT?!

Shiho: ...Ryuji, stay on point here

Haru: science

Makoto: lesbian magic

Goro: I'm not watching your little spawn

Akira: dibs on godfather!

Futaba: in surprised you kept it a secret this long. Both of you suck at secrets

Makoto: no we don't

Haru: ...love you accidentally told me you were going to propose three days before you did it

They're much more open when they decide to go for a second kid, mostly because they're more convinced it'll work this time

Ryuji: gross

Ann: we already went over this. Science baby. Not like with straight people

Ryuji: but still

Makoto: you've known us for like ten years. How are you still like this

Ryuji: IDK YOU GUYS ARE LIKE THE PSEUDO MOMS I DONT WANNA THINK ABOUT YALL FUCKING

Makoto: so stop thinking about it?

Ryuji: ...oh.

Ann: DUDE SERIOUSLY

Then there's a bit about Ann and Shiho, how they decide to have a donor baby, and. End up with Triplets. Two daughters; Asami, Nikko. And then a son, Tsukito

Makoto: Seiji, turn off the TV, go play with the trio

Seiji: but mom, they're playing field hospital again. They're gonna make me the patient

Makoto: buddy, sometimes we have to make sacrifices. You and I will have a day to ourselves if you do it, okay?

Seiji: can we go to the farmers market?

Makoto: uh sure

Seiji has the red eyes but the twins are pure evil

Makoto: Kazu, Hiro, how did you get up there

The twins, literally on the roof: climbed

The twins have the like innocent Haru smile. Devious

There's cunning behind those eyes. They have the Niijima mind

Kazu: mom I don't feel good

Makoto: oh no, what happened- ...why is there a pencil in your arm

Hiro: hi mom

Makoto: ...both of you. What happened. Why are there pencils in your arms

Kazu and Hiro: we wanted to see if we could stab each other hard enough

Makoto: get in the car we're going to the hospital

Kazu: we're going on a hunger strike

Hiro: we want the bigger room. There's two of us

Seiji: I'm older. Nice try.

Kazu: we will make you give in

Hiro: I'm studying up on CIA torture tactics

Kazu: we both take martial arts. You will give us the room

Seiji: oh yeah? You think I won't survive? Try me

Makoto: baby the boys are waging war

Haru: eh, they're tire each other out. Feel up for a workout?

Makoto: HARU WE HAVE A PROBLEM

Haru, who was working the shop downstairs: Love? What's wrong

Makoto: I lost the babies

Haru: ...what

Makoto: I didn't think they'd figure out how to open the door i- baby the babies fucking got out-

Seiji: they're under the couch they just opened it and went under the couch

Makoto: what did we do to deserve this

Haru: I mean, we did fuck at a party and break the urn with someone's grandmother's ash's in uni

Makoto: oh yeah. And then we blamed Goro

Uni Makoto and Haru are just. A different breed. Them in high school was sweet, them after is domestic with a hint of spice, but. The in between.

They all go to the grand opening of Noir and. Just stare at how normal the two are

Ann: no visible hickies... It's a miracle

Akira: I can't believe it. They've been tamed

Haru: hi darling, think you'll lie on your stomach for me?

Makoto: ngh, wait, its-

Haru: don't think about it. We'll get your shot over with quick, and then we can have the day in bed. I promise. We took today off for a reason

Makoto: nooo I don't want it,

Haru: you're just saying that, you love you. You won't be the you you worked so hard for if you weren't brave enough for a little shot

Makoto: ...will it be quick?

Haru: I'll even numb the area with ice

Makoto: and we can kiss all day?

Haru: whatever you want

Makoto: fine. Give me the e,

Haru: you call me baby and yet,

Makoto: OW

Haru: that's the ice, Love

Haru: there, all done.

Makoto: did you use the

Haru: yes, I used the Buchimaru band aid

Makoto: I love you so much

Haru: I love you too

Makoto: kiss time?

Haru: I suppose~

Makoto later on: hey, thanks for not listening. I'm already feeling better

Haru: I know darling, it's hard to stab you sometimes but I know it's what makes my girl happiest

Makoto: mm,

Sae: since you two are going to be rooming together when you go off to uni, it's time I passed on the torch

Haru: oh?

Sae: Makoto is a coward about her hormone shots. No matter how much she says she doesn't want it, she does. Unless she has a serious conversation about detransitioning on a non shot day, don't listen. Give her a lollipop or something, anything else to focus on. She does best lying down. She can't kick you if you sit on her calves-

Haru: i- have you been doing this all this time?

Sae: yes. And now we will have the awkward experience of me helping you give her the shot. It'll be weird. But it'll be your responsibility as her partner

Haru: I'm ready, Chief

Makoto: hey, sis- Haru? Wait, no

Sae: yes. Pants off. Lie down.

Makoto: NO WAIT I CHANGED MY MIND I WANNA BE A GUY

Haru: will you lie down for me my Love?

Makoto: ...uh yeah

Sae: pants.

Makoto: bite me.

Sae: Makoto, you know this is what's best for you

Makoto: lies

Haru: I'll hold your hand if that helps? And give you a kiss after for being so brave?

Makoto: you're much more convincing than sis

Sae: alright Haru, that's it. You did it, congrats

Makoto: I'm dead. You killed me

Haru: you're rather attractive for a corpse

Sae: I'm leaving now. I'll bring home dinner. Don't do anything stupid

Hifumi: oh I do my own shots

Haru: my wife is just a big baby about them, and I mean that affectionately

Makoto: yeah I. Don't do well with anything of that sort

Haru: our fertility appointments are. Very planned. She takes one of those relaxation pills before we go

Makoto: it's tough but it's worth it for the chance to give Haru anything she desires

Makoto is the most doting wife while Haru is pregnant. Foot rubs, vitamins, skin creams and talking to their son every day

"today your mama gave your mom her shot. That's right, your mama shot me"

"Makoto-"

"just kidding kid. She helped me feel more like myself, and I love her so much. You've got the best mama ever"

"They have the best mom too"

Haru: ...Makoto?

Makoto: it's 2 am,, what is it baby?

Haru: I want. Cold soba noodles

Makoto: easy enough,

Haru: covered in chocolate

Makoto: ...

Slow dancing in the kitchen, Makoto behind Haru, hands entwined over Haru's dark apron, heads leaned together

Makoto: a night to ourselves,

Haru: Hifumi moved out a year ago, and the kids are staying at the Quad,, so it's just us

Makoto: shall we treat ourselves? I can make you steak? Break out the good wine? We can have a nice bath, turn in early for some, us time

Haru: can you make baked potato with the steak?

Makoto: anything for you

Haru: carry me to bed later?

Makoto: of course

Buff Makoto and her pudgy baker wife, And their emo chef son and two demon spawns

Thinking back to scared little high school Makoto, more scrawny than anything, and petite Haru seated beside her, their pinkies barely entwined, both blushing and looking away

To Uni them, with Makoto playing rugby recreationally and Haru being very much a fan of that, them making out and boinking literally anywhere possible, somehow like top of their classes while still going all out for the fun side of things

Makoto being very awkward with Haru's dad.

Kunikazu: so. You are. Transgender?

Makoto: yep.

Kunikazu: you want to be, a boy?

Makoto: w-wrong direction, sir

Haru: you can't do anything, father. I love her.

Kunikazu: I see

Makoto: ...can I go home? And hire a bodyguard?

Kunikazu: I suppose you two can live together. Just. I do not want a surprise grandchild

Haru: that's not even possible

Makoto: yeah I'm leaving

Haru: father and I will be having monthly brunch

Makoto: oh, joy,

Haru: just us. You're not invited

Makoto: ...did he-

Haru: I uninvited you

Makoto: I love you so much

Haru: no marks, I'm seeing my dad tomorrow! Makoto-

Makoto: but baby,

Haru: ...no visible marks at least

Makoto: ...fuck I forgot the rule

Haru: it's, well. I didn't try to stop you,

Makoto: your dad is gonna murder me

Haru: he won't, he likes you, he's just. Still in his learning phase

Makoto: yeah but you're gonna walk in tomorrow looking like a dalmatian

Haru inventing the Gatorade coffee in university after a night of. Heavy drinking with her girlfriend. Waking up and feeling like death itself and just. Trying to make coffee but she's barely looking and brews it with. Gatorade instead of water

Haru: I know you spoke to Yusuke, but Makoto gave me permission to tell you about her surgery experience

Hifumi: oh?

Haru: she had top, which I'm sure you've noticed by now. She likes to ditch the shirt more than usual

Hifumi: yes

Haru: but she had such a horrible time recovering she cancelled for bottom and just. Never got it

Hifumi: oh. And she's okay with that?

Haru: it works for her. Makoto's never been, violently dysphoric about her body. Not since I met her. Her voice was one thing, but now she's at her best

Hifumi: thank you for sharing, and tell her thanks too

Haru: of course! And let me know if you need someone for care afterwards or to drive you to and from

Haru dealing with miserable Makoto post op from top and just

Haru: my poor girl,

Makoto: I'm dying,,

Makoto: but at least I'll die with boobs,

Haru: okay let's give you some more pain meds, HEY DONT TOUCH, MAKOTO-

Makoto: ow,,,

Makoto: I just wanted to feel,

Haru: I know you and your hands, but give it some recovery time, please

Sae walking into Makoto's room during their first sleepover in high school and just. Seeing the two all curled up, the content looks on their faces, She sees Makoto stir and the minor look of horror on her face at getting caught by her sister but, Sae just smiles, whispers a loud goodnight, and turns back

Haru nuzzles closer, and Makoto just. Smiles.

Them watching Seiji in a school play and just trying not to fight the group of mom's at the back of the room who are chatting

Makoto: the disrespect-

Haru: Love his line is coming up, make sure the camera is on!

Makoto: wait, shit, where did the twins go?

Haru: ...we can worry about bailing them out later

Surprisingly that's it?? But one last joke Cap made that I felt I needed to share

"of course Makoto's trans her Persona is a Transformer"

#long post #the phantom queers #makoto niijima #haru okumura #okujima #makoharu

48 notes · View notes

beatrice-otter · 3 months

Text

Fic: Wachet Auf

Title: Wachet Auf Author: Beatrice_Otter Fandom: Rivers of London Characters: Thomas Nightingale, Peter Grant Written For: Quasar in Heart Attack Exchange 2024

Summary: In 1940, Nightingale has to catch a Nazi spy armed with a magical device. In 2016, Nightingale and others fall into a magical coma, and Peter Grant must figure out why it happened and how to end it.

At AO3. At Squidgeworld. On Dreamwidth. Rebloggable on Pillowfort.

2016.

I learned something was wrong when I got a call from the Folly, and there was silence on the other end.

"I'll be there quick as I can," I told the expectant stillness, and swigged the rest of my coffee in one gulp.

"Something's up at the Folly," I told Bev, who was not a morning person but had perked up to listen to me.

"Was that Molly?" Bev asked, and I nodded. "Wonder why she didn't text?"

"Because then we'd know for sure she had a phone," I said. "She likes her air of mystique. And also, I might not have checked it right away. She knows I'll always pick up for the Folly." But usually when someone from the Folly landline called me, it was Nightingale. Molly didn't use phones often, for obvious reasons.

I called Nightingale on the way out to the car, just to be sure; if he were at the Folly and in any condition to do so, he would have been the one to call me in, but he might just have been out on some early-morning call-out. No answer.

I told myself he might just have had it off. He didn't like the modern notion that one should be reachable at all times.

I spent the drive to Russell Square trying to think of reasons for Molly to be the one to call me like this.

Only one seemed plausible: something was wrong with Nightingale.

1940.

I learned something was wrong when I was called in, not to the Foreign Office for a new mission, but to the Home Office.

I made my way from the Folly across a London digging itself out from the damage of last night's bombs, and was directed to a nondescript office in a back corridor, inhabited by an equally nondescript functionary and a slender blond man in a sharp suit and a careless air who was polishing his monocle.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Nightingale," the functionary said. "I'm John Lewis, and this—" he gestured at the man who was now putting in his monocle "—is Lord Peter Wimsey, whom I'm sure you've heard of."

"Of course," I said, giving Lord Peter a closer look. His cricket playing had been legendary at Oxford in my time there, and then of course there was his hobby of detective work, which was often splashed all over the newspapers. I had no particular interest in his hobby, but I did greatly enjoy his wife's books.

"How d'ye'do," Lord Peter said with a nod. "Very pleased to meet you, Johnny here's been telling me all about your recent adventures in Tibet. Very exciting thing, what?"

"Rather," I said, shooting a look at Lewis. Someone had been telling tales out of school; that was classified. It had not escaped my notice that Lewis had given his name but no rank, title, or position. Just who was he, and was he really a part of the Home Office, I wondered, or was that merely a convenient cover? "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"An acquaintance of mine was recently killed while fleeing from the Nazis," Lord Peter said. "He lingered long enough to pass on some rather … disturbing information which, if true, puts it straight in your bailiwick. The Nazis apparently have some sort of occult device for communicating across long distances. Unlike radio, it cannot be intercepted or decoded, at least not with any technologies we have. Your chaps might be able to do something with it."

"I know I don't need to say what a difference such a device would make … and not for the better," Lewis said. "We're on the defensive and losing ground every day. Even the slightest edge might be crucial to our survival and, hopefully, to turning the tide. Regular radio we can intercept and eventually decode. This … we've no idea even where to start. The Germans cannot be allowed to have some sort of supernaturally undetectable means of communications."

"I'm not much for research or the technical end of things," I pointed out. "You'd be much better served to call in David Mellenby."

"Yes, Mellenby," Lewis said slowly, flicking open a folder. "Studied at the Weimar Academy of Higher Insights, still in regular correspondence with a number of German magicians. Used to be a close friend of Max Günther, who now is in Hitler's inner circle."

"The most important part of that sentence being 'used to be,'" I said, not liking Lewis' implications. "Mellenby's current project, outside his research, is the Academic Assistance Council, helping Jewish academics flee the Nazis and establish themselves here and in America. He's quite bitterly disappointed in most of his former friends, letting politics and prejudice get in the way of the advancement of knowledge."

"You vouch for his loyalty?" Lewis asked. Lord Peter watched with hooded eyes, and said nothing.

"Absolutely," I said.

Lewis nodded, which meant their analysis agreed with me. "Then you can consult with him as need be. But this is no theoretical exercise; we have reason to believe the occult device is being field-tested in London as we speak."

"Here?" I said, in some surprise. "Surely they'd want to keep such a new development somewhere safer."

"It would be easier to conceal than a radio," Lord Peter pointed out. "Nobody who saw it would know what they were looking at. Perfect for espionage. And besides, given the tensions between the practitioners and the main bulk of the German armed forces …." He gave an eloquent shrug.

I nodded, being intimately familiar with those tensions (and having used them to my advantage on a few different occasions). Hitler liked the occult, but many of the rank-and-file found it uncanny and suspect from a religious point of view. As for the officer corps, a good share of them blamed Germany's defeat in the last war at least partly on the magicians having sat the whole affair out. "Still, I wouldn't have thought they'd be willing to dispatch practitioners on a long-term espionage mission such as this."

"They haven't," Lewis said. "The device does most of the work; it does not require a fully-trained magician to use. Which makes the spy harder to catch, of course; they won't be on any student list from Weimar, and there's little chance of someone like Mellenby recognizing them."

"In any case," Lord Peter said, "if we find them and stop them here and now, we can either use them to provide misinformation, or convince them that such devices are unworkable for future use, depending on which would be most convenient for us. But that depends on us finding them … and that's where you come in."

"Your job," Lewis said, pushing a folder across his desk, "is to find the spy and, if possible, a method of listening in on or tracking the device. You are authorized to consult with Mellenby if you think it necessary, and others if you find it absolutely necessary, but we rely on your discretion. Loose lips, and all that."

"Of course," I said, hoping that there was at least a starting point in the information they'd given me. "London is rather a big city; do you have anything to narrow down where the spy might be?"

Lord Peter grimaced. "'Fraid not. You're being sent on rather a wild goose chase."

"I see," I said, heart sinking.

"You've been sent out on minimal intelligence before," Lewis said. "Why should it be a problem now?"

"Magic is usually subtle and hard to detect at a distance." I spread my hands. "Which is one of many reasons why practicing magic is a rare skill. London is large. Without some way to focus my investigation, it will not be like looking for a needle in a haystack; it will be like looking for a needle in an entire city's worth of haystacks."

"Well then, I suppose you'll have to see if you can find a magnet, what?" Lord Peter said. "And if it can't be found through magic, only ferreted out by normal intelligence—that's important to know, too."

"If you need anything, talk to Lord Peter," Lewis said. "He'll be your contact, so if the spy is watching government buildings you'll not be seen traipsing in and out."

Lord Peter handed over a card. "Do come over for tea sometime soon. My collection of incunabula has been moved outside of London for the duration, of course, but I have a rather interesting folio regarding magical rituals from the 1480s, and I've always wondered if it was actually magic, or just the sort of mystical wishful thinking one finds so often in previous eras. I could easily have the volume sent up, if you're interested."

"That's very kind of you," I said, "but I'm no scholar. There are several other chaps at the Folly who'd be much better able to give you an opinion; as for me, I'd be more interested in getting Lady Peter's autograph."

"A fan, are you?" Lord Peter said. "A sign of excellent taste."

"All the information we have is in that folder," Lewis said. "Don't lose it. Good luck on your investigation."

2016.

"Have you rung Abdul and Jennifer?" I asked Molly, staring down at Nightingale's motionless form. His chest was moving—very slightly—but other than that he was as still as a corpse. And just about as responsive as one.

Molly shook her head violently and made it clear that she believed his sleep to be magical in nature.

"Look, he's not got any enchantments on him that I can sense, and there's no vestigia in the room that's not perfectly normal for the Folly," I said. "And the wards haven't been breached, there's been no outside attack that I can tell. Even if you're right that it is magical, I don't know enough to fix it, and scans may be able to tell us more about whatever's going on. And even if they can't … if we don't wake him up soon he's going to need fluids, at the least, and a hospital will be better equipped to do that." I tried to sound confident. After all, he was only sleeping—how bad could it be? It was a bit unnerving that neither loud shouts nor shaking him nor sticking him with a pin had made any visible difference, but surely the hospital had stronger measures.

Molly was unhappy, but she didn't try to stop me from calling Abdul and explaining the situation.

"Call 999, I'll meet you at the hospital for tests," was Abdul's response.

1940.

My first step was to return to the Folly and consult with David. He had no need to see the source of the intelligence, or any of the scant information concerning where it might be used, but there was no one better suited to comment on the technical aspects of the case.

Walking through the Folly's front doors was strange, as it always was now; the glass ceiling of the atrium had been covered to prevent light from shining through to alert the German bombers that prowled our skies. It made it gloomy even on a bright and sunny day, like today. But the preparation room off the lecture hall was the same as it had ever been—shelves full of basic supplies, the remnants of the last few lectures not yet tidied away. And, crucially, it was a place where we could lock the door and not have to worry about anyone being inconvenienced or overhearing our discussion—most teaching had been moved out of London for the duration, along with all the practitioners who weren't strictly needed here and who had somewhere else to go.

"Hmm, yes," David said as he looked over the documents. "Not much to go on, is it? Freddy—that is, Friedrich von Hake—spent a lot of time speculating on whether something like this would be possible, but I always thought it was a load of rubbish. Freddy was never very practical."

I raised my eyebrows. For David Mellenby to call someone 'not very practical,' well. The mind boggled at what this Friedrich von Hake must be like.

He rolled his eyes at me.

"Why didn't you think it possible?" I asked.

"Haven't you ever noticed that magic's effects tend to be fairly short-ranged? Regardless of how powerful the formae or the wizard."

"Not really," I said.

"Consider the old raining spell the masters at Casterbrook used to use," David said. "Science couldn't hope to match it! Actual clouds and rain called at the practitioner's whim! But not enough rain to, say, water an entire field. A garden, perhaps; but not a field. Lux makes a light near the practitioner who calls it. Impello can throw things quite a distance … but the practitioner must be able to see it. And so on and so forth. One doesn't stand in one city and call down effects on another city. One doesn't even call down effects on the other side of the same city you're in. One does things one can see and hear."

"But how much time have practitioners spent trying to create formae that work at a distance?" I asked.

"That was Freddy's argument," David said. "I think I still have some letters from him arguing about it; I shall have to dig them out and see if there's anything I missed. Also, he was wondering if any of the fae or demi-fae might be able to power such a thing."

"I should think a demon trap might also do it." The Germans had started using them in the last few years, vile as they were. "They can power an effect far away from the practitioner."

"Yes, well," David said. He pursed his lips and looked down. "Yes. That might also work. I suppose I should remember that our enemies do not always hold to common decency, these days." He'd always had grand ideas about the power of science and magic to uplift all of humanity in common cause, and to be proved otherwise was distressing to him.

I nudged him. "It would explain how they don't need a practitioner present on this end," I pointed out. "And if that is how they're doing it, it might be possible to track it; demon traps are not … subtle."

"The problem would be harnessing it for repeated use," David said, gathering himself and returning to the problem. "They're not exactly designed for their power to be used a little bit at a time." He stared off into space, frowning, and I got up to leave him to it.

2016.

Once we were at the hospital and Nightingale had been whisked away for tests, I notified the Commissioner's office that Nightingale was in hospital, and then DCI Seawoll, just in case something came up.

"How long do you think he'll be out?" Seawoll asked.

"He's just sleeping," I said. "Nothing happened to him. Can't be too long before we figure it out."

Seawoll grunted disbelievingly and rang off.

Then I rang Bev. "Hi babes," she said. "I hope whatever Molly called you in on wasn't too bad, because we've got a bit of a problem and Effra needs me."

"It's tough to say how serious it is," I said. "Nightingale doesn't seem to be injured or ill, but he won't wake up. Didn't even stir when we loaded him into an ambulance to take him to hospital."

There was a pause. "Oberon won't wake up, either."

"But he seems fine, other than that?" I asked.

"As far as I know," Bev said. "I haven't seen him myself, and neither had Fleet when she called me."

"Molly thinks it's something magical, not medical," I said. "And I think she's right. Two cases on the same day? And I don't think Nightingale and Oberon have seen each other in person since the last Spring Court, so it can't be a contagion. We should ask around, see if anyone else in the demi-monde is in a coma this morning. Particularly the Old Soldiers and the like."

"Yeah," Bev said. "I'll … see if I can get Ty to give you a list of people to contact. She likes having things to do that aren't just emotional support."

"I'll tell Abdul and Jennifer," I said. "They should know this might not be an isolated incident. Has Oberon been examined by a doctor?"

"I don't know that, either," Bev said, "but I'll tell them about Nightingale, and to get in touch with Abdul."

"Thanks, babe," I said. I started jotting down next steps in my notebook. Had this been a crime of some sort? Should I run it through HOLMES and police procedure? Or was it a public health concern, to be handled by the world's foremost cryptopathologist? Or was it something purely magical? And if so … what did that mean for my investigation?

"I don't know whether Effra will find it comforting or not, to know that Nightingale's out, too," Bev said. "But I'm not sure I want to know what could take out the Nightingale and Oberon—they're both pretty tough."

"Can't be an attack," I said. "I can buy that someone we don't know about could get through the Folly's wards without a trace, and I can buy that someone could get past your sister when she was asleep to do something to Oberon without her knowledge. But I don't buy that it could happen to both of them on the same night." I wished my gut believed what my head was saying.

"I hope you're right," Bev said.

I wasn't sure I hoped I was right; an attack at least I could do something about. If it was some sort of illness, it was out of my hands. And if it was some sort of magical contagion … with Nightingale out of the picture, I was the most experienced Newtonian practitioner in England.

There had been times I hadn't been able to consult with Nightingale before, but … not many. It could be something simple and easy to fix, and I would have no way of knowing it. So much of my training had been focused on what I needed to know to go up against Martin Chorley, and Nightingale had only started to go back and fill in the gaps. This could be caused by something simple, something the Folly knew about, and I wouldn't have a clue.

I had a lot of practice in ignoring the sort of hollow feeling in your chest that you got when things were going sideways and people you cared about were hurt or in danger, but my therapist says that's a bad thing. Which just shows what he knows, because if I didn't ignore it I'd just curl up in bed and be no use to anybody.

"What are you thinking, babes?" Bev said.

"That with Nightingale down, I'm the most experienced practitioner in the UK," I said.

"Don't be stupid," Bev said. "There's loads of practitioners that aren't from the Folly. You know Michael Cheung, and then there's Caroline and her mum—and Caroline's mum knows a lot about magical healing, more than you and the Nightingale put together. And it's not like magicians have a monopoly on magical knowledge, either, and you can just bet Effra will be calling in the best."

"Yeah," I said, closing my eyes and nodding. I gave myself a few seconds to take comfort in her words—I wasn't alone, and everything did not rest on my three and a half years of training. "Thanks."

"No problem," Bev said.

I gathered my thoughts. "Obviously, if you and your sisters are investigating Oberon, you have to tell them about Nightingale. But I'd rather it not become general knowledge that he's incapacitated, if we can help it. Even if it wasn't an attack, I don't want to tempt anybody." With Chorley dead, the Folly didn't have any major enemies that I knew about … but given our experiences over the last several years, I wasn't sure there wasn't one I didn't know about.

"Sure," Bev said. "Though anybody who attempts to attack the Folly with Molly and Foxglove guarding it deserves whatever they get."

"Yeah," I said.

1940.

While David tried to piece together what little information was in the file with his years of discussing esoteric magical possibilities with German academics, I reviewed the mundane aspects of the case.

Not that there was much I could do with it; everything that might have led to identifying the spy or their target had already been investigated by Lewis's people, and from what I could tell they'd done a decent job of it. If there was an angle they'd missed, I couldn't find it.

David came through, of course, he always did, when he found the problem interesting enough; he had a habit of diving into a problem and only coming up for air weeks or months later when he'd solved it. (Of course, more than half the time the 'problem' was so esoteric—or so firmly theoretical—to be of little interest to anyone other than himself and his fellow boffins.)

"I think you're right about the demon trap," he said. "And also, I don't think Freddy is the only one working on this; he mentions Lukas Schmidt a number of times. In my last few letters with Lukas, before I stopped corresponding with him, he was … hinting at experiments that probably involved demon traps. I know he'd taken some sort of post at a hospital near Limburg, which I thought extremely odd as he was no kind of medical man, but … it would give him easy access to victims, wouldn't it." He swallowed and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"I suppose it might," I said quietly.

"At any rate, he's done work with magical resonance—that is, pairing objects so that what happens to one is reflected in the other—and I know he and Freddy had several ongoing arguments about the practical limits of how far away the objects could be and still work. Piecing together the hints the two of them dropped with what you brought me, I think that what they're working on is—"

There followed a technical discussion of which I understood slightly more than half. The gist of it was that if the Germans had figured out how to get a demon trap to release its energy a little at a time, instead of all at once, a pair of devices powered by demon traps might be able to punch through to one of the fae realms, and connect that way even though separated by several hundred miles. The good news was, it would probably produce the sort of powerful flare of vestigium that any demon trap produced in operation. The boundary-crossing of the fae world might even amplify it; chances were, if such a device were used in London, we would know it immediately. Unfortunately, when it wasn't transmitting a message, it would probably emit no more vestigium than a dormant demon trap, which is to say, one would have to be practically touching it to notice it.

"Would we be able to read the messages?" I asked. "If the flare of sending them is so powerful?"

David made a face. "That I really can't tell you until they do use it; it depends on a great many factors. Even if they're using Morse code or something like it, there's a good chance that without a paired device we simply wouldn't be able to detect the pulses amidst the wash of energy."

I nodded, having expected that, and thought through what David had just told me. "If they're using demon traps as batteries, that implies that the power would eventually run out. I assume they would need a fresh victim to recharge the device?"

"If the device can be recharged," David said. "When I saw him demonstrate the pairing effect in 1935, the enchantment had to be laid with the devices in close proximity, and the power imbued during the process of enchantment. This would suggest that even if one did use a fresh victim here, it wouldn't work. They would need to either receive a replacement, or have been equipped with several to begin with. And Lukas always did like redundancy; I should think anyone he sent out would have … several such devices, for testing purposes if nothing else. But that is pure speculation—as is much of what I think I've managed to figure out. I'm working with very little, you know, and could easily have misinterpreted or missed something."

I waved that off. "I'm sure you've done as well as anyone could; there's nobody on either side I'd rather have piecing things together."

"Thank you," David said with a smile.

"So we'll know when they use it, but won't know what they say, and probably won't be able to track the spy through their transmissions," I said.

"Yes," David said.

"Any idea what size the devices might be?"

"I'm afraid not, but I shouldn't think they'd need to be large—it's not like there are any tubes or moving parts needed."

"So they would be easy to conceal," I said. "And the city is much too large for me to search by myself. Lewis wants this done in complete secrecy, and I'd prefer it myself, but … it's simply not practical. If there's any chance of catching the spy, I'll need help." I considered the possibilities. "If we say there is a possibility the Germans might smuggle demon traps into the city—or that some of the bombs the Germans are dropping on us might contain demon traps—we could ask our people to be on the alert for them and report it if they find anything."

"It would still be looking for a needle in a haystack," David said. "But at least you wouldn't be the only one looking."

2016.

"We've run every test we can think of," Jennifer said. "Not all the results are back, yet, but the results of the ones we have are all completely normal. Exactly what I would expect from a sleeping adult. But we can't wake him. Loud noises, physical sensations, stimulants … he responds a little, and then sinks back into sleep." She frowned. "Even blaring a mix of grime and metal, like my uni housemate did during all-night study sessions, and I'd have thought that could wake the dead."

"Except he's been in REM sleep this whole time, and if it were a normal sleep he should have cycled in and out of it a few times by now," Abudul said.

Jennifer nodded.

"What's the next step?" I asked.

"Wait for the last of the test results to come back, and hope one of them shows something that will let us know what the matter is," Abdul said.

"Molly thinks it's something magical." I'd been hoping she was wrong.

"Even if it is magical, magic has measurable effects," Jennifer said. "If we can quantify those effects, we'll have at least something to go on."

"What about the other victims?" Not that we knew they were victims, actually; there might not have been anything done to them, which I needed to remember in order to make sure I didn't overlook any possibility. Once I'd heard Oberon was the same as Nightingale, I'd called around to all my contacts in the demi-monde, and had Postmartin contact the survivors of the Old Folly. The Rivers had also put out feelers, and while I couldn't be sure we hadn't missed someone, word was getting around.

"Thomas was the first we knew of, so we haven't had the time for the same depth of tests on the others," Abdul said. "And some of the ones we know about, their loved ones have decided to keep them at home, for various reasons. But so far, we haven't found any big discrepancies between him and the rest."

"We don't even know if this is confined to people with magical contact," Jennifer said. "I've spread the word—if anyone calls an ambulance for someone who can't be woken up, we should hear about it."

"Good." I flipped open my notebook. "I've been collecting information about the sleepers. No smoking guns, but some interesting correlations nonetheless. Nine found so far. All of them are old—the youngest is eighty-six. Three are Old Soldiers. The rest all either are magical in some way, or use magic—they're not just people who hang around the demi-monde because it's cool or they like listening to my dad play his trumpet when the Rivers throw a party. None of them, besides Nightingale, are Newtonian practitioners. None of them have had any contact with Nightingale that we know of in the last week. Some of them have had contact with him before—Oberon teaches painting, and Nightingale took classes with him for a while in the sixties, for example—but nothing recent."

"No connections," Jennifer said. "That'll make tracking down the vector of contagion harder."

"There is one connection, but it's tenuous," I said. "All of them have spent most of the last century living in London."

"So whatever it is might have happened any time in the last eighty-six years," Abdul said.

"I'm going to try for more in-depth interviews of the friends and family of the other sleepers, see if I can pin down anything else that might be relevant," I said, "and have Abigail searching the library for anything relevant when she gets out of school for the day."

"Surely the research should be first?" Jennifer asked.

I shook my head. "I have a pretty good grasp of the Folly history, and it's not something that's come up before to my knowledge. If it has, it's been among the demi-monde—and they haven't historically been too keen on consulting the Folly with their problems, for very good reasons. And even when they did, the Folly was too posh to listen. So if it's happened before, and if it got written down and put in the Folly library, there probably won't be much information. I'm more likely to learn something useful from talking to people or consulting with the Linden-Limmers."

"Ah," Jennifer said.

"Speaking of Lady Helena," Abdul said, "she reached out to me and said she'd never heard of anything like it, but she'd see what she could do. She'll be here tomorrow morning."

"Good," I said, and ticked "following up with Lady Helena" off my list of things to do. I'd called her earlier, but went straight to voicemail; I'd left a message explaining the situation and given her both my number and Abdul's. "And with Oberon one of the victims, the Rivers are doing their own investigation. I can leave the medical side of things in your hands, and start looking for connections among the sleepers."

1940.

"How far away would you say this … vestigium, you call it?" Lord Peter peered at me through his monocle

I nodded. We were in his library, which was still a handsome room, though the shelves were mostly bare. Lady Peter and the children were in the countryside, which had spared me the dilemma of whether or not to ask for a book to be signed for David. He was a great fan of hers, but to explain how I'd gotten her autograph would require me to explain the connection with Lord Peter, and David was only authorized to know the technical details.

"How far away would this vestigium be detectable?"

"Difficult to say," I said. "Given the amount of power the device would need to be imbued with, and the fact that it is by nature designed to transmit energy, it might be noticed by a trained observer as much as thirty feet away even while dormant. I doubt it, though. A regular demon trap—the ones that merely power magical bombs—usually can't be felt more than a foot or two away."

"A foot or two?" Lord Peter shook his head. "'Close beside the Thorn' you must be indeed. Even at thirty feet, you'd hardly be able to search the whole city."

"Indeed," I said. "Hence my request that my fellow practitioners to be on the alert for it, and report it if they find it. I told them that there'd been a report of someone smuggling a demon trap—the regular kind—into the city. We should probably be on the alert for them, anyhow; I've run into Germans using them twice before, and the first time, the device killed thirty people."

"And the second time?"

"I defused it," I said. It had been quite possibly the most harrowing thing I'd ever done, and I hoped never to have to do it again.

"Would whatever spell you used then be able to stop the device from transmitting?" Lord Peter asked.

I considered this. "Possibly," I said, "but I would have to be fairly close and also prepared ahead of time to do it. If I understand Mellenby's theory correctly, merely disrupting the resonance between the device here and its mate in Germany should be enough to make it useless."

"'A hush of peace—a soundless calm descends'! That's good news. Would the spy then know his device was not transmitting properly?"

"I've no idea," I said.

We discussed the practicalities of the search, before returning to a few questions Lord Peter still had about how the whole thing worked. I wished I had brought David with me, because I couldn't answer all of them.

"And is it something we could duplicate? Make our own magic spy radios?"

I stiffened. "No," I said, voice as stern as I could make it. "I do not believe I have explained how exactly a demon trap is made, my Lord."

Lord Peter raised his eyebrows. "I take it from the name and your reaction that it is … questionable?"

"No, my Lord," I said. "It is not 'questionable.' It is the blackest of the black arts. It requires that a man be tortured to death and his spirit trapped in the device to power it with all his pain and rage and fear at what was done to him. And it is my sworn duty, as a Fellow of the Society of the Wise and an agent of his Majesty, to ferret out all who practice such arts and execute them for their crimes."

Lord Peter's face had grown grim. "And quite rightly, too; I am pleased to hear of your devotion to that duty. But are there no white arts which might power such a device instead?"

"Yes," I said. "The Sons of Weyland use expert smithcraft and mastery of spellwork to imbue items with magical power. However, it takes time and a great deal of magic. In many cases, especially if one wants a device in large numbers, it is quicker and easier to make a purely mundane device. They would be the ones to answer if such a thing would be possible and practical, perhaps in conjunction with Mellenby's research."

"A device that the average German soldier wouldn't recognize as a radio could be worth quite a lot, to our intelligence networks," Lord Peter pointed out.

"True," I said. "But it's Mellenby's opinion—which I share—that the device will broadcast quite loudly when it is in use. One's enemies might not be able to decode what you were saying, but they could hardly fail to not that you have said something. Which is hardly good spycraft, and will probably be what leads us to our man, if anything can."

"That's what I don't understand," Lord Peter said. "If it's so dashed conspicuous, why try in the first place?"

I shrugged. "That I couldn't tell you without rather more intelligence on the practitioners making them and the spymaster sending them out." I paused, but Lord Peter didn't offer any; I hadn't much expected it. If they were trying to get someone close enough to Schmidt and von Hake to learn more about their experiments, they wouldn't wish to share the information too freely or it might endanger the spy. "But having tangled with German practitioners a few times in the last seven years or so, I have a guess. Part of Hitler's popularity is based on his blaming of Jews and others for 'stabbing Germany in the back' and causing them to lose the last war. Well, practitioners on both sides had a gentlemen's agreement not to contribute to the war effort through magical means. Which leaves many of them … eager to prove their loyalty to Germany now by providing what they did not then. The practicality of their efforts can almost be a secondary concern, at times."

2016.

I'd collected a lot of information by the time I came back to the Folly for my last interview of the day, but none of it seemed relevant. I was used to that; the beginning phase of any investigation is about hoovering up as much data as you can in the hopes that somewhere in that haystack will be a needle that will point you in the right direction.

Still, it was a bit discouraging. And none of the sleepers had awakened.

Molly was waiting for me at the Folly's back entrance, hands clasped in her apron, Foxglove hovering behind her.

"There's been no change," I said.

She flinched.

"Nightingale isn't the only one affected," I said. "Ten other people in the demi-monde won't wake up, either. I've spent the day interviewing the people close to them to try and figure out what they've got in common and see if we can trace things back to whatever caused this."

Molly nodded.

"We think it might have been something that happened here in London, possibly quite some time ago—the youngest sleeper is eighty-six. Now, for things that have happened to Nightingale in the last four years or so, I know as much as anybody. But if it happened longer ago than that, you're our best witness."

Molly hesitated, then nodded again.

"Could you write down—or type—anything you remember that could be relevant? Any unexplained magical mishap, or attack, or anything odd? I'll give you a list of questions and the names of the other sleepers, and I also need any connections you know of between them."

Molly stared at me. I don't know why she so rarely used the written word to communicate; in her shoes, I'd be desperate for some way to talk to people, and over the years I'd suggested things like sign language or some other form of alternative communication. But Molly had always resisted any such suggestions, and avoided writing things down if she could possibly help it. And, whatever her reasons, it was her choice.

But her loyalty to Nightingale won out. She turned and led the way out towards the coach house.

1940.

I spend the next week carefully combing through various secured locations, hoping for any significant vestigia and coming up empty. (Though I did find two ghosts, and wrote them up out of nostalgia for my schoolboy days.) I had other duties, of course, and given the odds of finding anything it was hardly my most pressing concern. After all, we weren't even sure the damn thing was in London. It was the most likely place for it if all our intelligence were correct, and I had been on the wrong end of too many intelligence mistakes to be quite as certain as Lewis and Lord Peter were.

But then my doubts were rather forcibly purged.

I was meeting a friend, John Chadburn, for dinner at a small pub near Baker Street; he had arranged for me to tour the inside of the SOE main headquarters after the day shift was gone, with the proviso that he made sure I saw no classified information, and that I understood just how dire the consequences would be if I breathed a hint of anything I saw.

John had just arrived and we were exchanging the usual pleasantries when I was hit with a hammer-blow of vestigia so powerful that it almost drove me to my knees. A woman screamed, though I recognized dimly that I was not hearing it with my ears, and there was the smell of burnt flesh, and rotting fish. For a moment, I half-believed that I was being killed by a demon trap, for it felt a little like what I had felt when the two I had encountered before had gone off, if that had been multiplied by a thousand. For a moment, I could see the woman, as clear as if she were standing beside me. Her hair was dirty and bedraggled, and her face was twisted in agony as she howled. And then she was gone. But no, I realized, my body was fine; I was still standing, though slightly hunched, and John was staring at me; it was only my mind that was buffeted. I stared at the place she had been, half-convinced she would materialize again.

"Tom, are you alright? Should we call for a doctor?"

"No," I said, straightening, conscious of other eyes besides John's. "Our business tonight will have to be put off, as will dinner, I'm afraid." I strode towards the door.

"What? Why?" John said, scrambling to follow.

"The device has been used," I said, stepping out of the doorway and closing my eyes to orient myself on the vestigium I'd felt. "If I follow it now, I may be able to track it, or at least where it was used."

"Um. Alright," he said. "Should I … should I call for a car?" Petrol was closely rationed, but this was a war use, and thus acceptable. Both the Folly and the SOE would have cars available.

"I've no idea," I said. "I've no clue how far away it was."

"Do you have a direction, at least …?"

"Oh, yes," I said, turning down the street. I pointed south-west. "That way."

John sucked in his breath. From here, that included Buckingham Palace, Whitehall, Parliament, and a good share of the London Docks. "We should call it in," he said. "Let people know—"

"No need," I said grimly. "Everyone with any training at all within a five mile radius will have felt that, and possibly further out." But a few minutes to confer with them and possibly co-ordinate a search might be useful.

The nearest phone we could use privately was in the SOE headquarters, so I did end up there after all, albeit merely to an office close to the front doors.

"This is Nightingale," I said once the porter on duty had picked up. "I've information about the … the magical explosion that just happened."

"Good God, that was vile, sir," said the porter on duty. Like many of the Folly servants, he had picked up a knack for sensing vestigia, after long exposure to it.

"Indeed," I said. "And nothing of ours, I can tell you that; we'll need to track it down. Is Master Pontleby in?"

"No, sir, he isn't," the porter said. "But Doctor Chadburn is."

"Good," I said, though really it wasn't. Chadburn was old and set in his ways, and far more likely to be offended by one of the younger men—even an experienced agent of His Majesty's government such as myself—suggesting a course of action instead of waiting for his wisdom. Still, once he was convinced, he had the authority to turn out the entire Folly to the task at hand. "Would you please see if he is available?"

"Certainly, sir," the porter said.

But I was wrong about Chadburn; the blast had him hopping mad. "First the Hun drop bombs on London, and then our brethren—" the word dripped with scorn "—do this in our own back gardens! It's indecent!"

In the end, instead of having to convince him to turn out the Folly members in residence, I had instead to convince him not to call in every CP, rusticated practitioner, and hedge wizard in our books to scour London. With the vestigium this clear, we should have no trouble finding it, and it was already starting to fade. We couldn't afford to wait.

2016.

Eighty-six years was a long time to cover, and it took Molly some time to write it all up. While she was doing that, I checked in with Abigail.

"Haven't found much," she said. "Nothing that seems useful, anyway." But digging her way through the County Practitioner reports took time, and she'd only just scratched the surface. I told her to keep at it, and she nodded.

Molly's report was interesting, and she'd finished it in far less time than I'd expected; she knew how to type, not just hunt-and-peck like I did. I wondered if she'd learned some things from the Folly's typing pool back when it had one.

If I'd been looking through it as a historical report, there were many details I'd have lingered over and asked questions about. But as none of them seemed relevant, I skimmed them and moved on.

To the best of Molly's knowledge, Nightingale had come into contact with several of the other sleepers at one time or another over the last century, but not in ways that seemed likely to be our culprit. It was hard to see, for example, how Oberon's painting class could have resulted in catatonia some fifty years later. And while Nightingale had many encounters with magic in general, most of it was quite well-documented as to the results. It was only in the last few years, with the Folly expanding and getting more involved in the affairs of the demimonde, that he'd started coming into contact with things like fae magic and other universes … and if that were the trouble, surely I'd be the one affected. I had more exposure, after all.

But there was one incident that involved a novel magical effect felt across London, Nightingale at the center of things, and at least one of the other sleepers as well: a Nazi magical transmitter from World War II.

1940.

"The problem is," David said as we scoured central London, "that now we've gone from famine to feast."

And he was right; the remaining vestigia, while fading quickly, was covering many smaller signs. It made the blast location fairly easy to narrow down, but also meant we were in grave danger of missing anything else of note.

"We'll just have to hope we don't overlook anything important," I said, and sent him off to search while I stayed to co-ordinate the searchers.

We'd narrowed things down quite a bit from the original area of effect and determined that it had been triggered somewhere along the riverfront, when someone unexpected turned up: a Negro I'd seen before at the sort of parties in Bloomsbury where artists hung out and everyone talked about the latest avant-garde poet. His name was Oberon, and I was fairly sure he was connected with the demi-monde in some way. Instead of the sober suits I had seen him in before, he was wearing a dockworker's coveralls.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"I take it from the number of your boys crashing around the area that the Isaacs are not responsible for whatever abomination was set off here tonight?" he said.

"Certainly not," I said. "Do you have any information to share that might help us in finding the culprit?"

He had no useful information, but I took it down anyway, along with his address and employment details. I handed him my card with an admonishment to contact me if he found anything or sensed anything unusual.

He took it and raised his eyebrows. "You think this is likely to happen again."

"Not if we catch the culprit," I said.

"Was it the Germans?"

"I really couldn't say," I said.

Oberon gave me a disbelieving look. "I see." But he chose to pursue a different line of thought. "Whoever it was, they can only have done it through some horror," Oberon said. "Did you see the woman?"

"I did."

"What will you do with them if you capture them?" Oberon's voice was challenging.

"Interrogate them to find out what exactly they did and how they did it," I said. "Then execute them for their crimes." Unless, of course, Lewis and his people wanted to try to run some sort of double-agent game, but I would be strongly arguing against it.

"I'm not happy with anyone knowing how to do that," Oberon said. "German or English. They should simply be put down, like the animal they are."

"We at least need to know if they were acting alone," I said. "The person who constructed the device and the person who used it might not be the same person." I should have watched my mouth more closely; now Oberon knew that a device had been used. "If you find anything, let me know immediately."

I was just turning to continue the search when young Higginbottom came puffing up.

"Sir!" he said, "they think they've found something!"

"Lead the way," I said, and followed him.

The spot they'd found wasn't terribly far, but the area had been hit by several German bombs recently, and there was a great deal of rubble still strewn around that we had to pick our way around and sometimes through.

It was an inconspicuous niche formed by an odd junction and shielded by crumbling brickwork. Anybody could walk down the street, duck in for a short while, and be completely concealed while setting off the device. Then simply walk out and down the street with no one the wiser.

I looked around. The whole area was deserted. While untutored people might not be able to identify vestigia, the stench of this one would certainly be enough to notice at close range. But without knowing what you were feeling, the chances of anyone noticing the person who set it off were slim even if we could find witnesses.

"Thank you, gentlemen," I said to the practitioners gathered around, "your help has been invaluable. I shall call in someone to dust for fingerprints and the like. We'll need to thoroughly sweep the area to ensure we haven't missed anything."

"You there, old fellow! What d'you think you're doing, hanging around here?"

I turned. Oberon had followed us to the site. "It's a public street," he said mildly to Smalley, the practitioner who had challenged him.

"He sensed the blast earlier and was looking for its source," I said. "I've already interviewed him. Thank you for your time, Oberon."

Oberon looked between me and Smalley, snorted, and walked off.

2016.

"There's good news and bad news," I told Abdul and Jennifer the next morning. "The good news is, Molly's helped me identify an event in 1940 which involved an unknown magical device of Nazi manufacture that could be sensed over the whole of London, and Oberon at least was involved in some way. And the Folly has a whole library of reports on Nazi experiments."

"Sounds like a good shot for our culprit," Abdul said. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is, that library's sealed away," I said, "and I don't know how to get into it. If I did manage to get in, I wouldn't know how to find anything useful in it; I'm pretty sure it's not been looked at since it was brought back as spoils of war. And even if I did find what we're looking for, I don't speak German … and this isn't exactly the sort of thing I'd want to bring in strangers to translate."

"Isn't there anyone in Germany who might have records?" Jennifer asked. "Because I'm telling you now, we haven't found anything on our end."

"Lady Helena keeps saying it will be something simple and easy," Abdul said. "But if she's got any theories on what it might be or how to counter it, she hasn't shared."

"How simple can it be?" I asked. "Something that affects the human body like that—gets past the natural defenses?" It was actually very difficult to use magic to directly affect a living body or brain.

"Sometimes simple is best, for that," Abdul said. "A battering ram, with all your force behind it, rather than something complicated with more moving parts to go wrong."

"If this is the delayed result of a Nazi bomb or what have you," Jennifer said. "Surely there are people in Germany who might also have records?"

"Probably," I said, "but I haven't a clue who to even contact. Nightingale sat alone in the Folly for decades and didn't talk to anybody, near as I can tell. He doesn't even know what practitioners there might be in Germany these days, let alone what would have been done with any records of Nazi magic that didn't get swept up by the Folly." I thought about it for a few minutes. "But if anybody would know, or know how to find out, it would be Lady Ty." I hated to ask her for help, but with her own brother-in-law on the line, the price of the favor she'd ask in return might not be too steep. I added that to my list of things to do.

1940. Nothing of significance happened for another two weeks. Finding the spot where the device had been triggered led us no closer to who had done it or what they had sent; Lewis' men found no evidence that I had not, and no witnesses could be found who had noticed anything. Every member of the Folly knew what to look for, and word had spread among the demi-monde as well; nobody liked the idea of something like that happening again. I received a steady stream of tips, none of which amounted to anything.

"Perhaps the device broke in some way," David said thoughtfully.

"More likely, the spy is trying to operate it as seldom as possible," I said. "I can't imagine what it would be like to be next to that thing when it went off. In which case, they'd want to wait and collect as much information as possible before sending off the next batch, especially for things that weren't time-critical."

"I can't imagine what it would be like to sleep next to it," David said. "Surely it would be detectable at close range, even when it wasn't activated."

"Perhaps not on a conscious level, if the spy is not a practitioner," I said. "Which might be even more disturbing, of course, if you felt that all the time but didn't know why."

David shuddered.

But our wait continued until one day at breakfast that awful screaming came again, filled with burnt meat and rotten fish. I was in the Folly dining room, and when the wave passed it was succeeded by the smell of vomit; young Brown had lost his kippers.

"That's dashed unpleasant," someone muttered. "Couldn't he have waited until after breakfast?"

There was a general hubbub as we made our way out in the hopes that this time we should catch our man. I nodded to Molly on my way out; she was hovering, with a rag and a slop bucket, probably waiting until we were gone to clean up Brown's mess.

Sadly, our prompt response availed us nothing. After about half an hour, we found the spot; as with the last time, it was a concealed area that one could quickly and unobtrusively duck into for a few moments before heading on one's way.

Unlike the last time, someone got there before us.

"Oberon," I said. "How did you find this place so quickly?"

"I was closer," he said. "Clocking in at work." He jerked his head in the direction of the St. Katherine Docks, half a mile or so east of us.

I nodded, making a mental note to check that he had been. I didn't think he was the spy, but better safe than sorry, and he had been in the area both times the spy had called home.

"I knew I was closer this time, thought if I was fast enough I might be able to catch him," Oberon continued. "No luck."

"Too bad," I said.

"And now I've got to go see if I've still got a job," he said with a sigh.

I nodded to him, and began organizing my men to see if there was something to find, but I had a terrible feeling it would come to nothing.

As it happened, I was right.

2016. A quick call to Beverly established that Lady Ty was at Effra's, so I got in the ASBO and headed to Brixton. Effra lived in a Victorian terrace on a quiet residential street, with brown brick and white door and windows. I'd been here yesterday to pay my respects and dig into Oberon's past, so I was not surprised to find Mama Thames and her court ensconced in the living room. Bev wasn't there—since she couldn't do anything that her sisters couldn't, she'd opted to go to uni today.

"Ah, Peter!" Mama Thames said. "Have you found anything?"

"Not yet, Mama," I said. "Have your people?"

Her lips pursed, which meant no.

"I do have a possible lead," I said, "but I need Lady Ty's help."

Mama Thames nodded. "She is upstairs, with Effra."

Given the number of nurses and doctors who worshipped Mama Thames, Effra had opted to keep Oberon at home. The master bedroom now boasted a whole host of portable monitors, and Oberon's still form had an IV port for liquids and nutrition. Like Nightingale, he looked as if he could wake up at any moment.

Effra was seated on the bed, holding his hand. She looked up at me, eyes pleading for help. Tyburn was ensconced in a chair in the corner, working on a tablet.

"Nothing yet, I'm afraid," I said. "How are you holding up?"

Effra gave a bitter laugh. "How do you think?" She patted his hand. "Marrying an Old Soldier was supposed to mean I wouldn't have to worry about him dying."

There was nothing I could say to that. Bev and I weren't married, but with the twins on the way we might as well be.

"Is there anything we can do for you, Peter?" Lady Ty asked, her tone inviting me to leave if there wasn't.

"Actually, yeah," I said. "Can I talk to you, Ty?"

Ty nodded and stood up. I backed out of the bedroom to let her past.

"Well?" she said once we were out in the hall and the bedroom door was closed.

"We've got what may be a lead. It's not much, but it's the best anyone's found so far," I said. "Molly tells me that in 1940, Nightingale was investigating some sort of German spy ring, which had a device that periodically put out blasts of a pretty nasty vestigium that covered the whole city. She's not sure what the device was, but she does know that Oberon was involved in the investigation somehow. Nightingale broke up the ring, but he was knocked unconscious and was in hospital for two days before he woke up."

"Sounds promising," Ty said. "What do you need me for?"

"We can't find Nightingale's case reports," I said, "or any other reference to the incident in the Folly's library. I'm hoping some of the German records survived. Even just knowing what the device was supposed to do would help."

"Sounds like a question for the research department of the Abteilung KDA," Ty said. "Why don't you ask them?"

"Because I don't have any contact information for them," I said, filing away the name.

"You don't—" Ty stared at me. "What the hell has Nightingale been doing for the past seventy years?" she hissed. "No, don't tell me, I don't want to know. The Abteilung Komplexe und Diffuse Angelegenheiten, the Department for Complex and Unspecific Matters, are the people who handle both magical law enforcement and cleaning up after Nazi messes in Germany. They are vastly better run than that dinosaur you call the Folly. I'll get you their contact information. I'm sure you can learn many things from them." She whirled and stalked back into the bedroom.

1940.

"So," Lewis said. "Our German spy has made three reports in as many months, and we are no closer to catching him than we were when we started."

We were gathered in Lord Peter's library again. The spy had to know that the Folly was looking for him, and if he knew anything about us he had to know that I was one of the most likely people to be heading the investigation. Having our meeting in a place the spy was unlikely to be was only prudent.

"I'm afraid that's correct," I said. "It only takes a short while for the spy to send his report, and by the time we've found the location he's long gone. To find him, we'd need to be closer when he triggers it … and he's been smart enough never to send his reports from the same neighborhood twice."

"But always within a few miles of Whitehall," Lewis noted. He studied the map with incident locations on it; there were far too many tempting targets for a spy withing easy walking distance of them all.

"And to find him when he is not calling his handlers back in Germany, you would need to be in the same room as him," Lord Peter said.

"To find the device," I said. "If he hasn't got it on him, I could walk right past him and never know, if it was more than a day or two after the last time he made his report. Human bodies don't absorb vestigia at all well. It could linger in brick or stone for years … but will dissipate from the human body in hours or days."

"So if he's smart enough to leave it at home while he's snooping, there's little point in having you sit at the entrance to, say, the War Office for a week." Lewis sat back in his chair, frowning.

"What effect will the vestigium of the device have on the places he's used it?" Lord Peter asked.

"It's hard to say," I said. "Nothing good, as unpleasant as it is, but … vestigia is rarely strong enough to influence people deeply. It will have little more effect than if those smells and sounds were truly present in a physical way."

"Violence, rot, and burning," Lord Peter said. "I've been to all three of the sites, and I think I've figured out how to feel the vestigium. Terribly unpleasant, what? I'd not want to live or work near it. Though of course I could be imagining it."

"You probably were sensing it correctly, Lord Peter," I said. "One of the most important factors in distinguishing vestigia from one's own fancies is a precise attention to what is, and not what one assumes should be there. Anyone with as long a list of successful cases as you should be quite practiced at that."

Lord Peter nodded.

"Can anyone learn to sense vestigia?" Lewis asked.

"Oh, yes," I said. "Some are better at it than others, of course, but anyone can learn. It merely takes time, exposure to a wide variety of it, and a master to help you distinguish between the real thing and your own imagination."

"How much time?"

"I've no idea." I shrugged. "I learned it as a boy at school—it was one of our first subjects, magically—and I've never had to teach it."

"Find out," Lewis said. "We cannot have a spy running loose in Whitehall. The situation is bad enough as it is, without Hitler having a mole in the government somewhere."

I nodded. "Yes, of course."

2016.

A woman was screaming. A wail of terror and rage, and I could feel her pain. But I couldn't find her—the sound came from everywhere, and any time I thought I knew what direction it was coming from, I fell into a bomb crater. Hands grasped at me, as others tried and failed to climb out of the crater.

There were fish and eels everywhere, lying dead or dying in the rubble, and it took me forever to climb out of each crater because I kept slipping on the fish.

The hands weren't holding me down—they were lifting me up, helping me climb.

If I could only find the woman, I could escape.

Her screams grew louder, mixing with the bomb blasts, and I felt myself shaken by the concussion.

Except it wasn't bomb blasts shaking me, I realized muzzily, it was Bev.

"Peter! Peter, wake up, I swear on Mum that if you don't wake up I will kill you and flood all of London—" There was real fear in her voice, and it was that which brought me up to full waking more than anything else.

"I'm awake," I said.

"Don't scare me like that, babes," Bev said, flopping back down in bed.

"Sorry." I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to drown out the way the woman's cries were still echoing in my head. "Just a check. Can you hear a woman screaming?"

"No," Bev said, eyeing me. "Are you hearing something?"

"Maybe," I said. "Might just be remnants of my dream. If it was a dream."

"What do you mean, 'if it was a dream'?"

"It didn't feel like a dream." I considered. "Parts of it didn't, anyway. They felt like the times the boundaries between realities have been thin, and I've slipped into the past or some other place."

"Do you think that's where Oberon and Nightingale and the others are?" Bev asked. "Trapped in some other reality?"

"Maybe," I said.

1940.

Charlatans and stage magicians and spiritualists often bragged about their supposed abilities to see or sense things from afar. As far as Nightingale knew, there was no formae that would allow a human practitioner to do such a thing.

However, that did not mean that other people—such as the fae—might not have other abilities.

And there was a fae living in the Folly right now. Molly the scullery maid.

He'd never paid much attention to her; one didn't, to maids, and then there was the way she lurked. Some of the members complained loudly about her, while others—including Nightingale—took it as a point of pride to be unmoved by her.

Still, there had always been rumors of what she could do, and he knew enough about fae to know that some of them, at least, might have a kernel of fact in them.

The study on the first floor was empty, so I invited David to join me, and sent for Molly.

Molly entered, hands clasped behind her back, and stood respectfully before them. She was the very picture of an efficient servant from the days of his youth, except for the hair, which was neither pinned neatly up nor curled fashionably. And of course, the uniform was at least ten years out of date; none of the other maids still wore floor-length skirts.

"Thank you for joining us, Molly." I knew she wouldn't sit while either of us were in the room, and as I was asking something entirely outside of what one might normally ask of a servant, and something which might bring up bad memories of the charlatan she'd been rescued from, I remained standing as well.

Molly bobbed a bit of a curtsey.

"You know, I trust, that someone has been doing … rather unsavory things here in London? And that we here at the Folly have been searching for him?"

Molly nodded.

"We haven't been able to trace him," I said. "By the time we reach his location, he's long gone. I understand that fae can sometimes—see things at a distance, or things that mundane eyes cannot."

A furrow developed between her eyes, but she nodded again.

"Can you do that?"

The furrow deepened, and her nod was slower.

"Could you give a vision to another person?"

She looked down, but nodded.

"You're obviously reluctant," I said. "Would it be painful?"

Another nod.

"To you, or to the person you were giving the vision to?"

She pointed at me, which was fair enough; obviously, I was the one doing the investigation, I would be the one who needed the vision.

"Would it be dangerous?"

Nod, eyes still firmly fixed on the floor between us.

"To you, or to me?"

She pointed at me again.

"Would it be less dangerous if you did the scrying yourself?" David asked.

Molly scrunched up her face.

"Could you do the scrying yourself?"

She shook her head vigorously.

"How dangerous do you think it would be?" I asked. "Would it kill me?" If there was a good chance of it, then of course we wouldn't; the situation was not that dire. If nothing else, perfectly mundane security methods might catch the spy, or prevent them from learning anything important.

Molly gave a series of fidgets, the upshot of which was that it would probably not be fatal, but she couldn't be sure, which I confirmed. Further questioning revealed that it should not leave me permanently debilitated, and that a short period of recovery would be quite sufficient to resuming my normal activities.

"I don't see that it's any more dangerous than learning and practicing magic," I said at last. "That, too, can be quite fatal."

"Yes, but by all means, let us manage the risk properly," David said. He turned back to Molly. "How, exactly, would you do it?"

Molly bared her teeth at us, which I took as a threat against prying too deeply into her arcane nature, and David took as something else.

"Oh? Oh! Haemomancy! I've always been curious, this should be quite edifying!"

Molly and I both frowned at him.

"Haemomancy!" he said impatiently.

"Blood magic?" I asked, figuring it out from its roots.

"More specifically, scrying using blood," David said. "Well, that makes everything quite simple. Have someone around who can see when too much blood has been lost, so that Molly doesn't have to worry about accidentally taking too much, and a nurse on hand to stitch up the wound. Simple."

Of course nothing was ever quite that simple in practice, but David wasn't wrong; and the idea of simple blood loss—even if it came from teeth as sharp as Molly's—quieted the half-formed fears I'd had of what, exactly I was getting myself into. It couldn't possibly hurt as much as being shot had, and unlike my last mission overseas this one would be in a safe, clean environment with a proper nurse standing by.

The hardest part, of course, was not getting the nurse; the hardest part was finding a place to do it. The nurse could not come into the Folly proper, being a woman, and Molly would not leave the Folly, leaving us with a pretty puzzle. (Master Pontleby refused to relax the prohibition on women even for war work, arguments that the nurse was working in the same way as the maids and secretaries of the typing pool did and should be allowed the same access falling on deaf ears.)

The Visitor's Lounge was too public, so that was out. Finally David suggested the coach house attic. Molly cleaned it thoroughly, and at the appointed day the nurse Lewis had found showed up exactly on time, despite heavier than usual bombing the night before.

2016.

Since they'd run out of medical leads and were just spinning their wheels at the hospital, I invited Abdul, Jennifer, and Lady Helena to tea at the Folly, and when Molly served I invited her and Foxglove to join us. "You're the only eyewitness we've got to things that happened before my time," I said.

So we sat in the Visitor's Lounge with tea and an assortment of pastries, and I told them about my dream.

Well, first I explained to Lady Helena about fae being actually from parallel dimensions, and that I'd been to one, and that we were pretty sure there were other dimensions out there too, and the odd things that happened when boundaries between them were crossed. That took a while, because she had a lot of questions, most of which I couldn't answer.

Then I told her about the fact that I occasionally had visions under extenuating circumstances, and the strong evidence that whatever else happened in them I was at least able to speak to and interact with ghosts and revenants.

Once she had the proper background, then I told them about my dream.

"You should have come in for a checkup, Peter," Abdul chided me.

He wasn't wrong, but I'd been trying to downplay it for Bev's sake, and also, I'd needed time to think through my dream and figure out what I thought about it.

"I'll come in when we're done here," I said. "But the thing is, I'm not sure that what I experienced actually was a dream. It felt being in faerie, or the visions I've had, or brushing up against another allokosmoi. And what's more, waking up felt more like surfacing from a vision than just waking up out of sleep. I've had a lot of practice at that over the years, more than I want, but I know how to handle myself, and I know what to do when I find myself in that situation. What if the problem is that Nightingale and the others are in that state, and they don't know how to get out of it?"

"There are a lot of assumptions in that," Jennifer pointed out. "None of which can be tested."

"True," I said.

"It would fit with what I've found, though," Lady Helena said. "Their bodies are almost completely unaffected by whatever is doing this to them. I don't know I could say the same about their minds."

I turned to Molly. "You're very convinced that it's a magical thing, not a medical problem, and you were from the start. You would have told us if you knew anything specific, so it must be something about how it … feels to you. Would you know if their minds were trapped in your home dimension?"

Molly nodded vigorously.

"Would you know if they were trapped somewhere else?"

That got a more ambiguous response.

"Alright," Jennifer said, "so what are you proposing?"

"In 1940, Nightingale found what he was looking for using Molly's haemomancy," I said. "I think we can at least figure out if I'm right with it."

1940.

Haemomancy was surprisingly easy; it required no further preparation than finding a place to do it and a nurse to oversee it. I took off my jacket, tie, and shirt, and nodded to Molly.

She stepped close to me, her movements graceful and delicate as always. Like a snake. It was harder to suppress the usual frisson of danger, because this time I could not tell myself it was irrational.

I stared fixedly at the window across the room. We hadn't thought to put up curtains; I didn't think anyone could look in and see, but the last thing we needed was any rumor to spring from this, either of Molly attacking me or the two of us in some sort of tawdry affair.

She bent her head down to my neck. I did not turn or flinch.

She struck.

The world dissolved into a confusing jumble of sights and sounds, buildings I didn't recognize mixed in with ones I did, people wearing funny clothes, people wearing clothes I recognized. Some of them could have been walking around London right now, others in styles I hadn't seen since my childhood. Still others were entirely foreign: women with their hair down, but left as straight as Molly's, people with wide-legged trousers and women in trousers, or in skirts so short as to be indecent. Oberon was there, in a morning suit.

Above it all, a haze of vestigia that felt all too familiar: rotting fish and burning meat, and screaming.

Many voices screamed, this time, not just the woman.

I turned towards the sound, and headed towards it, ignoring everything in pursuit of my quarry.

"Sir?"

An unfamiliar voice called.

"Inspector Nightingale, is that you?"

I turned at my name. A Negro in a cheap suit stood before me.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"What?" he said. "It's me, Peter. Peter Grant. Your apprentice."

"I have no apprentice," I said, and turned back to the chase.

"Inspector, what are you doing?" he asked.

I gave no answer, for I knew not what or who he was. Certainly he was not authorized to know about the spy I was chasing.

"Inspector, it would really help if you would just tell me—" he grabbed my arm, and I shook him off and knocked him down. Stories of fae tricksters danced through my head, along with more prosaic training in counterintelligence. I turned back to follow the sound, and he troubled me no more.

I've no earthly—or unearthly—idea how long it took to track the sound, nor any clear memory of it, but as I ran the world warped and melted all around me, and the reek of rot increased. At last I stood before a building and knew my quarry was inside it, knew where I was and where it was, and opened my eyes to see the coach house ceiling, a woman—the nurse—hovering over me.

The pain hit; I'd never had a serious throat injury before, and I would have cried out if I could make noise.

Off to the side was a commotion, and I turned my head to see—

"No," the nurse said. "No, keep looking at me, sir, that's very good, you have lost some blood but nothing dangerous, I am dealing with your wound now, you will be right as rain very shortly."

I stared fixedly at the ceiling, trying to ignore the smell of copper in the air—at least it was a change from rotting fish, I thought.

The commotion ceased, and I wondered what had happened.

It hadn't been too bad, I told myself. A little pain, a little blood—I'd had that before. I'd gotten what I needed. And now, once the nurse was done patching me up, I'd be right as rain, and fit to take on our spy.

David came and stood over me. A low keening came … from Molly, I realized, the first sound I'd ever heard her make.

"How are you?" David asked.

"He'll be fine, Doctor Mellenby," the nurse said. Whittier, that was her name. Nurse Whittier.

Whittier finished and sat back. "There, sir, we're done. How do you feel?"

"I've felt better," I croaked. "But not bad. How's Molly?"

"Molly?" David collected himself. "She's fine. Did you get it?"

"I did," I said.

Once Nurse Whittier had satisfied herself that I was fit to be on my feet, I called Lewis, and informed him I was about to have the location, and would call to let him know once I had it. Then David and I drove off in the Folly's Morris Eight.

"If you know where we're going, why can't you just give me the address? Or the neighborhood, at least?" David complained good-naturedly.

"I don't know it," I said. "But we need to go west for a ways."

"How do you know?"

"I can feel it," I said. "It's like there's a bright string tying me to it. And I can smell it, the vestigium is … strong." I was having trouble telling it from a normal sensation, which was a problem I didn't usually have.

"I can't sense anything," David said. "Fascinating. I wish we had time to go over all your experiences in detail, before you forget anything."

"If we knew how long this connection would last, I'd be happy to postpone the dénouement," I said. "It's taken us this long to find him, an hour or so more would hardly make a difference. But to have done this and then failed to catch him—"

"No, you're right," David said, soberly.

2016.

The smell of rot filled my nostrils, and the people and buildings around me whirled in a kaleidoscope of every time period from the Edwardian age to my own. Every period, in short, that Nightingale had lived through.

I turned, trying to orient myself, but there was something in my way. Some sort of … haze, or film, or gauze, between me and the world.

I reached out to touch it, but met nothing substantial—but as if I was the insubstantial one, as if I wasn't truly there to touch it.

I turned to the figures, to see if they could help me, and saw a familiar face. "Sir?" I said. "Inspector Nightingale, is that you?"

He turned and frowned at me. "Who are you?"

"What?" I said. "It's me, Peter. Peter Grant. Your apprentice."

"I have no apprentice," he said, and turned away.

"Inspector, what are you doing?" I asked. If this really was Nightingale, perhaps he had could tell me something useful.

He ignored me, and started walking away.

Two long strides caught me up to him, and I grabbed his arm. "Inspector, it would really help if you would just tell me—"

He knocked me down. I opened my eyes, back in the Visitor's Lounge, where the medical professionals were discussing the procedure.

Molly and Foxglove were staring at me, twin stares of shock.

Abdul was the first to notice. He followed their gaze. "Peter, lad, are you alright?"

"Yes," I said. "Only, I just had a vision. I was … I was trying to clear my head a bit, get ready, because once you're in that place, your wits are the only thing you've got. Thinking through my times in those other worlds. And I just … I found myself in one. Everything smelled of rotting fish, and there was some sort of … veil or shade over everything that I could almost touch, but not quite. Nightingale was there, and he wouldn't listen to me, and when I tried to get him to stop and talk to me, he hit me. Then I woke up again."

Abdul was shaking his head. "I don't think we can do this, ethically," he said. "We already have ten people who can't wake up. If you're slipping in and out without even falling asleep, there's too great a chance you won't wake up."

"If that's the case, I can't go to sleep, either," I said. "Bev already had trouble waking me up this morning. What if, tomorrow morning, she can't?"

"What if injecting you forcefully into that allokosmoi is the difference between you being able to fight yourself awake, and you not being able to wake up?" Abdul countered.

"What if we don't ever find a way to wake the sleepers up without him practicing haemomancy?" Lady Helena said. "What if it gets harder for him to awaken the longer we wait? Even with the best medical care, the longer the sleepers are asleep, the more problems they'll have. And there's no one with half as much experience of other worlds as Peter has."

Lady Helena was an accomplished witch—to use her own preferred term—but I don't know that her medical ethics were really the ones I wanted to emulate. But this was me. If I wanted to take the risk, surely it was my choice.

"Jennifer, what do you think?" I asked.

Jennifer shook her head. "There are too many intangibles. Too many factors we simply can't know one way or the other. Too many risks we know nothing about. Your plan could be genius and solve the whole thing, it could make things worse, it could be barking up the wrong tree completely. We don't know, and we can't know, which is the case. So there's no point arguing as if we do know what the risks and rewards are." She rubbed the side of her head. "Peter, what exactly do you think you'll be able to do in that allokosmoi? And if you're slipping in and out without Molly, why do you need the risk of blood loss and all the germs a mouth contains?"

I took a moment to collect my thoughts. "There's something there," I said. "I don't know what it is or where it comes from, but it's forming a barrier. I think it's what's keeping Nightingale and the others trapped. If I can tear it away, I think they'll wake up. But I couldn't get a good enough grip on it—not because it was insubstantial, but because I was. I think haemomancy will push me through solidly enough to grab it … and I think I've got a better chance of knowing what to do and how to do it if I go in awake, than if I slip in while I'm dreaming."

"How so?" Lady Helena asked. "You've described it as similar to a dream state."

"It's like dreams in that it's not physically real," I said. "Things can be metaphors, things can be symbolic more than literal. But you're not sleeping, and it's not your own subconscious making it up out of bits of things you've seen that day. It's got its own substance. If you know what you're doing, you can manipulate it. You can do things there that have real, tangible results in the real world. But if you're sleeping, if you think it's just a dream…." I shook my head. "You can't do anything if you don't know it's possible, can you? If they just think this is a regular old dream, how would they know to escape? I want to make sure that I go in knowing it's an allokosmoi and not a dream. That'll give me the best shot of breaking it."

"All right, then, Peter," Jennifer said. "We're flying blind. You're the one with the experience."

1940.

It was good we hadn't waited for David's questions, I reflected, because the thread connecting me and my target was thinning palpably by the time we parked outside a lodging house in a run-down neighborhood.

I wrote down Lewis' number and handed it to David. "Please go ring this number and let them know the address so they can send someone to pick it up. I'm going in to make sure I can tell which room is the right one before it fades."

"Alone?" David said. "What about backup?"

I stared at him. "David, this isn't the movies, or a detective novel. Spies are not generally prone to violent heroics. Their entire modus operandii depends on going unnoticed. And if they get caught, what do you think one person by themselves could do? Could he fight his way out of England and across the Channel single-handedly? No. Chances are, he'll come quietly. And if he fights, I've spent quite a lot of the last several years in sticky situations of one sort or another, I'm quite certain I could take him. Meanwhile, it's the middle of the day, he's probably not even in, and the sooner you go away and make that phone call, the sooner I will have backup." David didn't count; he hadn't even boxed since leaving Casterbrook.

"Right," David said.

I got out of the car and walked up to the building. It was the sort of building I was more likely to step foot in overseas than here in London: shabby, neglected, the furnishings either cheap or old or both. I paused just outside the door, and closed my eyes; even without Molly's haemomancy, I thought the vestigium would have been noticeable to someone with training. But it wasn't the sort of neighborhood any of the chaps from the Folly would have any reason to visit. No wonder we hadn't found it.

I entered, and paused inside to get my bearings. It was coming from above. As I climbed the stairs, I found the reek of the vestigium growing again. I was tempted to cover my ears or my nose or both, but for the certain knowledge that it wouldn't do any good.

I stopped outside the room it was emanating from, but I couldn't feel anything over the devices. There was no light on in the room, which on such a dark day likely meant nobody was in. I started a formae for a basic shield, just in case, and tried the door handle slowly.

It was locked. I popped it, and swung it open.

Oberon was sitting on the bed.

"This is not your address," I said, because it wasn't. I'd checked and he did indeed live at the address he'd given me. "And you can't be the spy, your alibi for the second incident checked out."

Oberon raised his eyebrows. "So it's a spy, eh? I'd have thought saboteur, all the reek and mess he leaves around. Not very discreet, for a spy."

"How did you find his room?" I walked in and shut the door quietly behind me, and began a cursory search of the room.

"Even a person with all the sensitivity of a turnip would find this place hard to be around." Oberon watched me rifle through the bureau drawers. "People have been complaining about it. The landlady's scoured this whole building top to bottom three times, and nothing worked. I heard about it, and decided to check it out."

"You didn't call me to report what you'd found." The drawers being filled with nothing but clothes, I moved to the washstand, and opened its drawer.

That had to be them. Four stone discs, perhaps four inches across and half an inch thick.

I closed the drawer. It did very little to ameliorate the vestigium. But even the little it did do was welcome.

"Having seen—and, more to the point, felt—those things, I didn't want them in anybody's hands." Oberon said. "Not the Germans, not the Isaacs, not the Army. He's murdered at least four people, and turned them into weapons. I want to destroy them and put those poor souls to rest. And then I want to have a little chat with our friend the spy, to see if he's told anyone else, and lay him to rest. And possibly the people he's told."

"He didn't make the devices," I said. "I'm afraid there's no containing the information."

"Damn." Oberon shook his head.

"You might as well leave the whole thing to me," I said. "He'll be handed over to the proper authorities."

"And the stones? Will they be destroyed, or will they be studied?"

I hesitated.

"You know they're abominations," Oberon said.

David was dying to know how it had been done, and Lewis would want it examined to see if a countermeasure could be determined. I couldn't say they were wrong. But … neither was Oberon.

The door opened.

A non-descript white man in coveralls stood in the doorway, staring at us.

"You'd better come in," I said.

"Who're you?" he asked, walking in and shutting the door behind him.

"I'm Thomas Nightingale, with the Home Office," I said, that being the relevant information.

"And I'm Oberon, here on behalf of the neighbors you've been dripping your filthy magic residue all over."

Something hardened in the man's face. "So you know," he said.

"We do," I said. "There's no hope of escape. Even if you could overpower the two of us, my superiors know all about you and the police should be here shortly." I wasn't sure it would be the police; it might be the SOE, or military intelligence. But that didn't matter now.

His face hardened. "You're right. There's no hope."

He charged me, drawing a knife. I knocked him down with impello, but we were so close his momentum bowled me over.

The knife went flying, and Oberon lunged for it.

The man grabbed the washstand and yanked open the drawer with the stones. I kicked him, but he managed to grab the stones anyway.

Something magical was happening—I wasn't sure whether it was him or the stones, but either way it couldn't be good. I reached for sīphonem, trying to drain power from the stones before he could use them.

Oberon stabbed him.

A pulse of power went out from the stones, all of them at once, quicker than sīphonem could compensate for.

The world went black.

2016.

I was back in that weird, shifting London, but this time I could make out peoples' faces. This time, nobody was screaming, and there was no smell of burned meat. But the rotting fish smell was much stronger.

I recognized some of the people walking by—that blonde woman who looked like she should be in a costume drama on the BBC was Emma Montmorency, one of the sleepers. She was walking and holding a basket, and talking to thin air.

"Excuse me, ma'am," I said, stepping in front of her. "I'm looking for Nightingale. Do you know where he is?"

She sniffed. "I don't go hanging about with the Isaacs, young man, and if you're smart you won't either."

"What about Oberon?" I persisted.

"Oh, Effra's young man!" she said. "He's over that way, I believe. Do give him my greetings."

"Actually, why don't we go say hello together?" I said. I didn't know that people being close to me in the dreamscape would make a difference to whether they woke up when I was done or not, but … I didn't know it wouldn't, either.

"All right," she said, and off we went. Along the way, we collected anybody I recognized as a sleeper, and I realized they felt differently than the rest of the people I saw. They were more real, more present, than the rest. One or two I didn't recognize felt real as well, and I gathered them along with us. I was half expecting the ghosts of old rivers to show up, but they didn't. Neither did Punch.

Oberon and Nightingale were together when we found them, fighting a shade. No magic, just pure brawling—I think I saw Nightingale bite him, though I wouldn't swear to it.

Emma tisked disapprovingly. "And them supposed to be gentlemen!"

"I don't think he's real," I told them.

They didn't listen.

"Nightingale, stop!" I called.

"Peter, I'm a bit busy!" he replied.

"He's not real," I said. "You're dreaming."

I walked up to them—cautiously, I've broken up my fair share of brawls in my time as a copper—and grabbed the man they were fighting. Sure enough, he dissolved into mist.

"Oh," said Nightingale.

"We're dreaming?" Oberon said. "That explains …" he trailed off.

"You and all the rest of these people have been asleep for four days," I said. "I've come to get you out."

There was a general commotion as people tried to ask questions all at once.

"Something's made a hole between our world and some other world, and you all fell through it," I said. "This is the other side, or at least partway between. If I can tear it apart, we can all go back and we'll all wake up." That was the theory anyway, but I wanted to keep things simple. There was never as much time as you needed before it got dangerous to be away from your body for too long.

The shroud was indeed more tangible this time. Everything was filmy, as if I was watching through a veil. It reeked of rotten fish, slimy and slippery. I grabbed at it, and tried to tear it.

As I pulled, the smell got worse, and Nightingale dropped to the ground.

I stopped.

"I don't think we want to tear it," Oberon said. "We want the barrier to be strong. We just want to be on the other side of it, right?"

"Right," I said, feeling a bit stupid. I thought for a second. "Maybe if I hold it up, you can slip under it?"

Oberon shrugged. "Worth a shot."

"You okay, sir?" I asked Nightingale.

"I am functional," he said, which wasn't the same thing. "Do we know for sure we're the only ones affected?"

"No," I said, "But all the ones we know are asleep are here."

"You might call out, see if any others come."

"Right," I said. "Anybody out there?" I shouted. My voice echoed louder than I could ever have made it in the real world. "If you want to get out of this nightmare, now's your chance, we're making an exit right here!"

We waited, but there was no sign of life outside our little group. All the shades had disappeared, and we were alone.

I could feel the weakness that meant I didn't have much time. They were all asleep, but I wasn't—I was in a trance caused partly by blood loss.

I grabbed the shroud again, and this time I tried lifting it up. Emma helped, as did Oberon and two of the others, and between us we got an opening sufficient for someone to crawl under.

"Oy, don't just stand there," I said.

One by one, the sleepers crawled out and away. Nightingale tried to go last, but Oberon wasn't having it. "And just how will you manage to hold the barrier up, you're weaker than a kitten!" he said. "You were the one at the center of that blast, not me."

Nightingale went, then Emma and Oberon crawled half-way under and stopped, holding the way open for me with their bodies. I ducked under with them, and out we went.

I opened my eyes to see the coach house ceiling. Abdul was tending my wound, and Bev was holding my hand so tightly I could swear I felt the bones twist. Beyond her, Lady Helena was watching.

"You did great, babes, you did so good," Bev said. "I don't know if it worked, but if it didn't, I saw what you did, I think I can do it without Molly's help."

Lady Helena pursed her lips, which I took to mean that she hadn't sensed enough to say the same. I wondered if she'd be asking Molly for her own experience with haemomancy.

"Yeah?" I said.

"Stay quiet, Peter, and let me finish," Abdul said.

Bev's phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket one-handed. "What's the news?"

"It worked, Bev, it worked! Oberon's awake!" Effra shouted through the phone. "Tell your baby-daddy I owe him."

I almost laughed in relief.

Abdul's phone dinged with a text. He finished his sutures, wiped his hands off, and reached for it. "Jennifer says they're waking up at the hospital, too."

1940.

I woke up in a strange place, the private dining room on the ground floor of the Folly. The table and chairs had been shoved to the side, and a bed brought in.

"What?" I tried to say, but all that came out was a croak.

"Oh, good, you're awake, we were beginning to worry." It was Brown, sitting in a chair by the window with a book. "It's been almost three days since—well, since whatever hush-hush thing happened that knocked you out. Though we all felt it, it was worse than the other three put together, so I don't see why they're trying to keep it quiet. Scary Mary has been hovering over you like you're the last cut of meat at the butcher shop—are you having it on with her? Brave man, if so."

I tried to deny it, but my voice still wasn't working.

He poured me a glass of water from the pitcher and handed it to me. "I'll just go announce that you're awake, shall I?"

I took a sip, and it was balm to my parched throat. I wanted nothing more than to drink the whole glass at once. Still, if it had really been three days, it would make me sick, even if they'd been giving me things to drink.

(You can get a little bit of liquid down an unconscious person's throat, if you're careful about it and take your time; I know, because I've had to do it, out in the field. But you can't get much down them.)

"Thomas, you frightened us all!" David said, bursting through the door. "We weren't sure you were ever going to wake up. Your backup got there just as … whatever it was kicked off. They got into the room, and found the spy dead, and you and the Negro unconscious. The hospital couldn't find anything wrong with either of you, and sent you home."

"Oberon?" I asked.

"He woke up overnight," David said. "But his friend who was taking care of him was ferociously protective of him, wouldn't let me in to examine him. He only agreed to let us know when Oberon awoke if we agreed to do the same with you."

"Ah," I said. "The stones?"

"The devices, you mean?" David shook his head. "I'm not sure what all you did to them—or them to you, for that matter—but they're not enchanted any longer, I can tell you that. They're just so much gravel, now; all of them broken, with no more vestigia than grass. Your man Lewis wasn't pleased, but on the other hand, he said it was unlikely the Jerries would try this again; only three reports, each of them putting a target on their man's back, and then we found him? Not good odds, they'd do better parachuting a man in with a radio."

I was curious about what the spy's job had been, what sort of information he had access to, but while Lewis would undoubtedly know, he wouldn't have told David.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in!" David called.

It was Molly, with a tray and a bowl of soup. Between the two of them, she and David helped me sit up and propped pillows behind me.

"Why am I in here?" I asked.

"What, you think we should have carried you up two flights of stairs to your bedroom, and then down three flights of stairs to the cellar if there was an air raid? No, thank you," David said. "It didn't hurt anybody to have to use the breakfast room or the small dining room instead, and this way if there was an air raid you were right by the stairs to the cellar."

Molly handed me the bowl and spoon. She was tense, hunched over.

I took a spoonful. Beef broth, just the thing for someone who hadn't eaten in a few days.

"Nothing that happened to me was your fault," I told her. "You did exactly as I asked you. You were honest about the risks. The haemomancy worked perfectly and caused no lasting harm. What happened to me when I found the devices was because of the Germans who designed and used them, not you."

She relaxed a little bit, and nodded.

I took another spoonful of broth.

Molly curtseyed, and left.

"I'd better go ring Lewis, and Oberon, as I promised to do," David said. "Will you be alright if I just step out to the telephone?"

"Of course," I said.

I slowly ate my soup as the other chaps came in to congratulate me on awakening, and pump me—with varying degrees of subtlety—for the story.

Young Higginbottom, in particular, was incensed. "You won't tell us anything?"

"Careless talk costs lives," I said.

"Yes, but we're trustworthy," he said. "And we certainly deserve it after having endured all those blasts!"

"No, Higginbottom," I said. "The affair is over, and you need think of it no more. I certainly intend to forget all about it."

Notes:

Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme is a 16th Century German hymn, later turned into a chorale cantata by Bach. It can be literally translated "Awake, the voice is calling us," but the cantata is usually called "Sleepers Awake" in English, and the most common English translation of the hymn in current use has the first line as "Wake, Awake, for Night Is Flying"

Thank you to walldecor for britpicking and Lavender Threads for betaing

Lord Peter quotes "The Thorn" by William Wordsworth and "The Prisoner" by Emily Brontë

The hospital near Limburg where the German practitioner works is, of course, the Hadamar Clinic (aka "Hadamar Killing Center"), main site of the Nazi eugenics program Aktion T4.

#rivers of london #fanfic #fanfiction #case fic

4 notes · View notes