#but no way would they have felt safe enough to act if that ideology hadn’t been endorsed by an election!

[luhrmannatural]

anyway! this is why which political party you vote for does matter! i know too many people on the left who straight up don’t vote because “both parties are the same” and yeah they’re both corrupt but at least one of them is not actively trying to chip away at our civil rights! anyone who isn’t voting straight blue in november block me right now for real you make me more angry than conservatives at least they fucking VOTE

[dangerouslyallaboutdraco]

Rivals

Y/n Y/l/n and Draco Malfoy had been rivals for years.

After Hermione established herself as one of the smartest students, everyone assumed it would be her who Draco had a problem with. Surely his entitled, pureblood supremacist ideology would leave him in a constant feud with a muggle-born.

However, it didn't. Sure, Hermione wasn't Draco's favourite person. He would never like her, as long as she was Potter's best friend. But Hermione wasn't important enough to be the number 1 person he hated.

That title wasn't even given to Harry Potter. The scrawny half-blood who had rejected the blonde's friendship the first day they met. Ron Weasley disgusted him, but Draco recognised him as an inferior.

Y/n Y/l/n was the only one. The only person who was important and superior but still annoying. She was his arch-nemesis.

It was safe to say she annoyed him as much as one person could annoy another. Every hypothesis he had in class, she disagreed with. Draco felt like it was her only mission to annoy him.

In truth, Y/n was just trying to get through it. Hogwarts wasn't easy for a muggle-born, especially when her nemesis thought she wasn't worthy of knowing magic. He made every day a living hell.

"Mudblood Y/l/n." Draco taunted at any chance he got. Most of his tournaments happened in the corridors or Snape's classroom, where Draco couldn't get in trouble.

Y/n knew, deep down, he was just intimidated. She knew she was almost as smart as Draco, and she had just as many friends. It drove him nuts.

It was the night of a Slug Club dinner. The club was one of the only social functions Y/n didn't have to see Draco, so she was always thankful for it. She also had a new dress picked out. It was pink sequins are she adored it. Plus, she was pleased she didn't have to wear a Christmas-themed dress to a party just yet.

Her hair had finished being curled when her date arrived, Cormac McLaggen. He wasn't exactly well known for being a nice guy at Hogwarts, but Y/n couldn't deny he was cute.

"You look hot," McLaggen told her as she stepped out of her common room. He was immediately handsy, his hand resting on her ass. That was not the reason she had picked this dress.

Y/n thanked him nervously, and they started the walk to dinner. On their way through the corridor, they passed Y/n's least favourite Slytherin.

She hoped he wouldn't say anything, but, alas, he did. "McLaggen, what are you doing with a mudblood?" He asked him, completely ignoring Y/n like she wasn't there. That drove her crazy.

"Shove it, Malfoy," Cormac told Draco, not completely defending Y/n, but she was still grateful.

Draco didn't say anything else, but he just continued walking.

The dinner party was interesting. Stories from Slughorn were one of the best things about Hogwarts, and the group got a lot of those. The conversation between students was also always good.

Y/n was enjoying it. Until McLaggen went too far. She was just going to find her date when she overheard him talking, to some of the older boys, about what they had supposedly done sexually. It was all lies. Y/n hadn't even kissed him.

"Uh, Cormac." One of his friends said, seeing Y/n standing behind him.

Cormac turned around, locking eyes with her. Instead of looking sorry, he just looked smug. "What? Don't act like you're not a slut." He jeered.

Y/n's eyebrows raised. That was not what she expected. Suddenly, she felt tears welling in her eyes. So she stormed off. Right out of the room, past Harry, who had heard what Cormac said and Hermione, who looked confused. She didn't stop walking until she was out in the corridor.

Then, she just sat on a bench. Her head in her hands as she bawled her eyes out.

The tears didn't stop coming when someone's sweater was placed around her shoulders.

Y/n didn't look up to talk to the person she assumed was Harry. "Harry, I'm fine." She told him, wiping her tears. "Cormac is an arse."

"It's, uh, it's not Potter." Y/n's head snapped up quickly, making sure the voice matched the person she thought it was. Draco Malfoy. "What did Cormac do to you?" Draco quickly asked.

Y/n huffed, wanting to throw his sweater off her shoulders. "Doesn't matter." She quietly replied. The last thing she wanted right now was Draco to laugh at her. So, she wiped the rest of her tears.

"Yes, it does." Draco strictly said, taking a seat next to her. "Tell me right now, and I'll go find him." He instructed. Y/n had never heard him like this. He was so angry, but she didn't understand why. It was almost protective.

Something made Y/n confess the events of the night to her arch enemy. "He was telling all his stupid friends about things we definitely didn't do." She told him.

Draco rolled his eyes then his sleeves. "I'll be back. Stay here." He told her before matching off.

Y/n didn't know what he was going to do. All she knew was he was seething. He came back 5 minutes later. She immediately noticed his hands. More specifically, his knuckles were blood red.

"Draco," Y/n muttered out, grabbing his hand to look at it. He didn't wince at all. Much to her surprise, he smiled. "What?" She asked, concerned.

"That's the first time you have ever said my first name," Draco explained. It was true. Most of the time, she called him Malfoy, occasionally asshole.

Y/n didn't know what else to say. She just dropped his hand, not feeling like the physical contact was helping her. They sat together in silence for a while.

Finally, Y/n worked up the courage to get the answers she wanted to know. "Why did you do it?" She asked him.

Draco didn't hesitate. "Because he hurt you. No one gets to do that." The thought of him trying to protect her actually made her sick. Even angry.

Y/n's irritation spilled out. "Malfoy, you've hurt me more than anyone else in this school ever has. Even McLaggen." She told him, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.

Her words made Draco feel like he'd been punched in the face. They made him physically want to cry. "I, uh... I never meant to... I didn't want to hurt you." He tried to explain.

Y/n could see the broken look on her face. She just didn't know if she should dig the knife in or help him. "You still did." She told him, not able to let it go completely.

"I'm sorry." That was the first time she had ever heard him say those words to anyone.

Y/n nodded slowly. "I know. It's in the past now, though." She didn't really feel like rehashing the last 6 years of hatred. "I just want to know why you were ever mean to me." She said it almost too quietly he missed it.

It was also rhetorical, but he answered. "I liked you." She couldn't help her mouth dropping open.

It took her by complete surprise. Her brain almost stopped working, but her heart rate sped up. Even her skin seemed hotter. Even though it wasn't, it felt like the whole world's attention was on her.

Draco could tell he had completely stopped her in her tracks. "Is it so hard to believe?" He asked her. "You were basically the first girl who talked to me." She could smile at that.

"I liked you too." Y/n finally confessed. There was a blush forming on her cheeks, and it shocked Draco. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything more beautiful.

"Liked or like?" Draco asked her, hesitantly but somehow confidently. His palms were sweating as he wrapped them around the bench. Even though it hurt, it was distracting him from the current situation.

Y/n looked at him with a frown. "Are you really trying to make my night worse?" So, she thought it was a joke. Some sick prank Draco had worked up.

The fact he could cause so much distrust upset him. It broke his heart. "I'm serious." He affirmed.

So, she replied. "Like." It finally felt like stress had lifted off her. She had been carrying it around for 6 years.

"I can top that," Draco said as he snapped her attention back into the moment. "I love you." That was not how she expected her night to go. Unsurprisingly, she had also never heard him say those words.

Y/n finally made eye contact with him. "I love you too." Before she could think, her lips were on his. Soft and gentle but still passionate. It was perfect. And it was something both of them had wanted for years.

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Princess Part 7

Harry Potter Marauders Era 

Link to Part 6

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: M 

______

The next morning you dreaded facing Walburga and Orion. The knowledge that both of you soon to be in-laws heard you screaming their son’s name as he ravaged you was enough to make your face flush. Regulus found the whole thing hilarious.

“Calm down, love. What is mum going to do? Banish us to our rooms. I would be just fine with that.”

You put a hand over your face as the two of you stepped into the dining room. Walburga sat with a steaming cup of tea in front of her while Orion was looking over some papers for work. Orion didn’t seem to be the least bit bothered about what happened the prior night. He gave Regulus and yourself his typical good morning before going back to his work. Walburga on the other hand was eyeing the two of you like a hawk.

“I think we need to discuss what happened last night.”

She said sharply before stirring her tea. Regulus fought the urge to laugh. If he wanted to get away from his mother without being harmed laughing was a horrible way to start. He swallowed back his laughter before looking at his mother “innocently.” Regulus, after all, knew how to charm Walburga better than anyone. It was how he got 95% of the things that he wanted anyway so why wouldn’t it work today?

“Mum, I apologize. We didn’t realize that we were being that loud.”

You nodded.

“I’m sorry too. This is embarrassing for all of us.”

Orion didn’t look up or make a noise, which seemed to annoy Walburga further.

“As I have said before I am aware that the two of you have sex. That does not mean that neither of us wants to see or hear about it. That is supposed to be done privately, not loud enough for one's parents to overhear everything. We do not want to hear this again or I shall have to separate the two of you until you're married.”

Walburga was pleased when Regulus’ mouth dropped.

“Mother, we have been sleeping together for years. What do you honestly expect was going to happen with that arrangement?”

Walburga picked up a teacup saucer and tossed it at her youngest son.

“I suggest if you want to keep sleeping with Y/n to watch how you speak to me in this house.”

You didn’t dare to sneak a look at your fiance even though Regulus was squeezing your hands painfully hard. Walburga took a few moments before speaking again.

“If either of you step a toe out of line for the next few months...both of you will regret it.”

Orion finally looked up.

“Enough sex talk, Walburga. I am trying to drink my tea. The two get it. Right?”

Both Regulus and yourself muttered “yes sir” at the same time. Orion nodded and went back to his paper.

“There you go. Now leave them alone.”

Over the next few months, both Regulus and yourself were true to your promise to Walburga. Whether it be the fact that school was ending, not wanting to risk being separated, or something else neither of you was misbehaving in the slightest.

The last half of the year came and went faster than any in your memory. You barely had time to breathe in-between graduation and moving into the cute little town-home that Walburga had reserved.

“We don’t have to tiptoe around mum anymore.”

Regulus said with a smile as he sat the last box down. You didn’t fight the moment that he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“No, we don’t. We just have to worry about her dropping by at random moments when she realizes that she has nothing better to do now that we have moved out.”

You replied. Regulus sighed. You were right on that one. He had the bad feeling that Walburga would turn up at the beginning of every romantic the two of you would share for the foreseeable future. Regulus had been so thrilled about getting out on his own that he hadn’t even considered how his mother was going to react to having a “empty nest.”

“Damn it, so much for walking around the place naked. You know that woman will not give us a courtesy knock either. As soon as the damn wedding is over then we can give her some ground rules.”

You stood on your tiptoes and gently kissed Regulus’ chin.

“Everything will be fine. You should be patient with your mother. She’s going to be lonely.”

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“Then she needs to talk to my father or Kreacher. There are plenty of others in that house that she can drive crazy. We have done everything that she wanted. For months we practically haven’t touched each other in that house. Not to mention we behaved civilly at graduation and the parties...we upheld our end of the bargain. Now she needs to go join a ladies' day club or or something club and stop haunting us.”

You understood Regulus’ annoyance with his mother. It had been difficult to act as though Regulus and yourself were good little children anytime that Walburga was near. She had a strange talent of coming into a room anytime that Regulus had his lips on yours. Now you wanted to be able to kiss your soon to be husband anytime that you wished.

“Everything will be fine, love.”

You said with a smile as Regulus instantly grabbed his left arm. The expression on his face told you everything that you needed to know. He was being summoned (yet again). For the past few weeks between Voldemort and Walburga, you had been lucky to have five minutes alone with Regulus.

“I’ll be home soon.”

You nodded, knowing there was no use in arguing or begging Regulus to stay home. If Voldemort called, Regulus went running. You had to fight back the feeling of annoyance that was building in your stomach.

“Are you mad?”

Regulus asked as he pulled on his coat. You put your drink down.

“Between him and your mother, I am not getting much time with you.”

You weren’t surprised when Regulus gave you a displeased scowl. If you so much as said something bad about the dark lord Regulus was giving you hell.

“You know what I signed up for. I am not giving up a duty that I wanted to please you, Y/n. You, like my mother, need to find ways to fill your time without me being with you.”

Regulus knew that his response was cold but he was getting frustrated. In the beginning, you were proud of him for wanting to be a death eater. Now, you were suddenly becoming dismissive to the whole thing and it was getting on Regulus’ nerves. Between worrying about his mother’s overbearing nature and what Voldemort had him doing he didn’t have time for a nagging wife.

You didn’t say anything before turning and going into the kitchen. As much as you wanted to give Regulus some equally cold comment back, you knew that it would be for nothing. When Regulus was in death eater mode, he would listen to nothing that you had to say. If you did say something as cold and vindictive back, you would just get fussed at even more and you were in no mood for it.

What Regulus also didn’t know was you had been writing Sirius since Christmas about everything going on. There was no romance to the letters just sharing information. Sirius was worried to death about Regulus’ crazy decisions and the level of hate that Walburga had filled his head with. For you, it was nice to have an outlet to voice your own doubts on the ideology that you had grown up with. You had been doubting Voldemort for some time and it was nice to see that you weren’t crazy or being some jealous girlfriend who was pissy because her lover was away.

Sirius was as concerned about Regulus’ safety as you were. He was still offering to help keep the two of you safe if Regulus would stop being a death eater and join the order. You knew that wouldn’t go over well at all. Hell would freeze over before Regulus switched sides. You also knew that Regulus would leave you if you even suggested it. He would be so furious if he found out that you were talking to Sirius behind his back then to ask him to deflect would be a bigger kick in the balls.

Little did Regulus seem to realize, you hadn’t shared his pureblood beliefs in a long time. The two of you had “purebloods are the best and muggle-borns are rubbish” shoved down your throats since childhood. You had begun to question everything very early on but was afraid to make your feelings known. Maybe it was due to your aunt Druella threatening to you not to ruin your chances at marrying Regulus. You didn’t want to be a disappointment. After witnessing the way that Sirius was treated, you were even more afraid to speak up. If you were kicked out of the family, you would have no one to turn to.

“Y/n…”

You didn’t turn as Regulus’ voice pulled you from your thoughts. Why he hadn’t left yet was beyond you. Usually, Regulus would automatically apparate out when Voldemort called.

“Just go, Regulus.”

You coldly replied. At the moment, you couldn’t turn and look at him. You didn’t want to see that look in his eyes. Knowing that he was going to go torture or kill some innocent was something that you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to think about how the boy you had loved since childhood changed into someone that you didn’t know.

Regulus had changed…

The thought was startling to you. Looking up to the kitchen window, the thought came as a shock. You felt as if you had been smacked by a heavy book. Regulus was changing into someone you didn’t know. It wasn’t just when he was doing his job as a death eater it was all of the time. Perhaps you didn’t notice because you chose not to. Maybe you didn't want to accept that sweet boy that you played wedding with in Walburga’s back garden or the boy who could read you French poetry was now someone very different.

You have changed too…

You felt suddenly comforted by that comment. No longer were you the spoiled selfish princess whose only goal was to become Mrs. Regulus Black. You weren’t the girl that Druella and Walburga raised to be totally dependent on Regulus for everything. Now you wanted to see some good in the world. Good, that didn’t involve some dark lord with a superiority complex telling you how to believe toward another person’s blood status.

“Love...I didn’t mean what I said…”

You, again, didn’t turn to Regulus.

“You should go before you get into trouble.”

When you heard the front door shut, you turned. The living room now seemed very empty and quiet. You turned and went off in search of parchment. It was time to grow up.

“Another night alone…”

Regulus had been gone for an hour and a half when there was a knock at your door. Standing up, you frowned wondering who would be dropping by? Evan and Emma were at one of the Rosier estates in France celebrating their honeymoon and wasn’t due back for another week.

Dusting off your skirt, you slowly opened the door to see Sirius and Remus standing on the other side. Sirius immediately smiled but knew just by the look on your face something was wrong.

“I got your letter. You wanted to see me?”

You nodded and moved aside to let both men into the house. Remus seemed a little uneasy about coming in and you couldn't blame him. He was right for being worried about stepping into a known death eater’s home. You tried to give him a smile in hopes of providing some comfort. Remus only nodded and followed behind Sirius.

After shutting the door you turned back to your soon to be brother in law.

“I need you to talk some sense into Regulus. He won’t listen to me.”

Sirius frowned.

“What makes you think that he will listen to me?”

You ran a hand through your hair.

“I don’t want him to be killed working for Voldemort. He’s staying gone more and more. I don’t want to lose him to some madman.”

Remus and Sirius exchanged glances as Remus stepped closer. He didn’t have any personal issues with you. To Remus, you had always been kind but being kind didn’t mean that you wouldn’t turn back to “old ways” should it be required.

“Whose side are you on, Y/n?”

Crossing your arms over your chest. That was the million-dollar question and it had to be answered. Should you turn against your family to save Regulus or just be the “good wife” and watch him be destroyed? The answer was easy…

“I suppose that I am on your side now. I’m tired of always hating people and being miserable. I also don’t want to watch the man that I love die or be killed.”

That was the best statement that you could come up with. You had known of another death eater that had been killed by Voldemort personally for changing their mind about joining his side. The last thing that you wanted was for Regulus to be another one of those statistics.

“My offer still stands.”

Sirius said, keeping his voice gentle. Your eyes met him after a few moments.

“I just want Regulus safe.”

Before Sirius could respond the front door opened and closed. Regulus looked confused when he stepped into the living room. The last thing that he ever expected was to come home to Sirius and Remus standing in his living room.

“What the hell is going on here?”

He asked, immediately feeling on edge. Regulus’ night had been a shit show due to a new death eater chickening out of doing a murder that Regulus had to carry out. He was in a foul mood then finding the last person that he wanted to see in the world standing in his living room was a worse way to end the day.

Sirius turned his little brother. There was no denying that Regulus was a death eater. Just looking at his brother’s clothes told him everything that you said was right. Putting back the heartbreak, Sirius took a breath.

“Regulus, I know that you’re a death eater. The whole order knows.”

Regulus blinked a few times.

“Congratulations, you figured something out. If you have come to enlighten me on your discovery there is the door...now see your way out.”

Sirius shook his head.

“It's not that simple, Reg.”

Regulus nodded.

“Yes, actually it is. Open the door, step outside, then close it behind you. It’s very simple. I can even shove you out if you would like.”

Sirius had to fight back his own sass that was wanting to come out.

“Damn it, Regulus I am trying to save you.”

Regulus started chuckling at that comment. Sirius was trying to “save him.” That was cute and about 2 years too late.

“There is nothing that you can save me from. I have made my choice...just like you have.”

You finally looked up.

“Damn it, Regulus, listen to him!”

You snapped. Regulus turned his attention to you. Your face was unreadable. Regulus hadn’t seen that expression on your face before.

“Y/n, what are you talking about?”

Regulus asked. You sighed.

“He’s trying to help us so you won’t be killed or thrown into Azkaban. Regulus, I am scared for you. I know that you think you are doing the right thing but…”

Regulus held a hand up.

“Are you really agreeing with him? You’re supposed to be on my side! As my fiance, you are supposed to pick me.”

You softened your tone. Talking to Regulus like a child would get you nowhere.

“I am on your side that is why Sirius wants to help keep us safe. Regulus, I don’t want to lose you. People are dying on both sides and it's going for nothing. All of these innocent people are being killed and sooner or later Voldemort is going to pick on the wrong person and it will all go to hell. He won’t be there to keep you from prison or death. Reggie, you are just a number to him...he doesn’t care about the person that you are...our family...noth…”

“SHUT UP!”

Regulus yelled. You flinched and stepped back. He had never put an unloving hand on your before but telling him that his beliefs were wrong was likely to get yourself hexed.

Sirius stepped up.

“Reg, don’t yell at her. She is just…”

“Betraying me.”

Regulus interrupted. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Dude, that is a little harsh. Y/n is trying to protect you. She isn’t handing you over to the Nazis. I think that you know that this side...this whole being some idiots henchman isn’t you…”

Regulus didn’t reply. His eyes coldly looked between Sirius and yourself. You stepped a bit closer to him.

“Sweetheart, please.”

Regulus started laughing bitterly.

“Let me have the ring back.”

The sentence stung worse than a thousand bees. You couldn’t help letting your mouth fall as your right hand traced over your engagement ring.

“What?”

You stammered. Regulus rolled his eyes.

“Give me the goddamned engagement ring back. I am not about to marry a stupid blood traitor. Sirius, you can have her. I don’t want her now. Get your shit and get out, Y/n.”

When you didn’t move fast enough, Regulus closed the distance between your body and his. He had your hand in his and roughly yanked the ring off.

“Never speak to me again.”

He hissed before turning and walking from the room. Neither Sirius, Remus, nor yourself was able to say a word until the bedroom door slammed. You couldn’t move. Did Regulus really end things with you? You were too stunned to cry. The man that was supposed to love and protect you had thrown you away like rubbish. This was worse than the brief break up earlier in the year...this was permanent and you had no idea how you were going to handle it.

“Y/n, you can come with us.”

Remus’ voice was soft as he gently put a hand on your back. Sirius was as stunned as you were. He NEVER expected Regulus to say those cold words to you. You were Regulus’ pet and now he disposed of you like dirt on his shoes.

Sirius quickly pulled himself from his stupor and turned to you.

“Come on, Y/n. We’ll keep you safe.”

______

@amelie-black

@realgaytrash

@truly-insatiable

@velveteencurls

@scarletscross

@spiderxalmighty

@sunles

@brokencasbutt67-writer

@authoressskr

@fandom-trash-worth-it

@hankypranky

@summer-novak

@li0nh34rt

@tas899

@shaylybaby2032

@emiwrites3reads

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts

@stuckinsaudi1

@knight-of-gleefulness

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@sprnaturallover

@shitfaceddaniel

@wontlookaway

@mycuddlycorner

[3pirouette]

Fic: The Honey Trap (9/?)

Title: The Honey Trap

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

A/N: I'm giving you another chapter this weekend because I can. I've got a significant portion of the Epilogue written, and just a chapter or two to fill in the middle, so we're looking at about 12 in total. I'll post as they're written, but no promises on when. 

I'm VERY curious to see what you all think about this chapter. We've just had angst, angst, angst up until now, and now? Well, it's a little bit of a departure, and I hope you like it. 

Chapter 9: Infiltrating the Lap of Luxury

Three Days Later

Peggy was nauseous. The red and black. The banners. The eagles and swastikas. The double lightning bolts.

They were everywhere.

Just three days in Berlin had reminded her who, and what, they were fighting for. If the concerned well-to-do Nazis of London had confused her, this had shocked her right back to reality.

Wallace had given her practically no notice that they were leaving, to the point where she’d wondered if either or both of them had been found out and they needed to run. She’d had barely enough time to throw the essentials in a bag and finish the letter.

Since they’d started with the letters, she’d had one half written, waiting in the false bottom of one of the drawers in her apartment for her to fill in days, times, and places. She knew one day they’d have to make a hasty retreat, and that came far faster than she had been prepared for.

He’d been manic, not because they’d been found out, but because he’d been offered something he couldn’t pass up: face time with the men who were running everything. They’d been invited to the heart of Berlin for a party, and then to accompany a high-ranking scientist to the Alps.

None of that had made it into her letter.

She was sharing a hotel room with Wallace, and the Agent who had escorted them to Berlin was residing right next door. She wasn’t sure if he was there to keep them safe or to keep tabs on them, but she wasn’t going to press it either way. She played appropriately lovelorn on the plane over the channel, then slowly warmed back up to Wallace. By the time they’d made it to the hotel she was holding his hand and chatting about how excited she was to be invited to such a thing.

Peggy wasn’t sure what Wallace was anymore, where his allegiance fell, or what he expected her to behave as, but she was along for the ride, and that meant keeping him happy.

She still made him sleep on the couch.

In the morning, the symbols all around her were brighter and more apparent, and the charade was harder to keep up. Wallace paraded her around office buildings and at dinners with men whose names she’d only heard about in official communiques. It seemed the information he thought he was stealing from her had made him somewhat infamous, and they didn’t seem to understand, thankfully, that she’d led them into several ambushes at this point.

She found it baffling and sickening, but she let them believe they’d lured her over to their ideology, that she was no longer interested in serving the Allied Powers as they’d done nothing for her.

She had once chance to pass on all she knew. One communique. She hoped they were ready.

~*~

Dugan stood just outside the hotel, pulling down on his deerstalker cap to stay hidden in the twilight. He’d shaved his moustache, to which they’d all laughed, and dyed his hair a glaring blonde, even though he was keeping it hidden under his cap.

There were precious few they trusted for this, and even fewer who could walk into the heart of Germany and potentially not be recognized by either the SS or Wallace. Dugan somehow fit that bill. He worried that he was too early, but being too late might compromise the drop. He stopped and rubbed his knee, feigning pain to buy himself some time. Eyes were everywhere, and they didn’t hesitate to report suspicious people under such a regime.

Peggy was due any minute. Any second.

And there she was.

Laughing.

Dugan looked up, surprised, to see her laughing and smiling with Wallace, dressed to the nines complete with heels and a fur stole and the ever harder and harder to get silk stockings.

She was walking towards him on her way out of the hotel, and the only acknowledgement he got was the casual flicker of her eyes as she neared, the same she’d give any passing pedestrian.

Just a few steps away she stumbled and then stopped, Wallace concerned for her as they both looked down at the ground. “Are you all right, Maggie?”

Peggy stood and smiled, shrugging. “New shoes. I haven’t had a pair of proper dancing shoes in so long I think I must have forgotten how to wear them!” Her tone was light, and she kept Wallace’s eyes at hers with her smile, but Dugan was looking at her feet, where Peggy slipped her toes from her heel and dropped a small slip of paper on the ground before slipping her foot back in again. She kicked her foot up towards Wallace and wiggled her toes. “Should be good to go, dear. To dinner?”

He nodded and set them moving again. “Yes, quite right. Perhaps you should wear your new ones for the party tomorrow when we get back tonight, wouldn’t want you stumbling in that company.”

Dugan waited until they passed, playing up on the rubbing of his knee, and then started limping lightly forward, towards the scrap of paper on the ground. He stopped again, shoe stepping directly on it, and rubbed his knee, before walking away with only the tiniest glance back to tell him that the paper was stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

A block later, he stopped, picked it from his shoe, and continued on his way.

~*~

Stave, Bucky, and Dum Dum hovered over the paper, slowly decoding it by flashlight in their tiny tent in the middle of the German forest.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dum Dum laughed. “How does she think we’re going to do that?”

“We clean up good!” Bucky retorted.

“Yeah,” Steve started, throwing the pencil down and slumping, “but I don’t blend in so well with a crowd here.”

“Well, I’m going. Where do I get my hands on a suit?” Dugan smiled. “You know what kinda women are at these parties?”

“Yeah, Nazis.” Barnes retorted, shaking his head.

“Ok, well, you’re not wrong there.” He shrugged. “I just miss going to parties, and beautiful women all dressedto the nines there.”

Dugan and Barnes shared a moment of agreement before Bucky focused them back on the mission. “And how do you plan on getting in?” Barnes asked cheekily. “We just going to walk in the front door?”

Steve rubbed his face. “It’s going to be guarded, there will be invitations… no. There’s no way we get in the front door play acting like we’re guests without being made.”

“So what?” Dugan asked, reading over the note again. He pointed at the most important detail: “Must get Zola at Black Tie tomorrow night. Last Chance before Alps.” He shrugged. “Maybe it would be easier to try to get him while he’s going over the Alps to the Hydra base.”

Bucky shook his head. “I mean, potentially less guards on one of those trains, but some of those tracks are treacherous. They’re lucky the trains make it through. One wrong move there, we’re not just captured, we’re dead.”

“So what? We go in as the caterers?” Dugan laughed. “I already shaved my moustache for this, I’m up for a good disguise.”

“It’s a mansion, right?” Steve asked, trying to be positive. “Maybe we just need to…” He took a moment, his head twisting and turning as he thought of and discarded ideas. He stopped, throwing his hands out to the side. “I got nothing.”

Barnes just punched him on the shoulder good naturedly. “You know, you’re lucky you’ve got Peggy to do all the heavy lifting in this relationship.”

Steve hung his head, smiling. “Don’t I know it.”

~*~

Peggy did her best to smile, but was still sickened by the excess. She’d seen the state of the German forces, of the men in the field and the men they captured.

It was always revolting to see how the men who ran the wars, but never experienced them, lived.

Champaign. Caviar. Grand dinners and ballrooms full of music and dancing. The war hadn’t touched these people. They hadn’t watched friends and family die. After listening to them, she guessed most of them had probably profited off the backs of the boys in the trenches.

For every man with a gun, the real monster was a faceless man in an office calling his shots.

She hated to admit she enjoyed the luxury of a hot bath, of the silk stockings she hadn’t had in months, of a new green silk dress that hugged her curves and didn’t smell like mothballs, of shoes that fit and hadn’t ever seen a patch of mud. She felt guilty every minute, preening and putting on make-up and rolling her hair just right so that she wouldn’t stand out. The guilt had nearly overwhelmed her, but she had a job to do, and she could deal with the emotional toll of this later.

By the way everyone looked when they walked into the mansion, she and Wallace stood out. Their novelty dimmed, however, as they were slowly introduced around the room. Once they were no longer strangers, they were no longer a unique oddity to be admired or a threat to be monitored. Wallace worked hard to get in front of the generals, in front of the men with the most medals and the stiffest backs in the room, to get some facetime with the people that could get him closer to whatever his goal was.  

She only had one goal: Arnim Zola.

He was Schmidt’s right-hand man, and he was vulnerable tonight.

She had three different plans, depending on how the boys were able to make it in. She guessed they weren’t walking in the front door, as the security was heavy and nearly every man in the room wore the swastika on his arm and carried a gun with him. She only hoped they could follow her lead, or she could pick up whatever plan they’d come up with quickly to avoid a disaster.

Step one: meet Zola.

Peggy let Richard pull her around the ballroom for a while, smiling and nodding on his arm, keeping quiet as they traded stories and allegiances. She kept Zola in her sights throughout the night, taking note that he was often alone, and easily flustered. She smiled, realizing that his cheeks reddened every time he talked to a beautiful woman.

Peggy made her excuses and stepped out of the ballroom for a breath of fresh air. She’d hoped she’d be able to make contact with the boys but they weren’t anywhere to be found near or around the small, empty balcony. She took the moment to compose herself, and waited until the doctor was situated between her and Wallace so it wouldn’t look like she’d avoided Wallace, but rather ran into the doctor by mistake.

And run into him she did, literally, bumping his shoulder as she moved past him, covering her face and putting on her apologies before feigning recognition. “I’m sorry, are you Doctor Zola?”

He almost chocked on a sip of his Champaign. He looked her up and down, and Peggy smiled even wider, knowing that her care in dressing had done its job. “Yes,” he choked out as he regained his composure. “And who might you be?”

Peggy put her hand in his and let him kiss the back of it, forcing a blush by imagining Steve. “Oh, me? I’m nobody. But I just couldn’t help but overhear your name whispered here and there, and to have the chance to meet you!” She giggled and shrugged. “Though I am quite sorry for bumping into you.”

“Oh, no matter, my dear. But for such a beautiful creature, I must have a name.” He was earnest, and she almost, almost felt bad for what she was about to do.

“Maggie,” she replied softly, not feeling bad at all as she remembered the thousands of men that had died because of him.

He smiled, not letting go of her hand, and she smiled right back.

~*~

Bucky did not like hiding in the closet outside of the bathroom, but he did it because there was really no other choice than to sit there and wait for Peggy. They’d managed to sneak their way in through the basement early this morning through a drainage ditch, and Steve and Dugan were hiding on the floor below them in a root cellar.

The fact that Bucky was the only one small enough to fit in the dumbwaiter to get between floors was the only reason it was him and not Steve up here. He tried not to swear as yet another woman passed him that wasn’t Peggy.

“One click if you can hear me, Buck.” Steve’s voice came through his comm. It was tinny and buzzed incessantly, but the earpiece radios Stark had made them were far, far better than the bulky blocks they’d carried in the field up until now. Bucky clicked the talk button on the small box on his belt and waited for Steve to continue. “Dugan and I have managed to get our hands on some SS uniforms.”

Bucky clicked twice, acknowledging that he understood. Barnes wondered if they’d knocked people out and stolen their clothes, or if they’d simply found the wash.

He stopped, all thoughts gone out of his head when he saw Carter turn down the small hall, slowly moving towards the bathroom and seemingly absent mindedly turning door knobs.

He waited until she stepped into the small bathroom then slipped in behind her.

“Well, it’s about—” Peggy stopped, putting her hand over her mouth to stop from screaming. “You’re not Steve.”

Barnes shrugged. “He didn’t fit in the dumbwaiter.”

“I’m not going to even ask,” she sighed, sitting her hip against the sink and stepping out of her heels to rub her feet. “We have a small window of time. I’m going to get Zola into the office one hallway down. Do you know it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded.

“I’ll incapacitate him, then you three are up, alright? He should be out for several hours, at least, but please be careful. If you jostle him enough, he will wake up.”

“Wake up?” Barnes asked.

“Wake up,” she confirmed. She looked him over, the black fatigues out of place in the resplendent bathroom. “Do you think you can handle that?”

Barnes smirked at her, “You think we can’t?”

Peggy sighed and smiled. “If I didn’t miss you so much, I’d hit you.” She moved to walk past him then stopped, serious. “One more thing, and you mustn’t forget.”

~*~

Bucky unfurled himself from the dumbwaiter, misjudging the distance and falling to the floor in a heap. “God, I hate that.”

“What happened? How is she?” Steve peppered him with questions as he helped him stand, looking awful Aryan with his blonde hair and blue eyes and the red band brandished across his arm. Dugan, too, fit in just a little too well in the suit now that he’d bleached his hair.

Bucky took them in as he stood, trying to shake the earie feeling seeing them in the uniforms of the enemy. “She’s fine. We’ve got about fifteen minutes to get to the office down the hall from the bathroom. We should be able to take the back stairs.” Bucky had done the interior recon early in the morning, slipping through and learning the layout when the residents inside had all been sleeping. “You got one of those for me?”

Steve handed him a pile. “They should fit.”

Bucky stripped and put the new clothes on, stopping as he buttoned up the jacket. “She- shit.” Bucky looked at Steve, lips pursed tight as he shook his head. “She told me not to forget something.”

“And you forgot it?” Dugan asked, incredulous.

“I mean, it wasn’t that important.” He moved back to buttoning himself into the jacket. “Come on, she’s waiting on us.”

~*~

Peggy rounded the table, pretending to be infinitely interested in the little metal figures that told a story of Aryan supremacy. “I find it all very fascinating, Doctor Zola.”

He smirked, downing the rest of his Champaign. “As I thought you might, fraulein.”

She stepped up to him, close, and played with the edge of his collar. “It’s so hard to find a man of substance these days,” she whispered, letting her nail run down over the buttons on his shirt.

“Ah, my dear, we are all involved in bringing glory to our cause!” He proudly exclaimed, watching her hand and then looking up into her eyes. “I might say, it is… refreshing to have a woman find interest in the matters of the mind. Usually, they are interested in more… superficial things.”

Peggy turned them so he was looking away from the door. She’d left it cracked, and could see shadows. She couldn’t take the chance that it wasn’t Steve and the boys, so she made her move. “Ah, yes, well, I am not one of those women.”

She leaned down and kissed him, lips pressed tight to his, for long seconds. He was surprised at first, but began to participate wholeheartedly once the initial surprise passed, gripping her tight with small, sweaty hands that roamed. She counted in her head, and Peggy pulled back as soon as she’d made sure it had been long enough, smiling at his fluster. “You see, I’m a different kind of woman all together.”

He started to reply, but found he couldn’t. Slowly, Peggy lowered him to the floor as his eyes fluttered shut.

She looked up, feigning surprise as the door opened. She’d been ready to call out, concerned that the Doctor had passed out on her from too much to drink when she saw the uniforms, but smiled when she saw the face attached. “Right on time, men.”

“Damn, Peggy,” Dugan whispered. “You are good at getting things done!”

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, stepping over Zola and helping her to stand.

“I’m fine. A little disgusted at the revelry, but fine.” She looked around, watching as Barnes and Dugan lifted the doctor, slinging his arms around their necks. “You’ll be able to get him out?”

“We’ve got a truck waiting half a click south just outside a sewer.” Barnes whispered. “Won’t be pleasant, but we’ve got it.”

“You have to ask him about this Swiss base, Steve.” She held his hands tight and pleaded with him. “They have something there, something related to those energy weapons Howard’s been studying. I don’t know what it is, but it’s big. And it has to be stopped.”

“You do it,” Steve whispered fiercely. “Come with us.”

She shook her head. “We both disappear and that’s a target on us all. Besides, I’m headed to the Alps tomorrow, the base the day after.” She gave him a small, nervous smile. “I don’t know how, but Wallace has arranged an audience with Schmidt.”

“Then here,” Steve shoved a small square in her hand. “Beacon. Turn it on tomorrow. Howard says it should last three days. We’ll track you.”

“Come on, buddy, we gotta go,” Barnes whispered. “Party’s breaking up and they’re gonna find us.”

Without warning Steve grabbed her and kissed her. Peggy pushed him away to his confusion.

“Barnes!” She half yelled, half whispered, shooting daggers over Steve’s shoulder at the man.

“What—” Steve could barely get the word out before he fell to the ground, eyes blinking shut.

“That’s why you didn’t want him to kiss you?!” Barnes looked at her and almost dropped Zola. “You gotta say stuff like that, Carter! I thought you just didn’t want to be messin’ around while on a mission!”

She dropped to her knees and started gently hitting Steve’s cheek. “Yes, Barnes, I didn’t want to be ‘messin’ around’ on a mission, especially when I have knock out lipstick on, you dolt!” She took a deep breath. “Get Zola out, Steve’ll be around in a minute or so and I’ll send him after you.”

“Are you—” Dugan started to question her, but her stern look stopped him. He and Barnes hiked Zola higher and with a glance, moved him out into the empty hallway.

“How much you want to bet he’s done that before?” Dugan whispered as they moved.

“Oh, I’m sure that idiot has done that before.” Bucky paused, hiking the small man higher over his shoulder. “How do you think she knows how long it’ll take him to wake up?”

“Good point.”

[spaceskam]

our fainted thrill carries on (12/13)

ao3

warning: blood, violence, self-inflicted wound

Of all the ways Michael imagined his day going, he did not expect to be riding to a different city with Jesse Manes in the passenger seat and Maria DeLuca calling him four times in a row.

He had over an hour left, so he decided to pick up the phone despite the fact that he’d been planning to actually go see her in person. The whole mishap with finding out who Sanders was and the stupid piece (that was stuffed under the seat of his truck thanks to Rosa’s last-minute thinking) had put off going to talk to her.

“Hello?” 

“Finally,” Maria scoffed, voice laced with controlled panic, “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. Where are you at?”

“Um, a couple hours away. What’s up?” he said. She was quiet for a few seconds.

“Liz is freaking out,” Maria told him, speaking slow like she was making a point, “She-she’s not really making sense, but she said she needs you. Something about Max.”

“Fuck” Michael groaned, gripping the steering wheel tighter. On one hand, he really needed to go to Max. On the other hand… Alex needed him more. “Uh, look, give me, like, a day, okay? Tell her to get Isobel and I’ll be back. There’s something going on with Alex, so he needs me.”

“Wait, what’s going on with Alex? Is he okay?” she asked, concerning prevalent in her voice. God, they really needed to talk to her.

“I-I don’t know yet. Just, listen, tell Liz I said it’s okay and then get her to talk to you,” Michael decided, his eyes going to his passenger who was clearly listening in. He was slowly forgetting why exactly he’d taken Jesse Manes on this trip in the first place.

“What’s okay? Michael, what is going on?” she demanded. He clutched the steering wheel harder.

“I swear, we’ll talk when I get back, I promise. Just… Just do this for me, okay? Just go help Liz, she needs someone else. I’ll be there before you know it,” he said. Maria was silent for a few seconds before she quietly agreed and the call ended.

“For a creature who has managed to trick people for over two decades, you’re a terrible liar,” Jesse told him, voice far too controlled for Michael’s liking.

“Yeah, well, for a guy with four sons, you’re a terrible fucking father,” Michael sighed, dropping his phone. He pressed on the gas harder.

Why did everything have to happen in one goddamn day?

-

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kyle said.

Alex had recently grown a renewed appreciation for Kyle Valenti, but the last few days had made that appreciation grow immensely. And, the last few hours? He was more thankful than he could even articulate.

Kyle kept checking his head and his arm, just making sure over and over that they weren’t infected. Alex was slowly but surely feeling more like himself and getting stronger, but he was definitely keeping that to himself. He was more than certain that they had cameras on them. They just had to act helpless.

He gave Kyle his arm, letting him check over the stupid fucking brand that made Alex feel ill. He didn’t want that on him. It was made all the worse when Kyle’s hand froze, his thumb hardly an inch beneath the brand. His eyes slowly flickered up to meet Alex’s and then he pressed down. Alex swallowed as he realized there was a chip beneath his skin.

Then the door at the top of the cellar opened, a single file line of three people walking in. One of them was Casey, one of them was who Alex assumed was Grandpa Cameron, and one of whom was Jenna. She had that hardened look on her face, but Alex was no stranger to it. She was playing her part, keeping herself and them safe. He would thank her for it when he didn’t have to act like he hated her.

“What the fuck is the point of all this? We’re human,” Alex said, making sure to maintain an equal amount of venom and fatigue. They couldn’t know he was feeling better.

“I’m sure you know that humans and their aliens… it’s an inseparable bond. Volatile and violent. We just have to wait for yours to show up and we can kill you both,” Grandpa Cameron said. Alex shook his head tiredly.

“I have no alien bond,” Alex said, “But if I did, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to come.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Grandpa Cameron continued and Alex hated it because they both knew Michael was probably on his way, “You’re a special one, Alex Manes. It takes a special breed of evil to bond with an alien. I have a working theory that Manes are particularly susceptible to it.”

Alex couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows in confusion. Manes? Wasn’t it a Cameron that fell in love with an alien before? Wasn’t a Cameron the one who snuck away with Nora and gave her information about the raid?

“How cute. You really thought you knew something,” Casey laughed. His face was busted to hell still and, honestly, that made Alex feel better. 

“Oh, you must’ve heard it was a Cameron who bonded, haven’t you?” Grandpa Cameron accused, stepping closer, “Well, you’re wrong. He created the M.V.C. to be what it is today. He studied the bond by tricking an alien into thinking that’s what it was. He was never that stupid.”

Alex didn’t show it on his face, but it clicked that clearly that Cameron was that stupid. He just got his feelings hurt when it in fact wasn’t a bond and his love was one-sided and started a fucking cult in response. 

His eyes looked over them. Casey was beaten, Grandpa Cameron was about to burst with decades of anger, and Cam… Cam had that same brand on her arm. Alex looked over to Kyle. Did they not know who Kyle was? Why hadn’t he been branded?

“What, you worried your boyfriend might know you have a pet alien now?” Casey taunted. Alex’s eyes widened momentarily and then he controlled them, taking this as an advantage.

Alex couldn’t help but smile. “Oh. How cute. You really thought you knew something.”

A flash of anger crossed Casey’s face and he shared a look with Grandpa Cameron. Cam shot him a look and Alex just kept smiling.

“Why don’t you tell me something I want to know and I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Alex said, making a show of moving to lay his back against the wall. He put effort into seeming weaker than he felt. “Tell me what set of aliens you’ve been experimenting on to come to these conclusions and I’ll tell you who my friend here is.”

Alex watched Casey and Grandpa Cameron get visibly a little confused. Kyle was confused too which was fair. But, truly, he wanted to see how far he could convince them that Kyle was his alien. Maybe then they’d be taken aback when Michael showed up, guns blazing and telekinesis in full swing. He had been practicing, after all.

Casey and Grandpa shared a look before they stepped towards Kyle who instantly pushed himself closer to Alex either out of fear or sheer instinct. Alex tilted his head and shook it slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“Nuh-uh, you lay a hand on him and I tell you nothing,” Alex said, “And I know much more than you think I do.”

Again, they shared a look. Eventually, they decided they needed to talk before coming back to Alex and the three went back up the stairs. Even when they were gone, Alex didn’t show that he was scared or nervous or anything.

God, please let Michael show up before they realized he didn’t know shit.

-

“If you go in there, they’ll know what you are.”

Michael anxiously tapped the steering wheel as he sat the end of the achingly long driveway. Alex was just inside. He just had to go inside.

“And they’ll know who you are. Will they let you in, or will they shoot you on sight?” Michael wondered. He’d spent most of the drive in silence and, whenever Jesse tried to say some bullshit, he would turn up the volume. He just needed him for bait and information, really. Jesse had told him how dangerous the Camerons were before and that Alex really was in danger.

“Can’t be entirely sure,” Jesse sighed.

“But they know what I am?” Michael clarified, “Like, they know what I look like? You run off the same database?”

“Not necessarily. The Camerons aren’t as technical, they were always very much the brawn of M.V.C.”

“Why do you even have the fucking tattoo on you? If M.V.C. disbanded before you were even let in on the secret, then why do you have it?” Michael wondered. Jesse looked over at him.

“It’s principal, son,” he stated simply, “We bare the weight of our predecessors.”

Michael stared at the house and mulled over those words. Was that why Alex thought that way? Had he rejected so much of Jesse’s ideologies, yet kept that one? God, this was such bullshit. Maybe when this was all over, Alex would let him back into his bed. Even if it was just for one night. They needed it.

Michael took a deep breath and looked over to Jesse. He hated making plans and he hated making plans with Jesse, but Alex never went in blind. Alex always had a plan. Anger never got you anywhere. Anger would get them killed; plans would keep them alive.

“Alright, Dad,” Michael said, flashing a tight smile, “We’re gonna go up there and ask for my brother back in exchange for somethin’ fancy.”

“Excuse me?” Jesse said, raising a controlled eyebrow. It looked too similar, too much like Alex. Michael had to look away.

“You heard me.”

He shut the car off and reached under the seat, pulling out one of Alex’s backpacks that held the piece. He knew he brought it for a reason. Jesse didn’t question what it was, staying silent as he watched Michael put the bag securely on his back.

“Let’s go, Pops.”

With a little bit of a telekinetic shove, the two men began heading straight for the front door. The closer he got, the more he was willing to acknowledge that his plan was indeed half-assed at best. But, still, a half-assed plan was better than no plan. Maybe. Kinda. He was trying, that was the point. 

They knocked on the door and, surprisingly, Jesse played along. Michael was slightly discombobulated at the idea of Jesse actually coming along to help Alex. This was the least volatile he’d ever been. Maybe that coma was good for him. Still, Michael kept one eye on him. All it took was a moment of trust to fuck up everything. He knew that from experience.

The door opened and Jenna Cameron stood on the other side. Michael did his best to hide his confusion and took her tiny eyebrow lift as acknowledgment.

“It’s Manes!” she called. Heavy footsteps came and an old man stepped up. He was tall and lean and walked like he was the king of hell and knew it. For a moment, Michael considered asking for tips on how to do that. 

“Quicker than I thought,” he said. Jesse raised his chin to meet the eyes of the taller and older man, still managing to look down on him.

“Abel,” Jesse greeted. In that moment, Michael understood why Jesse was complying. Michael and Jesse Manes somehow share different hate for the same man. The enemy of my enemy, after all.

“Jesse,” the old man said, looking over to Michael, “And who’s this?”

“My youngest son,” Jesse said easily and, oh, Michael was close to crawling out of his skin. 

“Oh, really?” Abel said, skeptical, “Because last I saw I had your youngest in my basement.” Michael was back to hating the man in front of him.

“Tripp’s long lost son, had ‘em right before he died. Took him in,” Jesse said, taking a step closer and into the house like he was entitled to it. Michael followed his lead. “Now, why don’t we talk about my other son.”

“Don’t come here blaming us, that wasn’t planned. He was trying to play spy,” Abel scoffed, “When my Casey found out, your boy beat the shit out of him. Then we find out he’s still got that alien bond so bad he brought the damn thing with him.”

Now that was confusing. Well, the last sentence. The first bit seemed exactly like Alex. 

“Still can’t figure out why you let him go around like that. Truly shows what kinda bullshit you Manes are capable of,” Abel said, shaking his head, “Too much damn passion in all of you, that’s what my Daddy said.”

“He has an alien with him?” Michael asked, unable to stop himself. He got more attention than he would’ve liked. “I-I mean, I thought we effectively got him away from all of those creatures.” The words sounded wrong in his mouth and that didn’t go unnoticed. Abel eyed him slowly.

“Tripp’s boy, you said? Makes sense,” he said, shaking his head, “He’s got an alien with him. Which definitely makes it more worth my while to keep him. Your boy thinks we got live experiments outside of him.”

“My son isn’t your experiment,” Jesse said, still cold as ice, “It’s in your best interest to hand him over along with whatever alien you think he has.”

Michael could feel Cam’s eyes on him. He carefully let his eyes drift to hers. She covered her mouth to cough and used the motion to nod towards a door. Michael slowly began to feel out the lock to it with his mind. When she coughed again, he didn’t miss the way she held up three fingers. Three guards. 

“That would definitely not be in my best interest and you know it. I got exactly what I’ve been trying to get when your selfish old man kept all the live specimen to yourself,” Abel said.

“Chances are what you have are my boy and a Valenti boy, not an alien,” Jesse corrected, “If you did any kind of testing, you would know that.”

Abel eyed him suspiciously and didn’t seem to notice when the lock clicked. 

“A Valenti boy?” Abel said, seeming confused, “I thought they were all dead.”

“Jim wasn’t the brightest man, but he knew better than to make his son easily accessible.”

So that was a choice Jesse made. At least he could admit that.

Neither men noticed when Cam slipped into the door. Michael had full faith she could handle the guards well enough. Either that or she could at least talk to Kyle and Alex, prepare them to get the fuck out of there. 

“No alien. So why don’t you let my son and the Valenti boy go,” Jesse said. Abel seemed to consider it for only a few seconds before he shook his head.

“Your son is still bonded with one of them. The specimen will come for him eventually,” Abel said definitively. Jesse didn’t bother to spare him a passing glance, another point of self-control that Alex had and Michael most definitely did not.

“This bond you keep talking about, it’s not even real. Your entire ideology is built off something baseless,” Jesse argued. Hypocrite. “No one but me is coming.”

“I’ll just have to keep him and see.”

“Wait,” Michael said, catching both their attention, “I have an alien artifact. Authentic. I give you that, you give us them.”

Abel stared at Michael for far too many seconds. He just fucking wanted Alex.

“Let me see.”

“I don’t trust you,” Jesse said, “Show us Alex first.”

Again, more fucking staring. Eventually, though, he caved and they were being led towards that door Cam had disappeared behind. Michael clutched onto the backpack even tighter, giving that piece a tiny goodbye. As much as he wanted it and as much as he’d ruined shit with Alex over it, it seemed like a far too easy trade to save Alex in exchange.

It took an unprecedented of willpower not to run up to Alex and collapse onto him when he saw him. He looked tired, smeared makeup on his face. But he was standing and that was good. He was leaning on Kyle and showing no visible emotion as he saw Michael, but his eyes betrayed how thankful he was to see him. He needed a fucking hug.

But, unlike Abel, Michael didn’t miss the fact that there were no guards and no Cam. He swept his eyes over Alex, spotting bloody knuckles and a red spot on his forehead like he’d headbutted someone. There were a few racks of wine‒how many unconscious men laid behind them after underestimating Alex? Michael held back a big smile.

“Right, now give me the artifact,” Abel demanded.

“Give it to you while we’re in your basement? Idiotic, we’re going back upstairs and taking the boys,” Jesse ordered, gesturing back towards the steps. Michael was uncomfortably thankful for Jesse. It was easy to forget that he was actually cunning. Just not as cunning as Alex was.

They slowly made it up the stairs in a line, everything too easy and too military. Michael was just fucking waiting for something to be weird or wrong. He kept stealing glances at Alex, watching as he all but clung to Kyle. He itched for him.

Once they all got on the ground floor again (Cam appearing at the top of the steps after everyone else, her hair a little disheveled), Michael shifted the bag and unzipped it. He ignored the slightly horrified look from Alex as he pulled out the piece. Abel’s eyes widened with greed, stepping towards it.

And then things got a little weird.

Before Abel could get his hands on it, Alex and Jesse both seemed to have the galaxy-brained idea to knock him out. Jesse swung with an open fist and Alex with a closed on either side of his head, quickly rendering him unconscious and probably fucking with his entire equilibrium. He fell to the floor and Michael stared, dumbfounded.

“What the fuck are you waiting for, Guerin? Move,” Alex pushed, shoving his back gently so they could head towards the door. But Michael looked up at Jesse.

“Do you really think I’m giving this family anything? He should feel lucky he even knows the secret,” Jesse said, eyeing him with that familiar judgment, “You seemed far too comfortable with that.”

“We can talk later, let’s get the fuck out of here,” Cam said.

They all started running to the truck and maybe Michael should’ve thought it through. It wasn’t really big enough for all of them. Still, there wasn’t much thinking. Cam went for the driver’s seat and Kyle went for the passenger door. Michael jumped into the bed and reached out to pull Alex up too.

“Stop!” Alex said, causing all of them to freeze as he held out his arm. Michael felt sick at the sight of that three-headed trident. “I can’t leave. He put a fucking chip in me, he’s going to track me and we’re all fucked.”

“Then you cut it out,” Jesse instructed, not missing a beat. Alex didn’t even seem phased. Jesse pulled a pocket knife out of nowhere‒maybe Michael should’ve checked for weapons‒and took a step towards Alex. He grabbed Alex’s arm.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Alex spat, ripping out of his grip and taking a step back. 

“Then show me you’re a man and do it yourself,” Jesse said, voice stern as he held out the knife to Alex.

Michael hated the interaction and, despite all the help Jesse had done, he was quickly reminded why he hated him so much. His existence alone ate at the person Alex was. He was poison and Alex, no matter how strong, couldn’t seem to stop himself from giving it attention. 

Alex took the knife and, without hesitation or screaming or anything, cut into his forearm. Kyle hissed and went to move closer, but Cam grabbed the back of his shirt and basically yanked him into the passenger seat of the truck. Michael watched with bated breath as Alex dug into his own arm and pulled out the chip. Alex looked at his dad before looking up at Michael. With a quick nod of his head, he sent the chip flying somewhere to get lost on the property.

“Are we done being dramatic?! Let’s fucking go!” Cam yelled.

Jesse didn’t even so much as spare a bit of praise as he took his knife back and sandwiched Kyle inside the cab of the truck. Michael carefully lifted Alex into the bed and Cam was speeding away before they could even get settled. They laid down, close just like old times. Except this time Alex was bleeding all over.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Alex hissed, his body jostling with each bump they hit, “Bringing my father and then offering to trade that piece for me? Have you lost your mind? I was expecting you to come alone.”

“I would’ve fucked up things if I came alone,” he said, moving to put his arm beneath Alex’s head so he wouldn’t hurt himself more, “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah, I just fucking cut my arm open!”

“Hey,” Michael said, whispering despite the wind making it difficult to hear, “You trust me?”

Alex furrowed his eyebrows, trying to gauge what was on Michael’s mind. But, honestly, despite all the commotion, he was more at peace than he had been in a long time. Alex was alive and there was literally nothing else he could do but stare at him for the next three hours. Might as well be at peace.

And might as well keep him safe.

“Trust you?” Alex echoed. Michael slowly moved Alex’s hand off the open wound, closing his palm over it. 

“Yeah. You trust me?”

He wasn’t quite sure he could do it, but he could definitely try. He’d been feeling a whole bunch of emotions all day… might as well direct them somewhere. All he had to do was focus, right? Besides, they still had a lot of day left. Something was going on with Max. This was just the beginning and Michael had enough drive to push himself to do something with that underused power he’d kept pent up all day.

Alex took a deep breath and slowly nodded.

“I trust you.”

[writingawaymylife]

Dance Around - Jump Forward Part 1

I’m back! And this time with an entirely new obsession. 

Death Stranding has become one of my favorite games at the moment, and I’m really loving (most) of the characters. Higgs is probably my favorite, just because he is so, personally, fascinating. He is also voiced by Troy Baker, who, if you don’t know, if an exceptionally talented voice actor who played Joel in The Last of Us.

I got this entire story from an ask that @dirty-higgs-confessions had gotten a week or so back, it was meant to be more a humorous idea, but I’ve always loved my angst.

Also! Please help me out with this! If there’s something that seems off (especially with Higgs’ character), go ahead and tell me! I really want to write him properly, and while I’m going to be writing a lot for him because of that, any help is always appreciated :)

Please Enjoy - Dance Around - Jump Forward Part 1

Warnings - Swearing, Higgs

Words - 3461 (10 google doc pages)

          The Death Stranding left most people with a type of pain indescribable. Everything that kept people going in life - everything that people held dear - was ripped away in the blink of an eye. Snap. Boom. Explosion after explosion decimated the world to nothing but a foreign wasteland. Warping it into some alien planet and forcing the people inhabiting it to adapt without a moments notice. Then, before anyone could even begin to unwrap the baggage they were given, humanity began to tear at the seams. People became distant, cold - hiding away from the world that had turned its back on them as well. 

The people that were born after the Stranding? They didn’t have it any better either. Parents who were unable to deal with their own mental health, weren’t able to give their children what they needed to flourish. The people who tried to keep everything together and tied with a neat bow crumbled as well, until only a few scrambled to keep the pieces in the same box.

Vulnerability had become a weakness. Caring for people risked more weight to be added to one’s shoulders. Emotions were buried somewhere deep and desolate, covered in chains and locks. Sealed shut in a place no one would be able to reach. 

In the end, feeling nothing was easier than the dawning realization that followed when coming to the sudden, and harsh, realization that everything was eventually going to crumble to dust. 

It was bleak, depressing, but to most of all, it was the only way to survive. 

Emotions were unreliable. They didn’t help people to survive. If anything - they were the reason for countless, and avoidable, deaths. Sentiment and heroism only served to cloud their judgment, and left them vulnerable to more pain than what they had already experienced  - more than ever they needed or deserved.

(Y/N) was taught this as soon as they could understand words, the ideologies were pounded into their mind until it became a mantra they repeated over and over again, often when even the mere thought of becoming something more than a passerby - a stranger to all - crossed their minds. 

Though it was lonely it was also safe. They had learned the repercussions of having connections long ago.

That’s why when Higgs came into their life, they had tried to damnedest to not let the craving for the attention, for that bloody connection, get in the way of the logical choice. He was nothing more than another passerby, bound to leave one way or another. 

The occurrence of their connection was unplanned - just a mere result. (Y/N) had just very thoroughly taught a camp of Homo Demens that they weren’t one to be fucked with. No one was dead, but to say (Y/N) went easy on them would be a laughable. Higgs had appeared, ready to make an example of them, when, for some peculiar reason he couldn’t quite point out if asked, he had changed his mind. 

They were entertaining, didn’t blink an eye when he tried to scare them, only gave him a blank stare before continuing to walk passed him. Whatever threats he threw their way, (Y/N) would just clench their jaw and continue on with whatever they were doing.  They hadn’t even blinked an eye when he summoned some BTs, only a tilt of the head before looking him dead in the eye and challenging him. 

“Do it.” They had said it casually, as if they weren’t asking him to feed them to BTs. As if they weren’t asking him to do the one thing everybody fears the most. 

From then on he made it his mission to bother them, drive them up the wall whenever he decided he was bored and needed some sustenance. (Y/N) had almost throttled him for the number of times he had said just the right nerve to get them furious. Higgs seemed to enjoy the red hot rage he initiated whenever he spoke. 

They danced around each other, thinly veiled threats and insults thrown both ways at every possibly turn. 

Neither knew when those insults slowly became warm and endearing, - hell, (Y/N) didn’t know how Stalker, a nickname they gave him after he found them for the fifteenth time that month, stopped being thrown in hopes of him leave them alone. 

Soon those dances - those shared moments and conversations turned into something more. Something that became convoluted yet oh so simple as the months rolled by.

If (Y/N) had to pin the true emergence of these feelings, or whatever they thought they were, to one time, it would be when he appeared in their shelter. Zapping in without a moments notice, leaning against the kitchen island with his hands gripping the countertop. He looked weary. Shoulders didn’t hold nearly as much of the strength and arrogant cockiness that they always held. The bags under his eyes seemed darker, heavier. The smile on his face, one that made (Y/N) to feel far too many emotions for them to process, was fleeting and distant. He looked like a ghost of his true self.  

His teases didn’t hold nearly as much mirth to them, either He looked… conflicted. Like something dark and heavy was weighing on his mind, encircling it in a cloud he just couldn’t shake off. Hell, even when he called them “darlin’”, it seemed to come out with less of an expectation for some threat or insult to be thrown back, and more… (Y/N) stopped that train of thought before it could go any further.

“The fuck are you doing here, Stalker?” Their words came out harsh, but more out of playing the act than actually trying to be hostile. Higgs gave a soft, flat chuckle and a shake of his head. He gave a quick grin, though forced, and throw a jab their way, again, forcefully. 

“Oh, nothing really,” He started, hands falling from the counter and sliding into his pockets. “Just came to see how my favourite ball of joy was doing, Darlin’.” He gave a quick wink, but it only took a few seconds before (Y/N) could see the smile was growing heavy on him. They would have thrown something back had it not been for the way his eyes left theirs to navigate the house. It was if he knew that they could sense something was wrong, and couldn’t bare to see the realization kick into their eyes.

There was silence for a few minutes. Not tense, but definitely not comfortable either. (Y/N) realized he wasn’t going to explain why he was actually here, not anytime soon. It was a mystery, just like the rest of him. An enigma that (Y/N) had a hard time not finding fascinating. They always wondered what thoughts went trailing through his head. What he was thinking in those moments when the two talked. 

What he was thinking when he decided to cause tragedy after tragedy.

There was a tinge of frustration in their chest when they realized that he was just going to stay quiet. At this point, however, they knew they shouldn’t have been surprised. Higgs had a near phobia of vulnerability, a fear that they couldn’t blame him for having. Not when they felt the exact same way. He was definitely not going to be telling them anything even relatively emotional anytime soon, not without prying his walls open with selfish claws. Though (Y/N) wanted to ask, it was obvious that interrogating wasn’t going to do anything other than push him away.

On top of it all, for some reason, a part of them would much rather have been welcomed a look inside his mind on his own time. Given a key to roam the wings of his mind instead of forcing themselves in. He was a strong man, no doubt. But they could tell that he could breakdown so easily if someone was given the right route to the safe where he kept his emotions.

(Y/N) gave him a soft smile as they walked past him into the kitchen. They made sure to give his shoulder to lightest of nudges with theirs. “How about a drink?”

Things changed after that. Though, not entirely for the worse. 

Including the numerous times he would blip into their life on the road, there were the nights when he would appear in (Y/N)’s bunker. Often in an array of different moods, sometimes he would be like the first time he came, and other times seemed to be because he actually just… missed them - though both knew he would never say that. 

It turned into a schedule eventually. Every second weekend, if not every single one, for a night of just talking. Discussing anything that came to mind and sharing stupid stories and theories. (Y/N) would be lying if they said that those nights weren’t their favourite. It made their weeks just a little more tolerable. 

Now, (Y/N) was never one for believing in permanent bonds with people. People came and went - that was that. They had learned enough about that from their times out in this nearly dystopian world. But with each time they talked to Higgs, the strand between them seemed to grow stronger. Intertwining and making it more difficult for them to be apart the longer they were together.

Though neither of the two admitted it, though neither believed the other truly felt the same, the connection they had created seemed unbreakable. 

Then…

Then everything came crashing down. 

Quick and harsh. A whirlwind of events that had everything (Y/N) had built with Higgs slowly fall apart. 

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t “deal” with me anymore!?” (Y/N)’s voice rang out through the shelter. Arms opened in exasperation, eyes wide with confusion and thinly veiled fear.

“Exactly what it means, Darlin’.” His mask was on. Voice muffled from the thick plastic and chiralium mask. They couldn’t remember the last time he wore that around them, or bring up anytime when he wore it inside (Y/N)’s bunker.  “I’ve got more important problems.”  His shoulders moved up in a jagged shrug. It felt so casual, as if he hadn’t just broken their heart in seconds like it was nothing.

As if everything the two had built was nothing.

As if (Y/N) was nothing. 

Finally, the emotions were coming to the surface. Among the toxic brew of shock, anger, resentment, and fear, there was this sickening - overwhelmingly painful emergence of fucking love. Strong and potent and they were amazed this was the first time they had genuinely, truly noticed it.

“So-so what? You’re just going to act like we don’t have anything between us? Like this was nothing more than a way to pass the fucking time!?” (Y/N)’s voice was getting louder, and it took everything in them to not let that crack at the end become something worse. They were not going to meltdown now. 

There was a thick silence in the air, and (Y/N) could have sworn his shoulders tensed just slightly before he straightened to his full height and took a step forward, menacingly, as if hoping to intimidate the only person who had never once been scared of him. 

“Oh?” His head tilted and the chuckle he let out was most definitely condescending. (Y/N) could almost feel the kind of grin he had on his face. The one he used just before he said something stupid.  “And just what did you think this was?” He was mocking them now. A deep, resounding chuckle filled the new found emptiness as he shook his head. “You didn’t truly think that I, Higgs, the particle of God that permeates all of existence would feel sentiment towards you? A half-decent porter with attachment issues?”

There was no way to stop the shuddering breath that escaped after that.

“... Fuck…” (Y/N) hissed under their breath, cursing the tears that were slipping from their traitors of eyes. They looked down, unable to look at that mask anymore, and pinched the bridge of their nose. They hoped this wasn’t true. That Higgs was panicking and running away or-or trying to protect them in some pathetic and dreadful way. 

It was all too much to handle, and the pain growing in their chest turned into what they imagined placing hot coal on top of their heart would feel like. Boiling the blood in their veins as they looked up with what must have been the sourest look they had given him. 

There was no way they were going to let him treat them like this, no way they were going to believe these disgusting lies when the past two months had been something utterly different from any other time in their relationship.  They took a step forward, looking up at him with a jutted chin and clenched jaw, challenging him.

“So. What now? Are you going to kill me?” (Y/N) took another shaky step forward. “Let my body rot and necrotize? Cause a voidout because that’s what fucking terrorists do?”

Higgs froze at that. Shoulders tightening up yet again, like iron coils twisting just before they were about to snap. 

The question hung in the air.

“If I’m of no use to you anymore, it would only make sense, wouldn’t it?”

(Y/N) was about to let a small laugh out, a sigh of relief, after he didn’t reply. They opened their mouth, about to explain to him just what he did and how stupid it was for him to push away the only person who cared so much for him, but he jumped before they could. Black specks chiralium hanging in the air. A second later the sound of him jumping back into existence appeared. He was behind them now, threateningly close as an arm wrapped around their waist and pressed them against him. His breath ghosted their neck as he let out a breathy chuckle. His composure was back and in full force, and for once - just this once, (Y/N) felt a cold shiver run up their spine.

“You would like to think that, wouldn’t you, Darlin’? His arm tightened as if showing that it would be so easy to end them right then and there. “But… here’s the thing, Sugar. Those DOOMs that you’ve been trying to keep quiet this entire time? They’ll come in handy one day. And when they do, I’ll be right there to use them up.”

Then…

Then he disappeared. 

(Y/N) stood in that spot for what felt like hours. Flatlined, numb. 

It took weeks before they were able to get out of the shelter. 

“Thank you. So much.” The Engineers’ hologram gave a kind smile and a wave. Checking over the body achingly heavy supplies (Y/N) had just lugged all the way from the Distribution Center South of Lake Knot City. They were just appreciative of the truck they had gotten. It would have never been capable of doing so with out it, admittedly. They were no Sam Porter - though, at this point, that man was most definitely not human. 

“No problem, man. Just doing my job.” (Y/N) tried to sound nice, giving a tight smile before he fizzled out of existence and (Y/N)’s rating came up. In all honesty, however, their mind was elsewhere. Thinking of someone who for the past month continued to find his way into their train of thoughts.

Higgs

(Y/N) missed him so much. It felt like another part of their heart had been torn off. It should have been just another name to add to the list of people they lost, should have just given them another reason why you never get attached. What shouldn’t have been happening was the bone marrow deep aching like a part of them had been torn away from them. It brought back painful memories, ones they had sealed in a part of their mind, buried in the deepest grave possible. 

It was an ache that almost made them concerned enough to go to a doctor. Deep and hallow, and there was no fucking way to ignore it. Booze, cigarettes, weed - whatever they could get their hands on, the feelings wouldn’t go away. It was so stupid to fall down that hole when (Y/N) and Higgs hadn’t even been a thing - hell, they hadn’t even discussed if they were friends or not. 

The self pity and debilitating heartbreak lasted three or so weeks before (Y/N) forced themselves into a shower. Shucking on clean clothing and the white porter suit and getting back to doing orders again. 

It felt nice. Being clear-headed (to some degree) and having fresh air to help them think more level headedly (just barely). But even thinking his name caused a lump in their throat. 

They should have been relieved to have him gone. He was a fucking terrorist. He killed people just to make a stupid statement.  He didn’t even blink while doing so either, just did it. Along with that? If someone found out (Y/N) had known him, and willingly hung out with him, and had not said anything to authorities, (Y/N) would have been in a world of trouble. 

Even with all this, they couldn’t help but still miss him and his stupid smile. It almost disgusted them, to care about someone like that, though emotions honestly had a mind of their own, it was still something (Y/N) should have controlled, just like they had with everyone else. 

They kicked a rock on their way back to the truck. Head shaking and staring up at the clear blue sky with a harsh and resentful glare. 

“Common, (Y/N). Out of anyone you’ve gotten attached to, the terrorist - a bloody monster - shouldn’t be one of them. He’s hurt people, he’s probably continuing to hurt people as you give yourself this pathetic pep talk!” They didn’t even realize they had finished the sentence with a yell as they jumped into their black truck. They looked up at the rearview window, into their own eyes with the same cold glare. “You really are a fool, you know that? How about next time you go fuck a MULE?” A groan left their lips as tears started prickling at their eyes, and eventually, they had to look away, proceeding to lightly bump their forehead against the steering wheel as light sobs racked their bodies. 

They really did love him… There was no other way to look at this. (Y/N) loved him with their entire being, and there was no way to get rid of these emotions. 

That night, as (Y/N) fell asleep in their disheveled bed without even trying to get their clothes off, they had their first dream in months. 

It started black. Pitch black with no sound, no anything. But (Y/N) knew they were conscious to some degree. Floating in a void that brought back memories they didn’t want to think about. 

The sounds appeared first. Soft waves crashing against the sand followed by the crying of seagulls and the distant rumbling of a storm. Next was a smell. Ozone with a hint of rotting corpses and the churning saltiness of a polluted sea. 

After the gag reflex disappears, sight brought all the puzzle pieces together. 

(Y/N) was on the Beach. Or, at least a Beach. 

Beached Whales littered the Beach ahead of them, and when squinting and peaking through them, (Y/N) could see the ocean licking at the sand. 

Awe. 

That’s what they felt. Incomprehensible awe at the sight before them. It was all so real. Vivid and hauntingly beautiful. (Y/N) didn’t know whether to be scared or excited over the prospect of actually seeing this. 

The anxiety seemed to rear its head quite quickly afterwards. The tiny voice in the back of their head tried to explain that this might very well be theirs. That they had died for some reason. And with that came the panic of realizing that they would then be necrotizing - that they would cause a voidout. 

A hand landing softly on their shoulder, eliciting indignant squawk that (Y/N) would have been more than embarrassed at, had they not just been scared out of their skin and clean pants.

“What the fuck?” The shout stopped when they turned around. Ending with a gasp as they took a quick step back and looked over the person in front of them. 

What the fuck indeed. 

There was a silence in the air for a second, before the woman gave a soft, comforting smile. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid. I just came to talk.”

[saber-wing]

Limit

Also available on AO3

If Steve Rogers had a shit list, Victor von Doom would be among the top contenders.

The man was utterly merciless. He’d do anything to get what he wanted. He didn’t care how many innocent people stood in his way. And, his ideology was far too close to Red Skull’s iteration of world domination for comfort. He was the poster definition of a super villain. Overzealous. Cruel.

It was also his fault Manhattan was in such a sorry state, and that Steve had been out in the hot sun for days, working to clean up the wreckage alongside S.H.I.E.L.D. and other local and federal authorities. So much destruction in such a short time. It was unconscionable.

Steve yanked out another steel beam sticking up in the middle of the street and tossed it onto a truck with a pile of scrap metal. Breathing heavily, he wiped his face with the back of a dust-stained glove, eyes stinging from the sweat dripping into them.

They’d been at it for a while, and slowly, they were making progress. Most of Doom’s army of eviscerated robots had been cleared from the streets, and many survivors trapped under the rubble had been freed. There was still a lot of work to be done, but they were moving in the right direction.

Steve hunched over, resting a hand on his knee. He squeezed his eyes shut, allowing himself a moment’s reprieve. Shoulders heaving, sweat carving a path through the grime, he contemplated the last time he’d stopped to rest. When had that been, exactly?

He couldn’t recall.

Certainly, he’d seen several shifts come and go. Steve kept working through it, with minimal scattered stops to eat at random intervals, and he tried to stay hydrated. Out in temperatures like these, not doing so could be fatal. But Steve was far stronger than the average human. He’d had worse in the army. He could handle backbreaking work, and keep it up for a far longer period.

The sooner the city got back to normal, the better. Its citizens couldn’t be expected to heal, living in limbo like this.

Tony was getting frustrated. He’d been pushing Steve to ‘stop being such a try hard and let S.H.I.E.L.D. pull their weight for a change.’ And he might have a point. Steve hadn’t slept in a while.

Abruptly, and with a bit of alarm, Steve realized he hadn’t the slightest idea how long ‘a while’ was.

Setting his jaw, Steve resolved to finish clearing this block. Then, he would rest. He squinted up at the sun, hand shielding his eyes. If he stopped by noon, he could be back out by sundown, and still allow for a fair amount of sleep. Food. Maybe a shower. He looked down at himself, wrinkling his nose.

Definitely a shower.

Steve straightened and took a few steps forward, working his way toward a pile of twisted metal that looked slightly more lethal than its surrounding compatriots. Someone could really hurt themselves on that. Sweat poured off him in buckets, and he blinked it out of his eyes, shaking his head, as if to shoo a fly away.

Big mistake. Steve’s head swam in a way it hadn’t in years, and his vision blurred before he blinked it away, dazed, light-headed, more than a little stunned. He stumbled over a jagged piece of rock; limbs heavy, movements sluggish.

Oh. Oh, wow, he was dizzy.

Steve shambled to an unwilling stop, dropping to one knee.

“Cap?” Someone knelt beside him. Touched his shoulder. The voice was familiar, but it seemed far away to Steve. As if they were speaking through a tub full of water. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I…” Steve felt disconnected. Even his own voice seemed to belong to somebody else. “I’m fine. I just…just need a…”

Someone shouted with alarm.

Steve wanted to tell them it was all right. He’d get his feet back under him. No problem. He just needed a moment. A moment. That was all. Then he’d…he’d…

He felt himself pitch forward and fell into the black.

Steve came to with his head pillowed on someone’s lap – a metal hand, cupping his cheek. He lifted an arm to shield his eyes, groaning softly.

“Easy, babe. Back up! Give him some space, for fuck’s sake.”

“Tony?” Steve blinked his eyes open, grasping blindly for the blurry face, hovering above his.

Tony caught Steve’s hand. “Here. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

Steve shook his head, wincing at the stabbing pain that sprang behind his eyes. He tried to sit up and was promptly assaulted by a wave of vertigo so intense, he had to stop, bringing a hand up to his forehead to steady himself.

“Whoa, easy there, big guy.” Tony was right there with him, one strong arm wrapping behind his back, supporting him. Holding him up. “Give it a minute.”

“What the…” Steve croaked, accepting a bottle of water Clint thrust into his hand from the sidelines. He twisted off the cap and guzzled it down like a man starved, and truthfully, he probably was. “What happened?”

“You passed out.” Tony’s hand tightened on the back of his uniform. “God damn it, Steve. I told you to cool it!”

Steve blinked.

He’d what?

Clint took one look at the stunned disbelief in his expression and took pity on him. He shrugged, and his voice was teasing, but soft. Almost hushed around the edges. “No, yeah. You did. Wilted like a daisy. Dropped like a stone, into my waiting, capable arms.”

“Wow,” Steve muttered, blowing an exhausted breath between his lips. “I…”

But…that was…he hadn’t fainted in years. Certainly not since the serum.

Someone – an unfamiliar woman in a S.H.I.E.L.D uniform -- crouched in front of Steve, toting what looked like a medical kit, and looking nearly as harried as Steve felt. “Captain Rogers? I’m just gonna take a quick look at you. Is that okay?”

Steve nodded his consent, squeezing his eyes shut when the motion made his head swim.

The woman examined Steve as best she could out on the field. He tried to comply, though his brain still felt sluggish. He answered a few basic questions for her. Yes, he knew what year it was. Yes, he knew the president, and how to say his full name.

Steve still felt shaky. His hands were clammy. And he was light-headed enough that he didn’t trust himself to stand without stumbling. He leaned against Tony, but he was careful not to bear his full weight on him. Steve wasn’t a complete invalid. He didn’t want to scare him. Though judging from his lover’s expression, that ship had sailed the moment Steve dropped to the ground, like a sack of potatoes.

The young woman pursed her lips as she finished the exam, frowning at him in a way that made him feel chastised. “Heat exhaustion. I’d like to take you back to the helicarrier, get some I.V. fluids pumped into you. Mr. Stark, you’re his medical proxy?”

“Yup.” Tony, typically the first one to shirk medical advice, nodded. “You have all necessary documentation on file.” There was something clipped about the words. A tension behind them that spoke of a maelstrom, churning just below the surface.

The woman nodded. “If the doctor clears him after the I.V. I can send him home with you, but he needs rest.”

“Oh, he’ll get it. Don’t worry your little head about that.” Tony flashed her a showman’s smile – pristine. Just the faintest flash of teeth.

Steve crossed his arms. He hated being talked over like this, particularly over a medical issue. He’d had quite enough of that as an asthmatic in the forties. “That’s hardly necessary. A few hours of rest will do me just fine. I need to be out here.”

Steve was sitting more steadily on his own now. Enough that Tony, evidently, felt it was safe to stand, whirling to face him in a flurry of waving limbs. “You’ve been out here for three days.”

Steve bristled. Had it really been that long?

Tony wasn’t finished. He continued before Steve even had a chance to open his mouth, frustration dripping from every pore. “How many of the National Guard’s tanks have you pulled out of ditches by yourself, in that time? Hmm?”

Steve blinked, not entirely sure where Tony was going with this. “I…don’t know, I wasn’t counting. A couple dozen. What does that have to do with anything?”

“What does that have to–” Tony cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. He scoffed, gesturing at the medic with an exasperated wave of his hands. “You see what I have to deal with? What the hell is the matter with you? No, for fuck’s sake, sit down.” Tony pushed on his shoulders when he moved to stand up; hard enough that Steve – woefully off-balance – could only comply. He fell heavily onto his backside, blinking dazedly up at his boyfriend. Who looked…positively livid, if his reddening cheeks were any indication. “I’m calling it. You are way over your limit.”

“Pot, kettle,” Steve replied, which was perhaps, not the best thing he could have said. He winced the moment the words were out of his mouth, but that didn’t stop Tony from latching onto them anyway. Boy, did he ever latch on.

Tony stormed over to Steve, voice trembling with fury.

“That is not the same thing. I might spend too many nights in the workshop, but you don’t get to compare my stupid insomnia to lifting literal tanks out of ditches and tossing around pieces of skyscraper for days without a break. That is not how this works. You can get the fuck up off that right now Steve Rogers, or I swear to God…”

Steve had moved on from confused, to mildly alarmed. He reached out a hand. Tried to catch Tony’s wrist.

“Honey—”

Tony cut him off, jerking away. “Don’t honey me. I don’t wanna hear it.” His words were tight, cracked around the edges. “Every lecture you’ve given me about taking care of myself doesn’t mean a damned thing if you can’t practice what you preach, you self-righteous son-of-a-bitch! You haven’t slept at all, have you? You’ve literally been working. This entire time!”

Tony was really upset. His hands were moving a mile a minute, but Steve could see them shaking, and his brown eyes were wild, glimmering with anger. Anger, and something dangerously close to fear.

“Okay. Okay. Let’s just…take a breath,” Steve pleaded softly, but once Tony really got started, it took an act of God to stop him. He steam-rolled over Steve as if he hadn’t heard, pacing.

“You’ve got balls of steel, turning this back on me, you know that? I slept last night. And now I know for a fact you didn’t. Is there anything else I should know about, Steve, or am I the only significant other whose earth-shattering advice you’re ignoring right now?”

Steve held out a hand. “Tony – “

“You can come to me and say, ‘Oh, sweetheart, you’re working too hard, let’s take a break!’ But I do the same thing, and I’m overreacting?”

Steve paused, shutting his mouth with an audible click.

He hadn’t thought of it that way.

Okay. Steve was willing to admit he may have overdone it just a tad. It had been a long day – long three days, apparently -- and the city wasn’t going to salvage itself. But Steve wasn’t ever in any real danger. The serum saw to that. He could take more abuse than anyone else out there. It didn’t make sense to give any less than that when his continued efforts might help pull them out of the hole that much sooner.

But there was such a thing as taking it too far, and Steve had clearly pushed that limit. It was never his intention to drive himself into the ground. He couldn’t help anybody then. Maybe he had been a bit overconfident.

Meanwhile, during Steve’s internal crisis, Tony had continued his tirade, face red, eyes…oh God, there were tears in his eyes.

Okay. That was enough. Steve needed to fix this.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was? I saw you go down. I had a front row seat, Steven Grant Rogers, do you know what that did to me? Do –”

Steve took a breath. He tested his legs beneath him – they’d hold him. He was sure.

Pretty sure, anyway.

He pushed off his knees. His legs did hold him.

For a moment, anyway.

Tony noticed the movement immediately. His eyes widened in alarm, and when the world went sideways, Steve realized he was listing sideways.

He should probably sit back down now, but Tony got there first. He grabbed Steve by both arms, and Steve leaned forward, resting his forehead on Tony’s armored shoulder.

“Would you stop doing that?” Tony’s voice was strangled, pitched somewhere between annoyance, and frazzled amusement.

“What? Standing?” Steve’s voice was muffled, face pressed into the metal. Though it was cool on his heated forehead, it wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he didn’t complain.

Steve was precisely where he wanted to be.

“Yes. You’re awful at it. Sitting. Now, that’s where you excel. Let’s sit down forever, shall we?”

Steve chuckled, wrapping both arms around Tony’s waist. “Good thing I have a Shellhead to detail my shortcomings.”

“Not that you’ve listened to any of them for the past three days,” Tony muttered, voice small, bitter. Steve could feel some of the tension leave Tony’s posture, even through the armor. He held him closer. Took more of Steve’s weight, and Steve sagged against him, feeling weaker than he had in years, and more humbled than he cared to say.

He’d say it anyway. He owed Tony that.

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmured, pulling back far enough to gaze into the prettiest brown eyes he’d ever seen. “It’s not right for me to expect something of you that I can’t do myself. I’ll be more careful.” It was a bitter pill to swallow. Steve had always thought of himself as a very self-aware person. Knowing his strengths, and his limits. Maybe he needed to reassess that opinion.

“Please.” Tony held his gaze, face twisted with anguish. The word was like a knife to the gut, raw with pleading. Knowing Steve had been the one to put it there turned his stomach. “I know I’m bad at it, too. But I’m trying here, Steve.”

“I know.” And it was true. Tony really had been taking better care of himself lately. Steve knew how hard he was trying. It hadn’t been fair of him to throw that up in his face, even in joking. “I know you are. I’ll be more careful. I promise.”

Tony exhaled heavily. Slowly, hesitantly, he nodded. It wasn’t perfect. But it was a start.

Steve was practically weaving on his feet. He leaned his head into Tony’s chest plate. Wrapped both arms around his neck. “I don’t suppose you know anybody who could fly me up to the nearest helicarrier? I’m told I’m an idiot who stayed out in the sun for too long and didn’t sleep for three days.”

Tony chuckled obligingly – thin, forced, but it was still the reaction Steve was hoping for. “This is why I wanted to make you boot jets. Fair warning, I’m much more expensive than Uber, and I expect to be paid with love and affection.”

“You don’t have to do anything for that,” Steve murmured, thick tongued, too addled for anything but raw honesty.

Tony paused, at a loss for words. Steve was typically free with his affections, but Tony didn’t always know how to accept them when Steve meant them so much. And his smile trembled around the edges, eyes shining suspiciously.

“Suck up,” Tony choked, trying for humor, and falling just short. “That’s not fair. You can’t say shit like that when I’m mad at you.” A tear escaped.

Steve reached up to brush it away, cupping Tony’s cheek. He muttered something he wasn’t sure counted as an answer, but words were failing him now. God, he loved Tony. And though he couldn’t seem to manage saying it right now, Steve hoped he could always feel it.

Tony leaned into his touch for a long moment. Kissed his palm. “All right. That’s enough mush. I’m gonna puke.” His eyes told Steve he knew. And the soft, gentle quality of his words belied their meaning. “Come on, Princess Peach. Your castle awaits.”

Steve allowed himself to drift in Tony’s capable arms, blinks getting longer. Eyelids heavy. “I... understood...that reference,” he murmured. Not quite slurring, but with lazy, rounded words.

Tony pressed a kiss onto his forehead. “Our feathered friend will be happy ‘Super Mario World’ weekend didn’t go to waste.”

[chocochar]

Choice [Dabi x UA!Reader]

(AN: Okay so I'm finally getting to a Quotev request lol this one I’m iffy on posting, but figured why not. Also unfortunately you won't be able to choose your quirk in this, since the reader uses their quirk a little later, sorry!)

[(F/n)'s POV]

        I remember being a little kid and wanting so bad to be a hero. When my quirk came in everyone said I was on my way; my quirk is called 'puppeteer', where whatever I touch a nearly invisible string connects from my finger or fingers to said item and I can use it as I please. When it's a living being the strings temporarily paralyze them giving me the chance to use them like puppets. I always used it for good deeds like if a neighbor needed help or something, and as I got older I had been accepted into UA in the hero course.

        Everything seemed to be going well, and in my second year I had even been accepted into the work studies program! By my third year everyone was saying I was ready to be a pro, I came to believe it and accept it. But something just never felt right.

        I couldn't place it, but as I got to know the heroes better along with my own classmates I started to notice things that were... Out of place, maybe? The smiles they always showed started to feel more and more fake, and it steadily became more and more obvious most were doing 'hero work' for the fame and money, caring less who they helped so long as there was a paycheck involved. Not all, of course, but enough I started to second guess my want to be one.

        I tried to push these thoughts out of my head. I thought I was just being silly and that I'd forget about it. But that didn't happen, and when the Stain situation happened I was left stunned watching the news every night. Following the posts about him every day. 

        He was a villain, he was killing heroes! But yet I couldn't help this feeling inside the more I learned about his goal.

        When the League started popping up everywhere and got tied to Stain I almost wondered if they were like me; did they also notice how flawed the hero system had gotten? Did they join because of his message? Whenever I thought about this I started to get weird thoughts considering joining... I don't think I ever would, but it was still a fleeting thought. I wasn't a Stain follower or 'fan' per say, but I definitely understood his ideologies, even if I didn't necessarily agree with the outcomes. 

        Today is one of those days where I'm on patrol for the agency I'm doing work studies at and I keep thinking about those thoughts. I'd been sent on my own again to patrol this part of the district and I sigh, rubbing my neck. After I'd been attacked by a villain the other day you'd think I'd get someone else to come with me, especially since this is a more dangerous part of this district and the villain seemed to have a drug on him that boosted him a lot. I'd heard rumors that drug was sold around here, and by the things I've read on the news I believe them a lot more than I did before.

        But the hero I'm working under insisted I go alone. 

        "Let's just hope another guy like that doesn't show up..." I mumble, looking around. I wave with a smile when people acknowledge me or comment on my costume, asking a few if everything is alright around here.

        For once things seem quiet... But I get this feeling it's only a matter of time until something happens.

        Just as I'm ready to go back finishing up my rounds I hear an explosion and I jolt, turning my head towards where it came from before rushing into action. It's not too far, and I run as fast as I can; once I reach the location where screaming is heard I freeze seeing a big guy rampaging. He's at least twice the size of me and his eyes look crazed, his muscles expand as he punches into the ground to send a small quake at a local business. I recognize him as a normally small time villain, and remembering the one the other day my eyes widen.

        'This guy too?!' I think, looking around. I don't see any heroes coming, only police! Saving a few people from one of his quakes by touching a car and whipping it at him I lead them away to safety before running to the police and asking one,"Excuse me, have you heard anything about a pro coming?"

        "Wait, aren't you-" He stops looking at me before shaking his head. "Damn, no kid, sorry, there's apparently a bigger emergency nearby so we're all that's comin'!"

        "But this is an emergency too! No one at all is going to show up?"

        "I don't know, right now we just gotta do what we can," the cop shouts before we're thrown back the villain when he slams his fists our way and causes another quake under us. I luckily catch my footing but it's clear this is a one sided battle; without a hero this will be a big challenge, at least until that drug wears off.

        "Damn pros... Every emergency is still an emergency, guess I'll take care of this on my own," I say out loud before I rush forward.

        It's definitely a hard fight, worse than the villain days ago, but using quick thinking I manage to keep him distracted and busy long enough for the drug to start wearing off. The damage to buildings stays minimal at least, and I get survivors out while keeping him busy. But just as I make a mistake and he's ready to slam me down into the ground he's suddenly hit with shocks that stop him and he trembles, his eyes shutting and the big guy falling over. He seems to be knocked out, and I look to see a pro stepping up to him and smiling at me, hands on her hips.

        "You okay, kid? Looks like I made it in the nick of time.~" She winks before looking around when people start to come back, cheering. While I was being thanked by the people I managed to keep safe she was getting the main attention, which isn't really what bothers me. It's how it feels like that's the only reason she came so late... Maybe I'm wrong, and I thank her softly too, the pro patting my head before turning and going over to the police. I glance at the villain and rub my neck, people crowding the pro allowing me to slip away to go back to the agency.

        Just as I pass an alley I freeze when a deep, rough voice say in an almost sympathetic way,"How sad, the pros really left you out to dry, huh?" His tone is almost mocking, and I step back to see who said it. 

        I don't see anyone, and I furrow my brows my (eye color) eyes scanning the shadows. Seeing no one I turn back and start to walk again, but his words echo in my mind.

        'Left me out to dry...?' 

[X][X][X]

        A few days later the news spreads about what happened; the pro was regarded as a hero, of course, and even though I was briefly mentioned that was the last think on my mind. That unknown voice's words wouldn't leave my thoughts, I wanted to not believe them, to think someone was just trying to get a rise out of me. That changes when I find out the other emergency the heroes took on was just a robbery. 

        Maybe they were testing me to see if I could handle my own? But that guy was incredibly powerful, I would've died if that pro hadn't shown up! 

        That last thought alone leaves a sour taste in my mouth; she really couldn't have waited to jump in until I needed help right?

        "How sad, the pros really left you out to dry, huh?"

        For the next few days I struggle actually paying attention in school and I feel less eager to go to my work studies. I'm reminded of how I've felt about heroes for the last year, and now...

        I'm out on another patrol, but the last thing I expected was to run into a League member. Dabi. He steps out of an alley and immediately people start to panic when his hand is covered in flames. I get into a fighting stance, ready to dash towards the nearest car, but when his blue blaze disappears and he stuffs his hands back into his pockets I'm confused. It's only us now, at least until cops or pros are alerted, and unlike before I feel terrified. He's a step up from those others I've taken on, if I mess up at all he'll kill me, but something tells me he's not here for that.

        "Just like before, you're left to deal with the problem, huh hero?" He speaks up and I look surprised. That voice...!

        "You... What do you want? Don't the League have better things to do than fighting heroes in training? Or is that your MO now?" I ask, glaring at him. His eyes leave me feeling small, the cerulean gaze leaving me quivering even though I try to hide it, and the fact I can't read his expression is frustrating.

        "Don't worry, I'm not looking to fight you," He replies, scratching the back of his head. Again, I'm confused but I loosen up a bit letting him continue,"I just came to chat, I have a proposition for you."

        Cocking my brow I ask,"... What kind? I don't know how comfortable I am taking an offer from a big time bad guy like you."

        He grins lazily and shrugs, continuing,"Well first, you're one of those who shares Stain's ideology right?"

        The way his grin lifts he can see the shock on my face when he asks that; do others know about how I've been feeling about the hero society and Stain's reasons?? Was I careless, did I say something I shouldn't have at some point? I haven't had any heroes watching me as far as I know, no one has treated me differently, so how does he...?

        "How... How do you know that...?"

        "Sources, I could tell you were pretty pissed off the other day about that pro. You didn't look upset that no one realized you acted like the real hero there, just that she showed up 'just in time', I wonder..." He starts stepping closer and I freeze up, my confidence gone and looking up at him as he looms over me. "Did she know she'd get that free publicity if she saved a little UA student who was trying to play hero?"

        I swallow, shaking my head. I don't back away, somehow standing my ground while I say,"N-No, she wouldn't, she's-"

        "-a hero?" He cuts me off, my mouth shutting immediately. What does he want, is he just here to torment me? "That situation was worse than what they dealt with, yet they figured you'd be able to handle it. They didn't care, until that last second."

        I lower my head and close my eyes, silent. What can I say to that?

        "You feel it too, don't you? How heroes have become a stain that refuses to go away no matter how hard you scrub? They don't care about heroics anymore, they're not out to save people," he says, lowering his head to whisper this to me. I shake, upset but not finding the argument to fight him about this. Because I have felt this, not to that extent but I understand. "Stain saw these false heroes and took matters into his own hands. Because no one else would-"

        "What do you want?" I bite, lifting my head but surprised by how close our faces are. My anger overrules this, as I continue,"Are you just here to remind me of things I already knew? Already understood? What is it you want, Dabi?"

        He stares at me for a few moments, his face aloof and his eyes hard to read.

        "... Join the League of Villains."

        My ears ring after hearing this as my face goes blank, my mouth agape, my eyes wide. I almost wonder if I heard him correctly.

        "Wh-What...?"

        "The League is full of others like you, we could use someone like you too, someone else who sees those cracks in society that everyone else refuses to acknowledge. Despite everything you'd still rather play the hero game and know how crooked it is, instead of trying to change it and knocking those false heroes off their pedestals?"

        I have no response, and I can't seem to find one as I stare at him. The League understands how I feel, how I've felt but kept inside for fear of backlash..?

        The sound of sirens is heard and Dabi looks back before starting to walk to the alley he'd stepped out of, making his exit before he's caught. He stops outside it though and holds his hand out to me, my legs still not moving and my gaze never leaving him.

        "What do you say, doll? Be a fake like the rest, or try to change the world for the better?"

        As the sirens get closer I look away, my thoughts jumbled. But turning back to him my body seems to move on it's own as I run up to him and take his hand, the two of us dipping into the shadows as I accept my new path, even if a voice in my head is telling me not to.

(AN: So this was kind of an x reader, like it was but it was also not romantic and he didn't come in til the end and I felt it was all kind of confusing or too much detail... I hope you guys still enjoyed, nonetheless, more requests are coming and I'll be updating The Lady x The Tramp soon too)

[noir-chien]

Sirius Orion Black 

It was clear from the start for him that his family and he stood in different paths, but that wasn’t enough to erase the love he felt for them. He always knew that he was different from them, something that wouldn’t let him uncover his true self. He was conscious of the fact that the only way he would become eventually himself was to run from them. He was aware of his parents’ love for him, but the burden that they put on him was too much to bear. He didn’t have what it took to become the heir that his parents had envisioned for him, so he eventually ran, trying to leave behind everything, but his love for his family.There were character traits that someone raised as a Black inherited, that Sirius always believed would benefit him, but when he tried to cut all ties with his name, those were the same traits that kept him close to it. He came to realise by building a facade made him more of a Black that helped him to distance himself.  He knows how to separate the love of his family from the ideologies he considered problematic that they carried with them. The realisation that he doesn’t want to be like his family and that he doesn’t have to. When Voldemort rose, he was sure.

 What Sirius will try in the future is to take all that anger and negative emotions that he buries deep inside him, to start unveiling them and working through them. He needs to face them and only then will he be ready to detach them and find his true self. Through the years after he left his house he made a new family, one he had chosen and loved them deeply. Also his loyalties will be tested when he will be put between The Order and Mundus Novus. He will be angry at his father for putting him in that place, for putting him again in the position of the heir. He hated the pure-blood bigots but he knew that if he didn’t swore loyalty to them both of his families would be at stake. How is he going to maintain both his loyalties without putting neither his biological nor his chosen family at risk. Being torn between the order and mundus novus will either tear him apart or it will give him the motivation to finally discover himself.

Character Study

ONE. Sirius Black always felt a bit different from the rest of his family, even at the young age of 10. He didn’t know how to define it, he was a kid after all. Deep down he knew that his parents had also noticed something was off from the way they looked at him. From the one hand they seemed proud that he was an energetic kid, that he wouldn't take no for an answer or when he stood up for himself and his brother when another kid talked down on them. His parents were full of hope that he would continue to stand up for his family and in extension, for the beliefs that his family name came with. On the other hand he could see the disappointment in their eyes every time he appeared to be indifferent in his father’s lectures about blood-purity and the nobility the Black family name held. Or when he didn’t bother to communicate with his equals in the balls that they attended as the Black family. The biggest disappointment had yet to come. It was his first day at Hogwarts, when his parents had to accept the fact that Sirius wouldn’t remain loyal to the Black legacy, when he was sorted into Gryffindor. He was the first Black to not continue the long tradition of being a Slytherin alumni. Orion’s and Walburga’s little boy, the family heir, was to surround himself with blood-traitors and muggle-borns. They knew that his corruption was on its wake. They were furious when they heard the news from his cousin Bellatrix, he didn’t even have the courtesy to tell them himself; or that’s how his parents perceived it. Sirius’ reason was much more devastating. He was afraid, it was clear now that he wasn’t like his family and the disappointment would grow deeper. He was afraid for what was about to come when he would be back at Grimmauld Place on Christmas.He knew how ruthless they could be. 

The dread grew bigger in his heart when he found three friends in the faces of a blood-traitor, a half-blood and a no-name pure-blood, who wasn’t his equal. Despite the fact that he knew that his father wouldn’t approve of his friends, he couldn’t distance himself, he had found a family amongst them, a family that made him realise just how different he was from his family. They made him feel comfortable; he didn’t have to follow a set of rules when he spoke to them. It was the first time he truly felt a young boy, but it saddened him that he didn’t share these feelings when he was with his parents. 

TWO. As Sirius grew up, the feeling that he didn’t belong grew bigger and bigger. He loved them, he truly did, but he couldn’t be the man they asked of him. He wanted to be his own person. He was now 16 and he knew that in order to discover his true self, he needed to distance himself from them. His relationship with his mother had almost completely deteriorated. His father seemed to have hopes that his son would eventually become the man that he wanted him to be. After all, he had the means to do it, but it was too early to act on it. Sirius had another revelation as he hit puberty. He began to notice he looked at boys differently than his friends that pined after their female classmates. He had also found himself to have more intimate feelings for his friend Remus. He blushed every time he undressed in front of him and he had weird specific bodily reactions. Eventually, he became sure of his sexual orientation when he embraced Moony after a nightmare that violently woke him up in the middle of the night. He felt his spine tingling and his face heating up. He could hear his heart pounding so hard that he was afraid Remus could hear it.

The summer before his return to Hogwarts for the commence of his sixth year passed contemplating his departure from his parents’ home. He didn’t belong there, he felt captive. He felt conflicted. He was torn between the man he was and the man they wanted him to be. He had to go, he had to free himself from them. Without doubt knew that the Potters would be a safe haven for him, they would accept him in their household. James was like a brother to him. He had accepted him disregarding the legacy that came with his family name. He didn’t want to leave Regulus behind but he didn’t have much of a choice. In the middle of the night, 3 dates before September the first, he gathered the things that he needed, wrote a letter addressed to his father and fled. 

THREE: Now Sirius was 20 years old. He had managed to avoid his family for 4 years. It was hard at first. He had to reestablish himself. After his departure he came to realise that the Black name defined him more that he was aware of. A little while before he graduated from Hogwarts an attack took place in the school leaving bodies and injured behind it. One of the injured was Remus, his best friend and secret crush. A war was on its wake, the wizarding world divided in two sides, or so he thought. The followers of Voldemort and the ones that wanted to defy him. His friends and he had joined the Order shortly after their graduation, he had found a job as a bartender in a wizarding pub and had inherited his uncle’s fortune. He has recently started training to be an auror, so his life was finally on track. He had managed to make a name of his own, finally not burdened by the legacy of the Blacks. He was pleasantly surprised when he learnt that his father hadn’t joined the Death Eaters. Sometimes he sent Sirius letters, that Sirius always chose not to respond to them, but felt the need to read them. What he didn’t know was that Orion had already pledged his loyalty to another fraction, secret to the world. He learnt about it in the worst way possible. He had sent one of his followers to escort him to his father, who informed him about the fraction of Mundus Novus. Many things had clicked into place. The suspicions of a third party on the play, attacks that were out of character for both the order and the death eaters now were a knowledge. Orion had also informed him that his son was chosen by him to be a member and there was no way out. Sirius felt the world being swept under his feet. He had finally found his place in the world and his father came and shook everything that he struggled to build in the last 4 years.

[elmidol]

Harmony Precarious :: Death is an Art

Three Blind Tooke Part Two Precarious Harmony

Read on AO3

Warnings: some death

Three Blind Tooke

 Part Two: Precarious Harmony

 Chapter Forty-Two: Harmony Precarious :: Death is an Art

 No matter what anyone else said, you viewed life, and death, through a scope. That was not to say it was your ideal method of connecting with others. War demanded that people adapted, however, and so you had. How many possible outcomes were there if Rey were to return to the Resistance? There were three ways you could tick off the top of your head that resulted in her demise. Two possibilities that you hoped for. Many more that passed through your head even as you whispered to her once you were absolutely certain that no one else would hear your words. It was through a scope you had witnessed Kylo Ren on the battlefield, and it had been through a scope, while on a mission, that you had seen it—he had her becoming just like the monster he had been. You did not explain it to her quite so bluntly. Instead, you kept the focus on her ensuring Finn and the others were safe. You stressed that Master Skywalker would be able to provide training that Kylo Ren would not. The jaded Jedi Master would aid Rey on her journey in learning of both herself and the Force.

 Rey barely listened to you. Her eyes glazed over, her mouth pinching tight, and she stared sightlessly at the far wall of the room. She was struggling with the darkness. You saw it; it was the same power that tempted you. The power that granted strength, which you required in order to save those you loved. That was the ironic thing. Sometimes, to save what we love, we destroy ourselves. To bluntly tell her that she wouldn’t be able to save you would have put an end to the conversation.

 You knew who you were more than she knew who she was. Strange. Ironic. You had been destroyed in a variety of ways, however you had had the privilege of being raised by two strong parents that had assisted you in your very first journey of self-discovery. She hadn’t. Rey had waited in limbo for all those years. Waited for her family to return when they would not. She had survived. It was not the same as living. You? You had lived. Now you were focused on surviving, on aiding others in surviving. But you had had your chance. Rey hadn’t.

 That was who you were, a part of who you were. You were someone who wanted those you cared for to succeed, and you cared deeply for this young woman who had for so long now been your hope. You wanted to pay Rey back for the burden you had placed on her. To put someone on a pedestal was a sure means of pushing them over the edge, of watching them crack. People were not objects. They were flawed. All of her insecurities, cracks for her mind. To fail you was to increase the crack that symbolized her self-doubt.

 You also learned that you were a liar. With the best of intentions, you touched her leg and whispered, “This is the only way you can protect my mother. Hux will find her here.” It was a lie because your mother going to the Resistance would increase her risk of being discovered by Grand Marshal Hux. You waited there with bated breath, wondering if the young woman would realize this as well.

 “Master Skywalker will be able to protect her. I can try to ask him—”

 “And if Kylo somehow hears you through the bond?” you asked, a tad bit harsh though also growing gentle near the end. You sucked your lips into your mouth, bit down on them, and shook your head. “You would lead the entire First Order to them. And if my mother’s there when they arrive, she will die.”

 The close proximity of the fallen Supreme Leader Snoke’s ashes to your heart may have darkened your soul. It was far too easy to say a lie when you believed it was for a righteous cause. A part of you knew the wrongness of it. It made your stomach ache. You felt nauseated for an entirely new reason that had nothing to do with the medication that had been helping your body mend.

 There were reasons that she hesitated that had nothing to do with the dark power offered to her if she remained active in Kylo Ren’s plans. Those two members of the Knights of Ren that had continued to grow close to her. To propose to them that they defect offered an opportunity that the plan would amount to nothing. For her to not offer had the reverse possibility; if they would have gone with her and she failed to ask, she was damning them to forever remain her enemy.

 “Rey,” you said quietly, pulling one last trick from your bag. “After I kill Phasma… Grand Marshal Hux will know. He will look for any way to retaliate at that point if I do not join him by betrayed Kylo. Please help my mother.”

 Cruel. Manipulative. You swallowed thickly, and hoped that she did not see how your body was reacting. Rey rose from the end of the bed, informed you that she would think things over, and walked out of the room. You did not mind that there was a delay in the answer. You hoped that it meant she would figure out a way to safely remove your mother from Naboo, that perhaps she would know how to address the Knights and have them join her.

 Staring at her retreating form, you wondered how the former scavenger would fare if Grand Marshal Hux had given her the ultimatum. Kill Kylo Ren or lose everyone she loved. Because, just like it had been with you, there was no winning. You would both lose in the end. The people you loved were either in the Resistance or simply rejected the First Order and its ideology. The former general knew this. He would attack where it hurt. Always. As each person changed, they developed a new weakness. Grand Marshal Hux would find and exploit that weakness. Rey had shown that she was compassionate by remaining behind with you.

 You did not for one second doubt that Hux would not use that to his advantage. He was the destroyer of worlds. He, along with Kylo, had forced your ally to break in an interrogation by hurting you in front of them. Rey had the Force while the Grand Marshal did not. That would not stop him. According to the stories from other Resistance members and your parents alike, the Jedi had not been hunted only by Force users—not only Darth Vader. The Force got one only so far. The mass arsenal at his disposal and the merciless nature that would allow him to kill innocents, that was how Armitage Hux would break Rey’s spirit. Unless she returned to Master Luke before the redhead could verbally deliver that ultimatum. That lie that was worse than yours. That he would spare someone if she worked for him. She would be torn in two by that decision.

 How am I different by using my mother to make her leave?

 You wrapped your arms around yourself, and looked at the clock. It would not be long until dawn, at which point the ship for you would arrive. Aside from having the young Supreme Leader act as bait, there were other factors in your plan that would lure Captain Phasma to where you wanted her. Armitage Hux, whether intentional or not, had dropped far too many hints for you to not have realized that he was responsible for the death of Brendol; more than that, that Phasma had played a part. She would not allow this information to sway the minds of those loyal to her. Thus you had had Kylo Ren plant the seed by mentioning the elder Hux in passing, and he would have followed that up with the death of Han Solo. Patricide, both of which solidified one’s place in the war. Armitage as Grand Marshal. Phasma as Captain. Kylo Ren as Supreme Leader. The chrome-armored female would collaborate with the redhead. To what extent, you were not certain. The only thing you knew was that she would see to matters with Kylo personally. She could not trust another to attempt his murder. Could not chance him walking away alive.

 There was no more time for you to attempt to convince Rey to leave and rejoin the Resistance. You had offered the suggestion. The rest was up to her.

 A smaller scope provided you with view of your husband. A slightly larger was necessary to track Captain Phasma’s movements. She had surprised you by arriving with what could amount to a tiny army—army may not have been the correct term given its size, however it would do. These ‘troopers had to know what Phasma’s end goal was. In certain respects, you had expected as much; that there existed officers and stormtroopers alike not content to serve under Kylo’s rule. Snoke had not exactly passed the torch willingly. If the female was spinning a tale that Kylo Ren had betrayed the First Order by killing Snoke—which, yes, he technically may have, to an extent—there were those loyal enough to her that they would risk their lives now to try to right that wrong.

 This very much complicated your mission. It was a reason you had only rarely gone on solo missions when with the Resistance. You were assigned a target, and your comrades had worked to remove other obstacles. Somehow you would need to eliminate Phasma as well as these troopers before they could do whatever it was they planned to with Ren. Kill him obviously, your mind shot back. The unknown method was the issue. Numbers alone would not ensure a victory.

 Maker, for all you knew, they could be sporting thermal detonators. Given that Phasma would have no death wish, you doubted it. She would sacrifice all of those stormtroopers in the blink of an eye, however she valued her own life. Maybe that was the plan instead. Use the stormtroopers as fodder—if they had smaller explosives on their person, the chrome-armored woman would be able to shoot them, detonating an explosion, and rid herself of Kylo and witnesses alike. Or else she would kill the stormtroopers later. It occured to you suddenly that she may not have revealed every ounce of information she was holding to those in white. There was no need to do that.

 It made you absolutely sick to your stomach. The First Order treated people like fodder. The casualties of war had always refused to sit well with you. That was one of the reasons you preferred the scope. The limited view.

 You estimated the length of time it would take them to reach the designated area where Kylo was waiting. Captain Phasma would have to make something of a production for the stormtroopers to work with her, even if she planned on killing them. You could not risk a transmission to the Supreme Leader being intercepted, and so you had to wing it while hoping that he could sense the presence of the stormtroopers. This was more akin to when you had been hunting Kylo Ren than when you had been given officers as marks. You could not chance a shot not hitting its target.

 Once more switching to the other scope, you observed the man you had married making adjustments to a device in his hand. If memory served, this was a recording device that he would use to prove Phasma’s duplicitous nature. Depending on what was caught, the footage would have to be edited. These stormtroopers might make it difficult. Unless Ren could sway them.

 If Hux had come with Captain Phasma, would I be hesitating at all? Or would I hope for a thermal detonator? Shoot it myself? All three members of the triumvirate gone in one attack.

 If Kylo Ren had complicated you, Rey had added a new layer of complexity. She had ingrained in you a sense of hope that people could be changed. Even with all of your feelings for Kylo Ren, for the Ben Solo he had been and could have been, you had been prepared to kill him. The moment Rey had entered into the equation, it stopped being so simple.

 You wished that you could return on a temporary basis to the Resistance to ask General Organa for advice. Perhaps Luke Skywalker as well. They had faced the Emperor and Darth Vader in the Empire, and now faced the entire First Order. Imperialists had turned. Some in the Resistance had told you the story of Han Solo, how at one point, prior to becoming a smuggler, he had been on the track to becoming an officer. People changed every day. Some atoned for their sins, or at least tried to.

 Kylo Ren would never be able to undo the deeds he had done. He could not take back off the murders, the ordered executions, any of it. Rey’s influence on you had you imagining a Kylo who did good instead. Someone who helped others with what life he had left.

 Behind the scope in your hands, you were crying.

 You thought of the families of the officers that you had killed. Colonel Riggards. Widowed with two children. Orphans now, tooke. Those children would grow to despise the Resistance with a bias that you could understand. You had robbed them of their father. The deeds they went on to commit, if they chose to join the First Order and kill members of the Resistance, you were their reason. It did not make you fully regret your mission; you knew the reason Colonel Riggards had been made a target. His needs had helped to create you. That was the endless, vicious cycle. An eye for an eye until the whole galaxy was blind.

 And there Rey was, a young woman with the ability to have mercy and compassion for her enemy.

 But in the end, we all just become monsters.

 You shoved aside the scope to eliminate the view of the man who was the catalyst for your transformation. Lifted the other to once more assess the speed of Phasma and her stormtroopers. That was the moment you noticed an inconsistency. The contact that you had had with Captain Phasma was limited. Yet the figure you observed in the armor there moved differently than the woman you had seen in the throne room of the Supremacy. You ran a calculation through your head to include the distance and how tall you knew Phasma to be. This person was not her.

 Panic seized you. A cold sweat broke out across your entire body, and you could hear the chattering of your teeth. This was far too similar to that fateful day that you had become Kylo Ren’s prisoner. The hunted becoming the hunter. How had you not seen it sooner? You had been far too wrapped up in your own thoughts.

 You whipped the scope, your view, back in the direction of the shuttle that they had arrived in. Nothing. Back and forth across the plane in futile attempts to locate the missing woman. Not that you had any idea as to her appearance. If you spotted a random female, you could not say with certainty that it was her. Would you hesitate to pull the trigger?

 Relinquishing hold of your scope, you patted the ground beside you in search of the comm device. That was the moment you felt searing pain. All air knocked out of your lungs, your body convulsing. You rolled onto your back.

 There. How had you not heard her? She was in her element; a miscalculation on your part. She could have slaughtered you if that had been her intention. Which meant that you were in for far worse. Another flashback to Kylo Ren taking you alive. Death would be an escape. You began to slip your tongue forward between your teeth.

 Her lips curved upwards. The short, blonde hair slicked back with gel in a similar manner to how the Grand Marshal wore his. There was the possibility that it was his hair product that she used. Both so merciless. She wore First Order regulation slacks coupled with a tank top. So calm. The weapon with which she had pierced you remained in her hand. A thin, needle-like spear. The wound was not deep enough to kill you; she had avoided anything major. You were a pawn to her.

 “You do your homework well,” she said, complimenting you in a way that also mocked everything you had worked for. It was apparent to both of you that you had not done your homework well enough. The hand not on the spear dropped down to a sack secured to her hip. She patted it. “So do we all.” It was large, and something within it moved. “Myrkr.” The smirk widened into a feral grin as realization dawned upon you.

 He had always called you a weapon, a tool. Armitage Hux sprinkling what information was convenient for his plans. You had misstepped in the past. Always doomed to repeat your failures, you had stored away knowledge of the ysalamir and refused to mention it to Kylo. How many did they have? So do we all. Every one of those stormtroopers and the fake-Phasma were equipped with the creature. Multiple, when grouped together, could expand their Force-neutral bubble sometimes by kilometers. Ren did not stand a chance.

 “Do they think they’re hunting Rey?” you shot through clenched teeth. Your hand felt along your back, at the wetness gathering in the material of your shirt. If you made an attempt to grab your weapon, Phasma would have you pinned by the shoulder. What you wanted to say was that she was not going to get away with this, but she very well could. The Resistance would not be intimidated—it was so ingrained in you to say that. You held your tongue, and waited for her to answer.

 Her smirk faded away. Now the passive exterior revealed just how commonplace betrayal and death both were to her. She lowered herself onto one knee in unison with setting the tip of her spear against your shoulder in the exact spot you had believed she might. It bit through the material of your shirt and nicked the first layer of skin. Phasma’s free hand grabbed hold of your weapon. All the while, she did not break eye contact with you.

 “You can save those stormtroopers. Kill him yourself. Think of the lives you will save.”

 A challenge. It did not matter one way or the other to her. She simply wanted to see if you were able to set aside your humanity to kill your husband—all to save your enemies. They should have both been considered your enemy.

 “It was your mission, wasn’t it?” A taunt, yet also genuine. Her eyes swept up and down your countenance. “Everything he did to you.”

 So many things. Countless wrongs. Every fracture into who you had been morphing you into this person. All of that bringing you to this exact moment.

 That she wanted you to pull the trigger, you understood this. The Knights of Ren would retaliate if they could say with certainty that she had been the one to kill him. The seed of doubt. The same game that you had played on her. She could blame Rey. Anyone who was not her. If Rey did choose to listen to you, if the female Force user left now to go to the Resistance, it did not matter what you did. The Knights of Ren would believe that you had killed their Supreme Leader.

 Grand Marshal Hux had played you, had played Kylo Ren, had possibly played Rey. The three of you blindly trying to do what you each believed was right. All the while he kept Captain Phasma in the loop. When you had failed to express more interest in the ysalamir plot, he had chosen to go a different route.

 They needed you alive for their plan to work; currently they were not in possession of a planet destroyer that could take care of the Knights of Ren on Naboo. Although, that was also the issue. Not all of the Knights were there.

 You pulled in the muscles of your abdomen, which became more concave. “Very well.” The hard metal of the spear shaft whipped to the side, knocking against your head. You saw pops of red and black. Another smack.

 It was through a scope that you would have watched the look on Kylo Ren’s face when the stormtroopers turned on him. Unless it had been Captain Phasma to cut through her own men and women after the fact with that red blade. Their bodies littered on the ground. The chrome armor damaged, albeit not beyond recognition. The Knights of Ren would believe her dead. Any argument or contradiction that spilled from your lips would be meaningless. The same plasma blade that had dealt death blows to the armored corpses had been used to cauterize the wound on your back.

 The pouches containing the ysalamir were missing. That would have been damning evidence. A weak chuckle from the body beside yours, and you turned away from the dead. “Personal interests… You were the death of me, tooke.” There were pauses between several of the words. And you could not figure out what he was feeling. Even a warrior as mighty as Kylo Ren was no match for a shot he could not detect. You recognized the size and shape of the wound as belonging to the weapon that you had brought with you to kill Captain Phasma. She had dragged you here while you were unconscious. Your hands so red from all the blood.

 There had been no need for her to kill you. Your head throbbed where you knew an egg had formed. You forced yourself to fight through the nausea, and touched the man’s chest. Despite the presence of the ysalamir, you could tell that he had been able to use the Force enough to lessen the blow; just like what he had done with the bowcaster shot. Only this time it had not been strong enough.

 You rested your forehead over his heart, turned your head, and listened to his heartbeat. For so long it had been just the two of you. You knew what you should have been hearing. It wasn’t this. This? It was too weak.

 You should have been happy. He had been your target for so long. What. Then. Tooka? You felt numb. Alternately, you experienced a sense of loss, of sadness. You were who you were because of him. Even before your imprisonment, his existence had assisted in shaping you. That was fading away. Which was hard to believe—he was too strong to die of this, wasn’t he? Had it always been this easy?

 It had not been easy. You had lost yourself along the way.

 Shifting onto your knees, you tugged him backwards, his head resting on your lower stomach so that your hands could lay splayed over his chest, one atop the other to where you could see the pair of tattoos. Is this what he had felt when you had died? Your lips were moving in a silent plea. Please. Over and over again. Although you were not certain what you were asking for. For him to die? For him to live? For someone to explain to you how you had gotten it all wrong?

 The two who had conspired to put Kylo Ren into this position, they would be leading the First Order. Merciless. Willing to sacrifice so many people, so many worlds for their cause. They would destroy a planet to kill Luke Skywalker. They would use the ysalamir to void his powers, just as they had done with Kylo Ren. They would hunt down Rey the exact same way.

 “Please,” you said, managing to vocalize the word. “Don’t leave me alone.”

 Kylo weakly lifted one hand away from the wound in his stomach. A gut shot. A slow death. Maybe he would have found a means of finding a way off of this planet if Phasma had not taken the comm devices. If she hadn’t cut through his face, blinding him. That was the strange thing. He could not see you, though he had seen you. He felt you in the Force, with the Force. He was the only person who truly knew who you were. All of those times inside of your head; the one person in all of the galaxy who had truly known the person you had become. He had known the girl you used to be, and the woman you now were.

 You did not want to die. You did not want to be alone either. The hand he had raised touched the backs of yours. “Blinded by sentiment.”

 “Shut up,” you whispered. He was smirking, amused at the irony. You attributed that to the bloodloss. He should have been angry. His breaths were more shallow.

 “You won, tooke.”

 “Shut up.” This was a victory and a loss. This was the shattering of that precarious harmony you had started to rebuild your life around. Where did he end, and where did you begin? Your vision swam. Gloved fingers touched the two digits that held the tattoos. It had never mattered if he lived or died; he would always be a part of you. You wanted him to live. Then, thinking of everything he had done, you thought it might not be bad if he died.

 He might not die, you thought, feeling his breathing become softer again, understanding that he had lost consciousness even as you heard the ship. Two ships. To ensure that her plan worked, Captain Phasma would have had to contact Grand Marshal Hux, who would contact the Knights. They would arrive before you could leave. If he holds on…

 If he held on, the war would not be over. If he died, the war would not be over. You had wanted to make a difference in this galaxy. That was why you had joined the Resistance.

 What. Then. What happens after Ren is dead?

 You had never allowed yourself to form an answer. There had been countless ways that Kylo Ren could die. All of those scenarios… Did you return home? Did you find yourself?

 Undoubtedly, Kylo Ren had been a monster in many respects. That only meant that Grand Marshal Hux and Captain Phasma were soulless beasts by comparison. You hunted monsters.

 Leaning forward, you stared through blurry eyes at the hand atop yours. A droplet of water hit the leather. Tears. Only five. The numbness returned in a fresh wave. He remained breathing. The ship had touched the ground, shouts meeting your ears. You could not decipher what was being said. They spoke Basic, yet you understood absolutely nothing. Could hear them drawing their weapons. That did not register immediately though. Your heart hiccuped in your chest then pounded with such ferocity. His, on the other hand, had stopped.

 You were grabbed away from his body by just one of the Knights. The bruising grip threatened to jerk you back to the present. Instead you stood there, the numbness stronger.

 Something about Rey… She was not there, which meant she had heeded your advice. Should have known...her mother...gone… They thought you had killed Kylo Ren—hadn’t you, though?

 Was there a part of you that had willingly overlooked all of those variables? They seemed so obvious now. Had there been a part of you that hated Kylo Ren that much, that wanted him dead so badly?

 There was a weapon at your throat. A different Knight shoved its owner away, locked you in cuffs, and roughly steered you towards the second ship. You understood the necessity in these actions. There were medics present, grabbing hold of Kylo Ren’s body and bringing him to the other vessel. The Knights followed, no doubt to berate the medics for any misstep. Blood still poured from the wound.

 He’s already dead. It’s too late.

 You knew this by the utter emptiness you felt. The Force was in all living beings. It connected everything. You ached at the loss of that connection.

 The ramp to the ship you were on started to raise as the Knight hit a button then pressed you into a seat. He strapped you in restraints. They would torture you, interrogate you to learn how you had fulfilled the task of killing Kylo Ren. Would press to know if Rey had been involved—her absence from Naboo meant that she could have been there on this planet with you when things had happened. She had already assisted in killing Snoke, why not the next Supreme Leader?

 “Why did you do it?” the Knight asked. You did not turn to him, although you recognized his voice. He had bonded with Rey the most out of them all. “She told me to bring you to her after the mission ended...to be with your mother.” He had been willing to betray the Knights of Ren, but not kill them. “He kept your mother alive. Why didn’t you spare him?”

 It was such a human thing to ask. It was what you knew Rey would ask you as hurt flashed across her face.

 You should have seen Phasma through your scope. Instead you had seen a ruse without realizing it.

 You won, tooke.

 You remembered what it felt like when your father had relinquished his hold on your hand, had returned you to the world of the living. This was sort of like that. The feel of Kylo’s heart stopping as you held him in your arms.

 “The Resistance will just love you, won’t they?” The bitterness in his voice was also so human. The sense of betrayal. Rey had left the Resistance temporarily, but that did not mean she would allow them to be killed. You could see just how this man was able to grow attached to her, enough that he would walk away from the First Order. He had, like Rey, hoped that Kylo Ren could change.

 You did not understand why, if he hated you so much, he wouldn’t simply return you to the First Order like his fellow Knights were assuming he would. You did not understand why the Knights were taking the body to the First Order; it did not matter how much the medics worked on him. His heart had stopped beating. Grand Marshal Hux desired that it never restart.

 The ring fingers on either of your hands twitched.

 You did not want to die.

 It felt like, along with him, you had.

[leejeongz]

The Boyz Confession (Hyung line)

🥺Okay so in order to thank you all for 2k (still shook) I decided to write something for tbz. Lmk if you want me to continue🥺

😬they aren’t the best... don’t bully me ajsbsjsn😬

Sangyeon:

Of course your time together was limited but that’s how it had always been. You became friends after he debuted, meeting through a mutual friend at the company who knew you’d love each other. You exchanged numbers and both quickly developed feelings for the other, you made each other happy at a time when you thought no one could, that’s really important to you both. After about 3 months of incessant flirting Sangyeon decided he’d had enough, it was time to make you his. He was sat alone in the practice room, texting you to come and watch him practice to give pointers. You arrived wearing his favourite outfit on you, but anything you wore he loved. You sat on the floor expecting him to dance yet he came and joined you on the floor, resting his head on your shoulder as you stretched your legs out. He was sweating a little, but you didn’t mind. It was moments like this that you treasured the most but admittedly he’d never been this intimate with you before. You weren’t complaining though.

“You know” he looked up at you, pouting, while his hand found yours “I think it’s time we became an official couple” he awaited your answer which seemed to take years when in actuality it was seconds.

“I think so too” you confessed looking down at his handsome face and smiling before pecking his lips lightly.

Jacob:

Jacob always loved when you stayed over at the dorms, especially this time since it was just you two alone. Since you were in Korea alone, with no family around, when you got sick the boys took extra special care of you, one boy in particular always ready for whatever you threw at him. You lay awake in Jacob’s bed, they had left you alone to nap while they went to practice, telling Jacob to stay with you to keep you company, but you couldn’t sleep. If it was this easy to get alone time with your crush, you would have faked being sick a long time ago, you thought, staring at the ceiling. Just as you started to daydream about your fantasy relationship, Jacob walked in and took a seat on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on your stomach and turning to face you.

“You even look pretty when your sick” he said with a sweet smile. You thanked him for the compliment yet he continued. “No I mean it! Like you always look pretty, whatever you do. And being alone with you, even if you are poorly, is basically a dream come true.”

You smiled in return. “I’d kiss you right now if I wasn’t sick” you joked as he leaned forward to kiss your forehead instead. He’d really risk it all for you.

Younghoon:

“And is there a special someone you’d like to dedicate this cover to?” The MC asked as Younghoon warmed up to sing thinking out loud by Ed Sheeran.

He clasped his hands together, like he usually does while he’s nervous. “Actually there is, I’d currently consider them my best friend but who knows what will happen” He explained with you in mind. You didn’t really know anyone else who Younghoon was as close to as you, expect his members but come on... like he’d give into fans ideology like that. You knew it was about you, you didn’t want to act oblivious (after analysing everyone it could have been) you felt exactly the same way. As the song finished your whole body sunk back into the sofa in content after being sat at the edge of it for so long while listening to his soft vocals.

“Their name is actually y/n” he confessed out of no where. “Their favourite artist is Ed Sheeran and I know to fans and whatnot this may seem out of character but I had to say it. I really like them and-” he rushed out before the mc quickly interrupted and changed the subject.

He called you after the show, asking if you’d watched and how you felt. He didn’t want to ask you to be his but he already knew you were when you offered to take him out that night. The date went well, well enough to confirm your new relationship status.

Hyunjae:

Typically you, Hyunjae and a few mutual friends went bowling one Friday a month, and you all looked forward to it, but exam season was here and your friends all had to cancel due to studying. You, however, were “dragged” out by Hyunjae who said that you deserved a break. Any time you could spend with him you’d gladly take to be honest, you were madly in love with him, who wouldn’t be.

“Are you ready for our date?” Hyunjae asked that morning over the phone. You couldn’t really tell if he meant it so you just replied with a competitive “I’m totally gonna win!”

He laughed lightly “maybe, because it’s you, I’ll let you have the bumpers up” his flirty tone was evident.

“You want to lose that much, babes?” you joked back, knowing that pet names were his weakness.

After that Hyunjae changed the subject, ending the call when you told him you had to get to your exam. “Good luck! Don’t get distracted by the thought of our date too much!” He ended with before hanging up.

When you arrived that night outside the bowling place, he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek. You pulled back and gave him a puzzled look. “Aw cute you thought I was joking about this being a date” he wrapped his arm around your shoulder while you smiled to yourself, him doing exactly the same.

“How did you know I was into guys like you?” You asked hoping to irritate Hyunjae yet he just responded with “who wouldn’t be?” before planting another peck onto your temple.

Juyeon:

Winter was your favourite season, no doubt about it, however, as silly as it sounds, you hated the cold. Your fingers, you thought, were legitimately going to fall off by the time you reached your house and considering it was basically night time, it was even colder than you had originally anticipated. One thing you were grateful for was Juyeon. The handsome boy who always took care of you, during and after your “extra curricular activities” walking you home and keeping you safe. Even though it was only 5pm, it was pitch black outside and of course rush hour traffic was in full effect. The biggest and busiest roads in your town was approaching and it almost as if Juyeon could sense the anxiety building up inside you. He took hold of your hand, your mitten sliding off slightly.

“It’s okay y/n I’m here” he said while standing next to you at the edge of the road. “Come on” he pulled you to the middle section made for pedestrians in between the two directions of traffic.

“Juyeon” you paused. “You don’t have to told my hand you know” you said, secretly not wanting him to let go.

“What if I want to?” He questioned with a barely visible smirk in the low lighting. “What if this was my plan all along?” He chuckled this time.

“I know what you’re saying Juyeon...” excitement evident in your voice. You weren’t about playing those “oblivious dumb crush” games... not when what you wanted was serious.

“Hm you know I control the weather? No fun” he joked pulling your mitten off and securing his hand in yours. “My hand will be warmer anyway.”

Kevin:

The clock was at 11:50pm and it was New Year’s Eve, you couldn’t believe you were entering yet another year single. You watched the man of your dreams, Kevin, walk in your direction, if only he was coming over to proclaim his love for you, you wished in your head.

“Hey y/n, you ready for the new year?” He asked casually, taking a seat on the couch next to you putting his arm over the back of it after setting his cup of coke on the floor alongside yours. He clearly hadn’t had anything alcohol wise to drink and neither had you, the only two sober ones in the room and the only two that could converse like normal human beings.

“There’s nothing new about being alone” you said grumpily, averting your eyes.

“Heyyy no don’t say that y/n, look at me” you turned back to him with a cloud of shame above you. He tucked your hair behind your ear and smiled, not moving his hand from the side of your face. “Who said you were gonna be alone anyway?” He questioned with a wink. “Oh by the way that’s me asking you to be my bae.” He clarified.

“Wait are you serious?” You still asked, just to be 100% clear. The clock just seconds away from 11:59 when the big countdown would begin.

“I mean I can prove it to you with a kiss in just 1 minute if you’re prepared to wait” he grabbed your drink and picked his own up off the floor before helping you off the couch and wrapping his arm around your waist. Maybe this year wasn’t going to be as awful as you expected.

New:

Your previous position: next to Chanhee on the boys’ shared couch, where you felt the most at home. Your current position: not next to Chanhee. You were actually in the kitchen after being called for by Kevin who was trying to work the pop corn machine you’d brought to the dorm. When you tried to get up, New whined, when you eventually got up, New whined, now you weren’t even in his eye line, New whined even more. “Where’s y/n gone? I miss them” he moaned loudly, the point being that you’d hear him. You finished up trying to sort out kevin as quick as you could before going back to the living room in which Chanhee sat like a toddler, knees up to his chin.

“What’s up buttercup?” You asked and you sat besides him again. Chanhee returned to his usual sitting position, a little closer to you than normal but you didn’t mind.

“Ugh will you two get a room for goodness sake” Hyunjae spoke up. “Chanhee, this is y/n, they are madly in love with you. Y/n, this is Chanhee, he’s madly in love with you. Now leave us to watch our movie in peace.” He pointed between you two as the other members nodded.

“Someone’s a little grumpy” you laughed, facing down to see Chanhee “he’s not wrong though” you both said quickly at the same time. You soon found yourself in your now boyfriend’s room. “So you really like me huh?” He asked continuously for an hour.

Gifs aren’t mine

[seattle-hq]

basics.

March 10th, 1995 (24) Gender / pronouns: Male / He & Him Hometown: Seattle, WA Occupation: Song Writer Face-claim: Thomas Doherty

biography.

tw: car accident, death, depression

Plato spoke of soulmates. He spun a story that humans were rightfully born with four arms, four legs, and a single head of two faces. He explained how the Gods felt threatened by these humans, and as punishment split them in half, forcing one half to long for their other. It was in this dialogue that he argued this was what created the ideology of soulmates. What he hadn’t understood then, and what many don’t understand now, is the bond shared between twins. Identical twins, born when a singular egg splits into two. Separated but joined all the same. That was the tragedy of Cooper Knox’s birth and life.

Born two minutes after his brother, Cooper would spend his life hearing of how he was the younger one, the second born despite the sheer luck that saw Parker being the first. But that was how their life would go. Constant teasing, endless bickering, playful slaps turning into all out brawls on the living room floor until their mother was screaming for them to take it outside. They were nothing more than normal boys born into a traditional family. A white picket fence surrounding a modest two story home, settled into the middle class neighborhood of Seattle. There was nothing ever extravagant about their lives, aside from the family trips out to Whidbey Island ( if one could even call that extravagant ). And that was how their lives went for years, normalcy bleeding into the Knox family as if they had no other choice, until the fateful day fell on them with no warning.

It was a Thursday afternoon, with the boys returning home from school, walking together as they always did. Parker was talking about the basketball team once again, of how he was ready for the next season to start and that he was finally going to be the starting point guard. Cooper, on the other hand, listened intently as his fingers moved against each other as if he were holding a guitar in his arms. The boys, despite the mirror image they were to one another, were completely opposite in so many ways. Parker enjoyed watching and playing sports, Cooper never gave them the time of day. Cooper listened to various genres of music, tapping along to the notes on his legs. Parker only ever cared about the popular music, listening to what the rest of the boys on his team listened to. Perhaps that was what prompted the playful argument, Parker making a comment about Cooper’s hand in the air, fingers pressing against his thumb as if the fingerboard were truly there. They’d stopped in the crosswalk for the briefest of moments, grins on their faces as they teased the other of his interest. Neither of them saw the car in time, neither of them knew that the driver hadn’t been paying attention nor that they had been speeding in the school zone. The impact was sudden.

Waking up to the blinding white lights of a hospital room, Cooper couldn’t recall the moments that had led up to this one. His head felt like a pound of bricks, his body like it had been hit by a bus careening down the street, and despite his struggles, he found that he couldn’t open his mouth. The beeping beside him, growing incessant with each passing second, throbbed within his head. He attempted to reach over, to smack what he imagined to be his alarm clock off the bedside table. But when his arm lifted, he saw the various IVs poking out from the crook of his arm. And that’s when the panic settled in, causing that incessant beeping to become louder, more urgent until an unknown woman came rushing into his room. Her voice was low, soft and gentle as she assured him that everything was fine. That he was safe. But what would prompt this need? Why did she find it necessary to say such things? And where was his parents, his brother? Why weren’t they here? The questions continued to rattle off in his head, but not a single one of them was able to be voiced, Cooper still unable to force his mouth open.

It was hours before Cooper would understand why. When the nurse had been unable to calm him down, she’d given him something that would. Something that had immediately put him back into the welcoming darkness, drifting into more peaceful thoughts. When he woke again, still to the same inability to open his mouth, he saw his mother and father sitting at the side of his bed. Grave faces on the pair of them. His mother, with her always warm brown eyes, looked as if she hadn’t stopped crying in weeks. And his father, who always held that stern look in his features, appeared as if he’d been told the answer to the universe and didn’t quite understand it. With slow movements, Cooper reached a hand out, fingers stretching to be able to take theirs in his own. The movement spurred on more tears to leak from the sides of his mother’s eyes, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth instead of reaching out for his. It was his father, the man who hardly ever showed emotion, that grasped his son’s hand, holding it tightly as the explanation started to slip off the tip of his tongue. It was broken, choppy as his father had to continue pausing, struggling to gather himself to tell his young son of what had happened.

Struck by a speeding car. Both boys rushed to the emergency room. Three broken ribs, a shattered collarbone, and a broken jaw. So that explained why he was unable to open his mouth, wired shut to ensure that he healed properly. But the injuries were only given of himself, what had happened to Parker? When he was unable to voice his question, Cooper had attempted to get the point across in other ways, with mumbled noises and gestures of his free hand. Though his father didn’t understand the noises or gestures, he knew exactly what his son was attempting to get at. With a glance to his weeping wife, Cooper’s father finally gave his son exactly what he needed to hear: Parker hadn’t made it. When the car had struck them, he’d taken most of the impact. And despite all that the EMTs had done, Parker hadn’t made it to the hospital.

The loss had been devastating for the small family, for Parker had been the core of it, the piece that had held each of them together. As days turned to weeks turned to months, each member of the family grieved in their own way. For his mother, she hadn’t left the safety of her own bedroom, Cooper hearing the constant crying from down the hall. His father, on the other hand, had shoved himself into his job, staying later and later at the office instead of coming home. As for Cooper, he holed himself up in his bedroom, in the music room at the school, anywhere that would allow him the outlet of drowning himself in music. Despite the devastation of the loss of his brother, he forced himself to keep moving forward, knowing that was what Parker would want. He continued to practice his guitar lessons, continued to scribble down words that he claimed were part of a song he was writing. This continued for years until the second time in his young life that everything was changed.

It was in high school that he would meet the three individuals that would change his life. Each of them shared a particular love for music, one that found them staying up into the wee hours of the morning playing or writing any and everything that came to mind. They sat on the rooftops of their various homes, talking about how one day they would get their big break, become a sensation among their peers in the music industry. It was this group of boys, one in particular, that drew Cooper out of the shell that he had forced himself into. The shell that had him continuing to write the angsty songs that one only ever listened to when they were feeling particularly down. Even if nothing came from this band of theirs, even if he graduated high school and moved across the country to only study music in the hopes of one day teaching it, Cooper would always look back fondly on these nights. Nothing could have quite prepared him for the future that was coming.

Two years passed them by quickly, the band going from playing strictly in their parents’ garages to opening for various acts on differing stages before they were being scouted by a man that promised them fame and fortune. In the beginning, Cooper thought it nothing more than talk. But when he was being whisked away to New York City before he’d even graduated high school, he was in shock. And before he knew it, their songs were being splashed across the Top 100, raved about in the media until he continued to see their names everywhere. It had all happened so fast; one minute they were playing in his parents’ garage, the next they weren’t opening act, they were the main act. But surely this was a fluke, surely they would wake up one morning no longer being in the eye of the world. Yet as the weeks turned to months turned to years, Cooper was continuing to live on cloud nine, thriving in this new world of his. That is, until everything came crashing down around him.

The call came late one night, stirring him from his sleep to the persistent ringing, until he finally gave in and answered it. Bankrupt. No money. The band is breaking up. The words were hard to understand, Cooper attempting to fight off his sleep to focus on each one as they were quickly riddled off to him. Their singer, the man he had fallen in love with over the years, the one that he’d given everything to, had thrown it back in their faces. Struck a solo deal. Took everything in his quest to be the best of the best. The band was in shambles, struggling with trying to understand what had happened, while attempting to stay afloat with what they could scramble together. Money was tight, barely enough to get a new manager when theirs had left with the singer. They’d tried, despite the betrayal that darkened each of them, to keep the band together, to continue to do what they all loved. But eventually, when they all finally came to terms with what had happened, agreed that the band just wasn’t the same, and there was no longer a future for it.

For Cooper, this meant returning home to Seattle, to the past that he had long since given up. His parents had moved away years ago, with the help from the records he had sold. He didn’t know what life was in store for him, but he hadn’t quite given up on that music dream of his, so he continued to write, selling songs to whichever artist or band was interested in them. It was enough to keep him afloat, enough to draw himself out of the hole that he had been forced into by a betrayal that had come out of nowhere.

personality.

+ compassionate, creative, loyal – overly trusting, fearful, stubborn

[obsidianarchives]

Beneath the Surface - Part 3

A Bond in Bloom

Before she knew it, Hermione was in regular correspondence with Blaise Zabini. What started off as a nerve-wracking task became the thing she most looked forward to during her break. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so lonely anymore, not so cut off from the world.

Having grown up solely in the wizarding world, Blaise started off with a lot of questions. What did her parents do? Why would anyone pay good money for someone to stick foreign objects in their mouth? What did Hermione want to be before she found out she was a witch?

Hermione tried to be thorough in answering his questions, and asked more than a few of her own. Blaise started off interested in Muggle Christmas, but when Hermione explained it to him, he sounded slightly disappointed.

I’m just going to be upfront and say that that sounds boring. Sorry.

My mum and I have never really celebrated Christmas. She says she doesn’t need an excuse to buy me things, but I think it’s also because my birthday is only four days before.

Hermione learned that Blaise and his mother hadn’t always been rich. Madam Zabini’s parents had cut her off after she got pregnant at the age of eighteen, and so for the first four years of his life, Blaise’s mother had worked in a shop in Diagon Alley struggling to make ends meet. Some wealthy wizard saw her there one day and was so enraptured by her beauty that he offered to take her and her young son in.

From the tone of the letter, Hermione could tell Blaise hadn’t liked Mr. Fawley, a pure-blood who seemed to have dealings with all kinds of people, some not so legal. At least, when he died, five years after discovering his mother in the shop, he’d had the foresight to look after them, willing his Gringotts vault to her.

I don’t really remember a time when we didn’t have all this, Blaise had written, but my mum often reminds me that it can be taken away. She spoils me, but she also has a very clear vision for my life. I think she worries about our position in part because of our race. She’s always warning me to keep quiet and pay attention to those I surround myself with because our class and pure-blood status only protects us so much. 

She runs in a lot of circles that believe pure-bloods are superior, and I guess I accepted that for a long time. But I don’t understand why proving your worth means you have to hurt and kill others. I don’t think she would ever go that far, but I know at least one of my step-fathers supported the Dark Lord pretty heavily back in the day. I don’t know what she would do if I flat out refused the ideology that has largely kept us safe and comfortable.

It makes me feel like a fraud, acting like I believe in these things because it’s all I’ve known. I don’t know if I can be myself without putting myself and her in danger.

Hermione felt for Blaise and his precarious position, and hoped he was being careful in sending these letters out. But he was nothing if not prudent, and the way he opened himself up made her feel comfortable to do the same. She told him how it felt being Muggle-born, especially with Voldemort back in the open.

I’d lived in this regular, unremarkable world for the first eleven years of my life, she wrote. Strange things would happen to me — like the time I accidentally drowned my mum’s office ficus after worrying overnight that I hadn’t watered it like she asked me to — but everything else was ordinary. And then I get this letter telling me I belong to this fantastical place where amazing things happen. I was so excited to leave my ordinary life for an extraordinary one.

But then Malfoy called me ‘Mudblood’ second year. I didn’t even know what it meant at the time, but I got the tone, understood from the way everyone else reacted that it was bad. I’d come to this wonderful world, only to find the same prejudices as the one I was from, ones that put me in immediate danger. It’s terrifying, but I know I can’t just step aside and let it continue.

She was starting to feel bad for Blaise’s owl Adonis, who would arrive at her window in the morning and then leave again in the afternoon once Hermione finished her letter. She didn’t know where Blaise lived in the country, and worried that the journey would start to take a toll on the owl, so she’d taken to leaving out food and water for him. He would occasionally take a few sips of water, but he refused to touch the owl nuts. At the end of one of her letters, Hermione told Blaise what was happening, and asked what the owl would eat.

The next letter arrived with a package, a small note attached that read Don’t laugh. The package contained Avion Dawdle’s Premium Owl Mix. Hermione poured some in a bowl as she read Blaise’s letter, and put in her response that she had, in fact, laughed.

Blaise had started off telling Hermione that he felt like he didn’t have to pretend with her, and Hermione felt the same of him. In one letter, she found herself writing about something she’d thought of often, but which she hadn’t voiced even to Harry or Ron.

I’ve never liked when people called me ‘The Brightest Witch of Her Age.’ I do work quite hard, and strive to do my best in everything I do, but the title always feels uncomfortable. I don’t do the work for recognition — or at least not in the way others might, for awards or praise. I do it because I’m genuinely interested and want others to feel proud of the work I do.

When people call me that, I wonder if they see me as a real person or just as a human encyclopedia — even sometimes with Harry and Ron, who I know care about my well-being but sometimes fall into the comfort that ‘Hermione will do it or fix it” without thinking about how to do it themselves.

It felt like a release to get the thoughts out, and even more of a relief to have Blaise validate those feelings. In his response, he flat out told her that anyone who only wanted her around for her knowledge didn’t deserve her. Hermione had blushed when reading that, glancing furtively up at Adonis, who blinked at her, looking deeply uninterested.

…

The start of the new term came quickly, and soon Hermione found herself back on the Hogwarts Express in a compartment with Luna Lovegood, listening to her gush about her vacation with her father, where they’d spent the entire time drinking Gurdyroot juice and harvesting blue radishes from their garden.

“They turn orange in the summer, but when they’re blue they’re perfect for drawing out toxins and bad auras,” she said dreamily, “We used them to decorate the house for the New Year.”

Hermione felt cheerful and a little nervous about returning to Hogwarts. She was glad to get back into her routine, to studying for exams and learning more about the fight against Voldemort. But another thought, large and nebulous, loomed in the back of her mind. She tried not to give it space to solidify, but still the sign off of Blaise’s last letter echoed in her mind.

See you at school.

She hadn’t seen him on the train platform, and felt glued to her seat across from Luna. The thought of going to look for him on the train both terrified and excited her, but she had to remind herself why it was a bad idea. He could be in a compartment full of Slytherins, or at the very least was somewhere others might see. She didn’t want other people whispering about their relationship when she wasn’t even sure they had one to begin with. So she stayed put, fighting to keep still.

Luna noticed her fidgeting and offered her a swig of doowindle water, which she said would help “calm the mind and limbs.” Hermione did her best to decline politely, pursing her lips and looking out of the window.

Finally, they made it to Hogwarts, and after a quick dinner on her own — Harry hadn’t arrived at the school by Floo Powder yet — Hermione went up to Gryffindor Tower to prepare for the next day of classes.

After giving a hungover Fat Lady the password, she entered the common room.

“Granger!” a high voice called to her from across the room.

A tiny second year, Liam Redding, hurried over to her, a note in his hand.

“I was told to give you this,” he said.

Hermione’s heart was pounding in her ears, “Thanks.”

She hurried up to her room, grateful that neither Parvati nor Lavender were inside, and ripped open the note. It was written in now-familiar handwriting.

Meet me near the Quidditch pitch?

Excitement and nerves shot through her. She stopped and took a deep breath. This was fine. She could talk to Blaise — she had been for weeks. This was nothing.

There was more than enough time before curfew, so Hermione put on her boots and pulled her winter cloak on over her jumper. Her hair was already tied down into two braids, so she jammed her hat over her head and wrapped the bottom half of her face in a thick purple scarf that had been one of her parents’ Christmas gifts to her.

Snow was falling lightly as she stepped out of the entrance hall and onto the grounds, the lake looked like it was made of gray slush. Wind tried to worm its way through the fabric of her clothes. Hermione shivered and drew her cloak tightly around her before trudging through the snow.

Her stomach flipped when she saw the dark figure up ahead, near the Quidditch stands. As she got closer she saw Blaise’s lanky figure, a scarf tied loosely around his neck, green hat covering his head and ears. He was watching her approach, hands deep in the pockets of his black cloak, teeth playing with his bottom lip. Was he nervous?

“It’s freezing,” Hermione complained as she approached, “Why couldn’t we meet indoors?”

Blaise shrugged, looking up at the gray clouds, “I like the snow.”

Hermione watched his face for a moment, the peace that seemed to come over him, and smiled. A warm feeling pooled in the pit of her stomach.

He looked down at her then, “How are you?”

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, “I’m okay. Ready to get back into classes.”

Blaise nodded. They stood there silently for a moment, and he shifted his weight a bit, so that he was closer to her. His scent, cinnamon and cloves, carried over to her on the wind.

Hermione wracked her brain for something else to say. “How, er, how was your break?”

She cringed internally as she finished the question, realizing that she already knew the answer, having corresponded with Blaise the entire time. She suddenly wondered, in horror, whether they would ever be able to interact in person — was it possible to only have great interactions through paper? She felt like she knew this boy, his innermost thoughts, and he hers. Why was this so anxiety-inducing?

Blaise coughed lightly, raising a gloved hand to scratch his nose. “It was fine.”

As he dropped his hand, Hermione noticed something glitter from his wrist.

“Your watch!” she exclaimed, grabbing his arm without thinking. She hadn’t seen him with it before break, and it looked brand new.

Blaise was startled, but he held his wrist closer so that she could see it, a gold band with a black face, the hands golden snakes with emerald eyes.

“My mum bought it for my birthday,” he said, “since I came of age.”

Hermione had inadvertently pulled him closer to her, his warm body now blocking the wind. Her cheeks warmed as she dropped his hand, “It’s nice.”

“Thanks,” he said, glancing down at it before putting his hand back in his pocket, “Is there anything like that for Muggles?”

Hermione shook her head, “Well we — Muggles, I mean — don’t come of age until eighteen. And there’s no specific gift.”

“You’re a witch though,” he said, “Didn’t you get a watch for your birthday?”

“My parents are Muggles.”

“Yes, but they have to learn to acclimate to this culture right? Since their daughter is a part of it.”

“I suppose that would be true,” she allowed, “If I’d told them.”

Blaise tilted his head at her, his eyes curious, “Why haven’t you?”

She realized she liked talking to him face-to-face more than writing letters. While the letters had helped her get past her own self-consciousness, she’d only had his words to go by. In person, she could watch his expressions, his mannerisms.

“I don’t know,” she said, “My parents have always been okay with me being a witch, but I guess I sometimes don’t know how to be around them. I’m not around a lot, so I guess I try not to do things that scream at them that I have another part of myself they know very little about.”

Blaise frowned, “Wouldn’t telling them bring you closer?”

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t want them closer. I’m a Muggle-born who is best friends with the Boy Who Lived. It would only put them in danger.”

Blaise fell silent then. At first Hermione thought he might feel put out by her response, but then she realized he was lost in thought.

“What do you tell them, then?”

She shrugged, “My grades, mostly. They can understand those, even if the system is different from the Muggle one. And about my friends,” she had told them quite a lot about Harry and Ron throughout the years.

Blaise’s eyes met hers then, but he looked nervous again, rubbing his nose before asking, “Have you told them about me?”

Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shook her head, “Are we even friends?”

He looked away, suddenly bashful. “I mean...I’d like to be.”

Her heart was thudding in her chest. “Okay,” she tried to sound casual. “We’re friends then.”

“Alright then,” he said, sounding relieved.

It was dark now, so that Hermione could really only see Blaise’s silhouette, feel the breadth of his body in front of hers.

“We should probably get back,” she said. Harry should have arrived by now.

She could see Blaise’s shadow nod, and the two turned back towards the lights of the castle, trudging through the snow. A couple of times, Hermione’s shoulder would bump into him, or his elbow was graze her, and she would hold her breath until they slipped back apart in the darkness. Silence spread between them, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. Hermione wondered what Blaise was thinking.

They finally got to the front doors. Hermione took a deep breath to recenter herself.

Just as Blaise’s hand touched the handle, the doors pushed open, startling them both. Professor Dumbledore stood in the doorway, a fur-lined navy cloak draped over robes of silver and maroon. His blue eyes widened in surprise from behind his half-moon glasses.

“Ah, Miss Granger! And Mr. Zabini,” he said charmingly, “What a lovely surprise.”

“H-hi Professor,” Hermione stammered, “You’re out late.”

“On the contrary, the night is quite young,” Dumbledore looked between the two of them, “I’m afraid I have some business with Hagrid that needs attending. I do hope the two of you are ready for the excitement of a new term?”

“Of course, sir,” Blaise said politely, looking just as stunned as Hermione felt.

“Wonderful,” Dumbledore said, “Oh, I’ve almost forgotten. Miss Granger, if you could present this note to your friend Mr. Potter, I would be eternally in your debt.”

He passed Hermione a small piece of folded parchment. Recognition flashed through Hermione’s mind. This must be about Harry’s next lesson. “I’ll do that right away, sir.”

“Thank you,” Dumbledore smiled at the two of them, “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you have far more illuminating tasks to get up to than babbling away with an old man.” He swept past them and off across the grounds, towards Hagrid’s snow-capped hut. 

Hermione’s eyes felt like they would pop out of her head. As she glanced up at Blaise’s shocked expression, she felt a strong urge to laugh.

They stepped into the entrance hall, which was deserted but for the Grey Lady, moping up near the chandelier. Blaise turned towards her, dipping his head slightly to meet her gaze.

“Well, er, I’ll see you in class?” Hermione said, suddenly nervous again.

“Yeah,” he nudged her lightly with his elbow, “‘Night, Hermione.”

And with that he turned away, taking the staircase down to the Slytherin common room. As she hurried up the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower, Hermione smiled to herself.

…

Hermione found Harry, Ron, and Ginny stuck outside of the Gryffindor common room, arguing with an irritable Fat Lady.

“Harry! Ginny!” she called, hurrying over.

“Hey Hermione,” Ginny said as she brushed a bit of ash off of Harry’s shoulder, “Where have you been?”

“Oh, er, I’ve just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck — I mean Witherwings,” she lied quickly, internally thanking Dumbledore for giving her the idea. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Yeah,” answered Ron, as if their last interaction hadn’t involved him humiliating her in front of their entire class, “it was pretty eventful—”

“I’ve got something for you, Harry,” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard Ron, “Oh, wait, the password. Abstinence.”

“Precisely,” the Fat Lady said, swinging open. The four of them stepped into the crowded common room where students were greeting friends and taking advantage of the last few hours of down time before the homework started to pile up again.

Hermione pulled out the scroll Dumbledore had passed her at the castle doors and passed it to Harry.

“Won-Won!” came a high squeal, cutting Harry off as he opened his mouth to thank her. Lavender came hurtling into Ron out of nowhere, throwing her arms around his neck and nearly knocking him over. An annoyed look crossed over Harry’s face and Hermione grimaced, remembering Lavender’s worries about her relationship with Ron on the train.

“There’s a table over here,” she said quickly, trying to divert attention from the palpable desperation clinging to the interlocked couple, “Coming Ginny?”

“No, thanks, I said I’d meet Dean,” Ginny said, sounding resigned. Hermione eyed Harry as Ginny walked away, noting the faint optimism in his pink cheeks.

“What?” he asked when he caught her watching.

“Nothing,” Hermione said airily. She’d decided she wouldn’t probe him about Ginny unless he decided to talk to her about it, but his feelings really were obvious to anyone with eyes.

“So how was your Christmas?” he asked, very obviously trying to divert attention from himself.

“Oh, fine,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly as though the question hadn’t brought a certain Slytherin to the forefront of her mind, “Nothing special. How was it at Won-Won’s?”

Harry looked as if he wanted to say something about his friends’ standing feud but she glared at him before he could. He sighed, rolling his eyes before resigning to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Before that,” he said, “I still haven’t told you what happened before break.”

He explained to her that he too had left Slughorn’s Christmas party earlier, soon after she had escaped with Blaise, in fact. Instead of heading to the Gryffindor common room to call it a night, he had followed Snape and Malfoy under the Invisibility Cloak.

“Malfoy was talking about some job he had to do for ‘his master’ and Snape was offering to help him. Said he’d made an ‘Unbreakable Vow.’”

Hermione frowned at the smug eagerness on Harry’s face. “Don’t you think—?”

“—he was pretending to offer help so that he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he’s doing?” Harry interrupted, clearly having thought through this line of argument.

She blinked, “Well, yes.”

“Ron’s dad and Lupin think so,” he said grudgingly, “But this definitely proves Malfoy’s planning something, you can’t deny that.”

“No, I can’t,” she said slowly. She hated to agree with him when it felt like doing so would just push him further into his obsession.

Still, she let him carry on for a bit with his Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater conspiracy, inwardly hoping that Harry would find other things to capture his attention. He mentioned that he was planning to tell Dumbledore what he had overheard, and she hoped the headmaster would be able to put a stop to his spiraling.

The next morning brought something else Hermione thought might work as a distraction for Harry: sixth years were to start Apparition lessons. She signed up, excited to finally learn a new magical skill. All day, everyone chattered on about it.

“It’ll be like we’re official adults!” Parvati said excitedly at lunch while Lavender moped quietly, playing with her food and casting furtive glances over at Ron and Harry further down the table. Hermione wondered if something had happened between now and their wrestling match the night before.

“At least you two are of age already,” Lavender sighed, turning back to her chips, “I won’t be able to take the test until summer.”

Hermione had long decided to stay out of her and Ron’s business, so she just gave a conciliatory grunt and went back to skimming the Daily Prophet, which was reporting a Dementor attack and two disappearances since the start of the new year.

After Charms she went to the library, wondering if there was a book she could check out on the theory of Apparition, just so she could be prepared for the first day. She made her way over to the section on Magical Transportation.

The Apparition books were first, and Hermione scanned the titles slowly. There were books about famous Apparating records, scary stories of Apparitions gone horribly wrong (with moving illustrations), even a guide to Side-Along Apparition. She frowned at the empty space on the shelf between Apparating with Aplomb by Gilderoy Lockhart and Arctic to Tropic: How Temperature May Affect Your Apparition by Cardaroc Jumper.

“You’re predictable, you know that?” a familiar voice said behind her.

Hermione’s stomach fluttered as she whipped around to see Blaise leaning back against the shelves dedicated to Floo traveling. He held a small book in his hands, a smirk on his face.

“Hi,” Hermione said. She nodded at the book in his hands, “Studying for Apparition lessons too?”

“Nope,” Blaise said. His fingers flexed around it and Hermione suddenly remembered his firm grip on her elbow at the Christmas Party, “Some of us read for fun, you know.”

Hermione ignored his dig, knowing he was just trying to get a rise out of her. “What are you reading?”

Suddenly, Blaise looked guarded, self-conscious. He shifted the book behind his back, “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on, let me see,” she said, reaching forward to get a look at the title.

His hand flew up, over his head and out of her reach.

“Honestly,” she huffed. She pushed up on her toes, trying to close the distance.

Blaise chuckled as he straightened his arm, holding the book higher. His breath tickled her ear. Hermione jumped, her fingers bumping against the band of his watch. When she landed she lost her footing, tripping forward.

Blaise’s free hand slid to her lower back, to keep her steady as he stumbled, the bookshelf wobbling behind him. Hermione caught herself on the shelf with one hand, her other splayed against his chest as she tried to maintain her balance.

The smell of cinnamon and cloves filled her nose. She looked up at him, her breath caught in her throat. His eyes blazed and the grip on her back seemed to tighten, sending a jolt up her spine. Hermione’s gaze fell on Blaise’s lips, slightly parted in surprise, and she forgot about the book.

Blaise’s eyes widened and then he looked away suddenly, dropping his hand. Hermione backed up, clearing her throat. Her heart was pounding and she felt as if she were under a very persistent space heater.

“You don’t have to show me,” she said quietly, embarrassed.

“No, it’s fine,” Blaise said. He held the book out to her.

Hermione took it, careful not to let their fingers touch. The cover was an eggplant purple, a curvy Black woman in a glittering dress shaking her hips on the cover. The title was written in curly green writing, A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Success, the Autobiography of Celestina Warbeck.

She looked back up at him. He was rubbing the back of his head, looking abashed. “I like autobiographies. She’s my mum’s favorite singer.”

Hermione smiled at this new bit of information. “What other ones have you read?” she asked, partly because she was curious and partly to show him there was no reason to be embarrassed.

“I’ve read loads,” he said, looking encouraged. “There was this one about the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation before Barty Crouch. He was the one who helped establish an exchange system for different kinds of wizarding money, can you believe we didn’t have it before?”

Hermione had never seen Blaise so passionate about anything. His face seemed to genuinely open up, his eyes alight.

“Seraphina Picquery was the one I read before this one,” he continued. He glanced at his shoes a moment, biting his lip. “The one I read at the beginning of break was about Dorinda Stallworth. She was—”

“The first female Supreme Mugwump,” Hermione said. Her cheeks were flaming now, as she remembered him mentioning how the book had reminded him of her. She plunged forward in an attempt to skip over the strange tension building between them. “I haven’t read many autobiographies. Well, except for Lockhart’s, but that was for school.”

Blaise’s knowing smirk was back. He reached out to take the book back, his fingers brushing her hand. Hermione held her breath. “You can borrow some of mine if you’d like,” he said, “When you’re not too busy studying.”

With a parting nod, he turned down the aisle. Hermione watched him leave, her hand tingling where their skin had touched.

…

A few days later, Hermione stood in an empty courtyard with Harry, snow glittering in her thick hair.

“And so Dumbledore said I have to figure out a way to get Slughorn’s memory, the real one,” Harry looked a little nervous, his looming fate a shadow over him.

Hermione’s mind was racing as she thought through all he had told her. “He must be determined to hide what really happened if Dumbledore couldn’t get it out of him,” she said, keeping her voice low in case anyone happened to walk by. “Horcruxes...Horcruxes...I’ve never even heard of them…” How was that possible?

“You haven’t?” Harry sounded disappointed. Hermione felt a twinge of irritation — he always relied on her to know everything.

“They must be really advanced Dark Magic, or why would Voldemort have wanted to know about them? I think it’s going to be difficult to get the information, Harry, you’ll have to be very careful about how you approach Slughorn, think out a strategy…” despite herself, she was already trying to think of ways to convince Slughorn to give up the memory. Perhaps a potion or a—

“Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions.”

Hermione’s irritation turned to full blown anger, “Oh, well if Won-Won thinks that, you’d better do it,” she snapped, “After all, when has Won-Won’s judgment ever been faulty?”

“Hermione, can’t you—?”

“No!” she said before stalking off, leaving him in the ankle-deep snow.

She was fuming all through Arithmancy. Harry — and Ron — had relied on her for so much: homework, research that was outside of the purview of schoolwork, saving their lives, only to turn around and not take her advice seriously. It wasn’t that she thought she was always right, but for Harry to disregard her opinion for someone who was only dating a girl so he could be seen doing it, who couldn’t even play Quidditch without someone tricking him into thinking he was actually good, stung. When had her best friends become so infuriating?

She felt a strong need to vent, to throw her feelings at someone just for the sake of it. But there was no one. Harry and Ron were her only close friends; Lavender wouldn’t hear a word against her boyfriend and Parvati wouldn’t care. Maybe Ginny, but she had enough going on with her rocky relationship with Dean.

Her mind turned to Blaise as class ended. It had been so easy to talk to him over break, but they were in the same place now. She couldn’t just borrow Hedwig, a pretty recognizable owl, and send her down to the Slytherin common room. Maybe she could find him? But wouldn’t that be weird, not mention stalker-like? Hermione made her way to Gryffindor Tower to drop her things. She sighed internally as she helped a small first year girl pick up the large stack of books that had spilled from her hands onto the ground on the seventh floor. She should just let it go.

Rather than dwell on it, she decided she should write a letter to her parents. It was only a few days into the new term, but she figured she should try to make more of an effort to reach out than she had in the past. Something about the tense climate in the wizarding world made her want to try harder to maintain her Muggle connections, even if she could barely stand to live in that world anymore.

She made her way up to the common room after dinner, ready to spend her time by the fireplace writing to her parents. She walked up a staircase to the fourth floor, pleased that it was already moving to connect to a landing that would take her down a more direct route to Gryffindor Tower. The feeling quickly dissipated when she spotted a group of Gryffindor seventh years, recognizing Cormac McLaggen among them.

His face lit up when he saw her, and Hermione quickly averted her eyes, ready to pretend as if she hadn’t seen him. 

Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she had almost gotten past the group when McLaggen shouted, “Hey, Granger!”

She wondered if she could pretend not to hear him, but he had already detached himself from his friends, his long legs catching up with her before she could turn the corner up ahead. She slowed to a halt, grimacing.

“Oh, hello,” she said awkwardly, glancing at his friends, who were clearly pretending not to be paying attention.

“Had a good vacation?” he asked, grinning down at her in a knowing way that made it clear he didn’t actually know anything. He was standing too close again. Hermione rocked back on her heels.

She shrugged, glancing back down the hall, “Yeah, it was fine.”

“You know, I was thinking,” he said, barely listening to her response, “I feel like we were cut off at the Christmas party.”

Hermione forced the bewildered laugh that was climbing up her throat back down.

He seemed to take her silence as an invitation. “There’s a Hogsmeade trip coming up soon,” he said, “Maybe we could try again? I’m sure there will be less distractions.”

Hermione took a clear step back then. Trying her best to smile as if her skin wasn’t crawling, she shook her head, “Sorry, I don’t really have time to date,” she said, “What with schoolwork and prefect duties and...other things.”

Mortified, she turned and hurried down the hallway, leaving McLaggen looking dumbstruck. By the time she made it to the common room, it was full of students, all of the seats by the fire taken. Annoyed, Hermione went up to her dormitory, resolving to write her letter in the quiet. She pulled out her parchment and quill and sat on her bed, leaning her back against the headboard. Crookshanks stalked over, curling up on top of her feet.

She told her parents about her classes, the weather, and the upcoming Apparition lessons. She stared at the page long and hard, trying to think of any other updates to give, but there was nothing to say about Harry or Ron that wouldn’t make her more angry than she already was. Honestly, angry wasn’t the word. Tired. She was tired.

For a moment, she wondered if she should include anything about Blaise. She hadn’t told them about writing to him over break, often disappearing into her room for a time to read and respond, or else waiting until they were out for work. Have you told them about me? His voice, the shy way he had looked away from her as he said it, echoed in her mind. She supposed she could tell them about him, but what would she even say? She felt flustered just imagining the ways her parents could read into her words, and she folded the parchment up and sealed it quickly before she could do something she might regret.

She slid her feet out from under Crookshanks and pulled her shoes back on before leaving the dormitory, hurrying through the crowded common room and out into the halls. As she wound her way through the castle to the Owlery, it suddenly occurred to her that her account of the weather might have let something slip about breeding Dementors. She quickly unsealed the parchment as she sidestepped the Bloody Baron telling off Peeves, and made a left at the portrait of two wizards trying their hardest to escape an angry bowtruckle.

It’s been quite gloomy here though the snow is nice.

She exhaled sharply. Good. But now, she felt the need to read through the entire thing, just to be sure there was nothing in it to alarm her parents or alert the wrong person should it be intercepted. Her eyes flew across the page.

“You should really watch where you’re walking,” Blaise’s teasing voice said from about four feet ahead of her.

Her eyes flew up from her account of her latest Herbology class. He stood facing her on the stairs leading up to the Owlery, on the second step from the bottom.

“I was just double checking the letter I’m about to send to my parents,” she said, trying to ignore the way her heart rate seemed to pick up speed.

He shook his head, “Overachieving even in your letter writing.”

Hermione flushed, “Did you just get done sending a letter, then?”

“To my mum,” he said quickly, scratching his broad nose, “I finished that book this morning. Thought she might like it.”

“That’s nice,” There was a beat of awkward silence. Hermione gestured up the stairs lamely, “I’m just gonna...go send this off.”

“I’ll come with you,” Blaise said, turning on the ball of his foot to walk back up the stairs.

“Oh,” Hermione said, startled, “Alright.”

She tried to continue reading the letter back on their way up, but she could barely focus. The staircase was narrow, which made it so that they kept bumping into each other with every other step, their arms brushing against each other. By the time they reached the top, she had decided to give up and trust that she’d done alright the first time.

She could feel Blaise watching her as she looked up to find one of the school owls. Normally, she would ask Harry to use Hedwig, who she saw snoozing up at the very top of the rafters, but she wasn’t talking to him. She spotted a barn owl not too far up, and stepped forward to call her down.

“So, you only write your mum?” she tried to be casual, but she felt awkward, her voice somehow coming out higher than usual.

Blaise leaned back against the perch, close enough that their shoulders touched lightly. She felt like a live wire had sparked right in the place where their arms touched, spreading through the rest of her. She tried to ignore it, to pretend that it was no big deal. She couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too, but he seemed just as calm as ever. She focused hard on tying the envelope to the owl’s leg.

“Yeah, mostly,” he said, “There was this one girl I used to write to, but she hasn’t sent me anything since we got back to school.”

Hermione’s fingers fumbled around the string, and she looked up. There was that look again, from after the Christmas party. His eyes were blazing, and he was leaning closer to her, as if they were sharing in some big secret. Hermione was suddenly very aware of his body, his warm scent. Their touching shoulders, it seemed, were the least of her problems, especially when he was smirking like that, his full lips tipped up lightly on one side. For a moment, her mind went blank.

“Well,” she said shakily, “She sounds lovely.”

Blaise laughed. It was higher than she expected, but warm and free. All of the building tension seemed to dissipate at the sound of his mirth, and Hermione grinned. She went off to help the owl out of the nearest window. By the time she turned back around, Blaise’s laughter had faded away, but a sweet smile graced his lips.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head towards the exit, “I’ll walk you back down.”

She followed him towards the doorway without hesitation, and found herself racking her brain, trying to think of something to say or do that might make him laugh like that again.

“So,” he said as they reached the bottom of the staircase, “How is your start of term going?”

Hermione shrugged, “It’s fine. There’s a lot to do, but I’ve improved a lot on my time management.”

Blaise raised his eyebrows at her, “Do you mean to tell me you weren’t always good at time management?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but I can sometimes overdo things.”

“I have never heard that about you.”

“Well then you’ll be surprised to learn that third year Professor McGonagall wrote to the Ministry to allow me the use of a time turner so that I could take all of the classes the school offers.”

Blaise stopped walking, his jaw falling slack. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You traveled in time to take extra classes.”

“You know I never thought about it, but I’m technically at least nine months older than everyone thinks.”

This musing seemed to be too much for Blaise. A laugh burst from his mouth and he keeled over, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

“That’s — the most — you thing — I have ever heard,” he gasped.

Hermione was giggling too as she truly processed her own ridiculousness and simultaneously took that moment to congratulate herself for succeeding in making Blaise laugh twice in such a short span of time. The sound of his laughter made her feel like she was standing out in the sun, even though they were still in the dead of winter.

“What about you?” she asked, once they had both calmed down a bit, continuing down the dimly lit hall, their footsteps echoing off the high walls.

“What do you mean?” Blaise asked, still smiling, his face a door unlocked.

“What is a peak ‘you’ moment?” as many letters as they had exchanged in the two weeks of Christmas break, Hermione only ever found herself wanting to know more about him.

“Hmm,” Blaise said, nudging her gently to the right so that she wouldn’t miss the turn that led to the Gryffindor common room. “I don’t know that I’ve ever quite achieved that level of self-caricature.”

Hermione huffed, lifting her nose with an air of superiority, “You’ve obviously not been trying hard enough.”

“I did ‘accidentally’ ruin a pair of one of my step-dad’s shoes,” he said, thoughtfully.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Selwyn. He always seemed hell bent on separating me and my mum. I don’t think I factored into his plans for her,” the ghost of a frown flitted across his face.

“He sounds awful,” Hermione said lightly, “Would the accidental nature of your vandalism hold up in front of the Wizengamot, do you think?”

Blaise grinned then, and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. The way his cheekbones filled out when he smiled, the way his eyes flashed playfully...he should really warn her before he did things like that.

“It should,” he said, “It happened just before first year, actually. He’d said something cheeky, I don’t even remember what at this point. I’d gone to bed angry, and when I woke up his shoes had somehow found their way into Adonis’s cage.”

Hermione let out a cry of laughter, then clapped her hands to her mouth, worried she had been too loud. 

“Adonis didn’t eat them of course — he has taste,” Blaise said, wrinkling his nose. Hermione had dissolved into a fit of giggles. “They were hideous — some bright red monstrosity he was trying to pass off as dragon leather. He couldn’t get the stains off, even with magic.”

Tears dotted the corners of Hermione’s eyes, as she tried to keep her laughter in, her hand still pressed to her mouth. She put her other hand on Blaise’s shoulder to steady herself, taking a deep breath. He chuckled, joy still lighting his face, but something softer was pushing through.

Her laughter faded away as she suddenly became aware of what she was doing. Her hand suddenly felt like lead where she gripped his shoulder, electricity running up her arm. She bit her lip as she dropped her hand, feeling strangely awkward and self-conscious. Blaise looked away, his face closing off again. Silence stretched between them, tense and confusing.

Hermione cleared her throat, “I should, er…”

“Yeah,” he said, “Me too.”

He offered her a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. As he turned away, Hermione suddenly felt disappointed. She wasn’t sure what had been about to happen, but she was sure she had ruined it.

…

Hermione was trying her hardest to manage her clearly growing feelings for Blaise, unable to see how it could end anything but badly. Still, she appreciated having someone around who made her feel like she was interesting outside of her extensive knowledge on the twelve uses of dragon’s blood. It especially helped given that Harry and Ron continued to infuriate her.

Ron was oscillating between trying to talk to her as if nothing had happened and making snide remarks when she passed. Harry, on the other hand, refused to do his Potions work on his own, instead using the Half-Blood Prince’s instructions any chance he got.

“I have to try to soften Slughorn up if I’m going to get that memory from him, aren’t I?” was his excuse.

But one lesson, towards the end of January, seemed like it would finally backfire on him.

“Settle down, settle down, please!” Slughorn said from the front of the room, “Quickly, now, lots of work to get through this afternoon! Golpalott’s Third Law...who can tell me—?” Hermione’s hand shot up, “But Miss Granger can, of course!”

Hermione could see Blaise rolling his eyes at the Slytherin table, but she could tell he was amused by her.

“Golpalott’s Third Law states that the antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components,” she recited.

“Precisely!” beamed Slughorn. “Ten points to Gryffindor! Now, if we accept Golpalott’s Third Law as true…”

Harry looked like he was going to be sick. Ron wasn’t even paying attention, doodling in the corner of his book as if someone would Apparate into the room and do the lesson for him. Hermione grinned to herself as she copied down Slughorn’s words into her notes.

“...and so,” Slughorn finished, “I want each of you to come and take one of these phials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don’t forget your protective gloves.”

Hermione shot up out of her seat and grabbed her phial before anyone else could. She went back to her cauldron and tipped the hissing electric blue poison inside before starting the fire beneath.

“It’s a shame that the Prince won’t be able to help you much with this, Harry,” she said brightly. She couldn’t help herself, “You have to understand the principles involved this time. No shortcuts or cheats!”

Harry scowled as Hermione turned back to her cauldron.

She pulled out her wand and thought Specialis Revelio! The potion separated into its disparate parts. She poured them out one by one into different phials. She recognized the fellviper venom immediately, and the nightshade. The others she had to check in her book. She had most of the separate antidotes in her potion-making kit, but a few she had to grab from the class stores. She poured it all back into her cauldron and set it to simmer before clipping a small chunk of her own hair and adding it in, changing the light, almost transparent peach color to a cloudy and swirling sunset orange. 

Harry sighed and stood, going over to the store cupboard.

“Two minutes left, everyone!” Slughorn called. Hermione added a few more ingredients into the now thickly bubbling cauldron, which had now turned a dusky purple. She turned the fire off and started scooping it out, tipping the contents into her bottle.

“Time’s...UP!” Slughorn called, “Well, let’s see how you’ve done! Blaise...what have you got for me?”

Blaise stood by his cauldron, arms crossed. As Slughorn peeked over at his final result, he raised his eyebrows at Hermione playfully. She bit her lip and looked down at her bottle of antidote. She suddenly realized she had forgotten the asphodel on her cutting board. She quickly grabbed some and sprinkled it into the bottle while Slughorn moved on to Malfoy, who looked like he had spilled vomit over the front of his robes.

Slughorn came to their table last. He sniffed Ernie’s potion, and almost gagged at the awful fumes coming from Ron’s cauldron.

“And you, Harry,” he said, “What have you got to show me?”

Harry held out his hand, a small shriveled stone in the center of his palm.

There was a long beat of silence. Harry began to turn red. Suddenly, Slughorn roared with laughter.

“You’ve got nerve, boy!” He boomed, taking the bezoar and holding it up so the entire class could see. “Oh, you’re like your mother...Well, I can’t fault you...A bezoar would certainly act as an antidote to all these potions!”

Slughorn hadn’t even looked at Hermione, had completely forgotten to look at the work she had done. He only had eyes for Harry. She felt a hot anger burn through her, making her eyes water.

“That’s the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs!” said Slughorn happily. Hermione’s hands began to shake as Slughorn went back up to his desk, her potion completely forgotten.

She tossed her things into her bag haphazardly and stormed out of the room as the bell rang. She was sick of this, of putting in so much effort and getting nothing in return. School was the thing she was good at, and Harry was just stumbling through, taking up space without doing any actual work.

She fought back her tears as she entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, knowing it would do no good to cry in front of Snape. She chose a seat as far from the back as possible, knowing Harry and Ron would probably choose to sit there.

By the time Harry came in, he didn’t look as triumphant as when she’d left the Potions classroom. She found out why at lunch.

“It was a disaster,” he said, sitting down across from her at the table like she wasn’t still furious with him, “Slughorn all but threw me out at the mention of Horcruxes.”

“Wow,” she said flatly, “Who would’ve thought Won-Won’s suggestion wouldn’t go as planned?”

“Hermione, can’t you just talk to him already?”

“Leave me alone, Harry,” she said sharply, opening up the autobiography of Seraphina Picquery Blaise had lent her the week before.

…

Even through her anger, Harry’s update on Slughorn’s memory reminded her that she wanted to look up information on Horcruxes. On her next break, she went to the Restricted Section of the library. She scanned the books and found two that she thought might work: Dark Sorcery and Magick Moste Evile. After grabbing them both off the shelf, she went to find a quiet corner to read.

She found Blaise instead, sitting at a table on his own, books sprawled out in front of him as he scribbled neatly on a sheet of parchment. Sunlight peeked through the cloudy sky from the high window, briefly passing over him, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. She hurried over to him without a thought, a smile spreading across her face.

“Can I join you?” she asked once she was close enough.

Blaise looked up, his dark eyes bright. He gestured to the empty chair across from him, “Go ahead.”

Hermione dropped her bag on the ground beside the table and sat in the chair as he went back to his work. She slid Magick Moste Evile in front of her, which let out a low ghostly moan as she opened it to the introduction.

Blaise looked back up from his Transfiguration essay, an eyebrow raised.

“Why are you reading such a creepy book?”

Hermione’s fingers froze on the first page. She hadn’t thought of this when she’d come over. She knew she couldn’t tell Blaise why she had really picked up these books, and she cast around for something convincing to tell him.

“I’m trying to understand the way werewolf bites work,” she lied, saying the first thing that came to mind, “I thought these might help.”

Blaise seemed to buy it, accepting her need to know everything about everything in the slightly exasperated way she had become accustomed to. “I doubt Snape will care if you’re able to pinpoint the exact magical property that creates the change.”

“Yes, but learning Defense is about more than getting good grades,” she pointed out.

Blaise’s eyes widened, looking startled, before he shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”

They passed the rest of break time in silence, each of them focused on their own work. Hermione didn’t find anything about Horcruxes in Magick Moste Evile except for a small mention in the introduction, so she turned to Dark Sorcery in the hopes that it would at the very least shed light on what a Horcrux actually was.

Blaise started packing up his things ten minutes before the end of break. “What class do you have?”

“Arithmancy,” Hermione said, shutting the book.

“History of Magic’s in the same wing,” he said, pushing himself out of his seat. He jerked his head towards the exit, “Come on.”

He waited for her by the door as she checked her books out with Madam Pince, and then they strode out together. Hermione started to feel a little nervous, wondering what would happen if someone they knew saw them together. As if he had read her mind, Blaise made a sharp right, pulling open a tapestry and revealing a small corridor, a shortcut that would not only ensure they were hidden, but would cut across the castle to where they needed to go. Hermione ducked inside.

“I meant to ask,” Blaise said, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, “How are you after the bezoar incident?”

She had left her anger to simmer in the back of her mind in her more pressing quest to learn about Horcruxes, and it burned brighter now at the mention of their last Potions class. But she couldn’t let Blaise know how much it hurt. She suspected he had a bias against Harry, which she wasn’t sure was just from his being a Slytherin. “I’m fine,” she said tightly.

“Hmm,” Blaise said. Hermione looked up to see that he was frowning.

“What?”

“Nothing, just you looked really upset in class…” he trailed off, glancing down at her, his eyebrows raised.

Hermione huffed, “Well obviously I’m furious, but there’s nothing I can do. Harry is Professor Slughorn’s favorite.”

“Even among us favorites,” Blaise sighed, though he didn’t sound bitter. “I’m sorry he didn’t get to appreciate your hard work,” he reached out and tugged lightly on her hair, where she’d snipped off a bit to add to her antidote.

Hermione scowled at his sly grin and smacked his hand away, pretending that the contact didn’t sent her heart racing.

Up ahead, she could see the exit, could hear the chatter and footsteps of students just beyond the large framed portrait that was blocking them in, out of sight.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, curiosity in his eyes.

“Sure.”

“Why’d you hesitate to tell me how you were feeling?”

Hermione’s stomach flipped but she rolled her eyes, “Because if I tell you how I’m really feeling, you’ll just go into a diatribe about how that’s why you’re a loner who luxuriates in your own solitude atop the Astronomy Tower.”

Blaise laughed, but shook his head, “Nah, I wouldn’t do that. Not now that I’ve found you.”

His words made her blush, and her voice came out quieter than she intended. “Glad I could help pull you down from your tower.”

They slowed to a stop, just before the entrance. She looked up at Blaise, about to suggest that they leave one at a time, so that no one would suspect anything. But Blaise didn’t seem to be thinking about an escape. His eyes sparkled humorously, and he took a step towards her.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” he murmured.

He was so close, Hermione couldn’t see past the breadth of his shoulders. His warm scent filled her nose and her breathing turned shallow as he gently tugged on her hair again, his fingers winding their way through her tight curls. Her eyes locked onto his. There was a fire behind them, and she couldn’t look away.

She lifted her chin as he bent down, closing the already shrinking gap between them. And then his lips pressed against hers, gentle but firm.

Before she could think, before she could decide to kiss him back or pull away, the pressure on her lips was gone, his hand gone from her hair.

Her eyes fluttered open, just in time to see Blaise’s standard smirk before he pushed the portrait open and slipped out into the crowded hall.

To Be Continued

[bibliomint]

Character Analysis: Saburo Miki

I think the majority of the fandom either doesn’t appreciate him enough or wants his route. While I can’t give him enough justice to write a route myself, I can give my best attempt at a character analysis bc lets be real, his wiki page is, well, lacking at best

Obviously spoilers, but if you’ve come for an analysis of a character who’s barely in the game, you’ve probably played through at least two routes and know the gist of what’s happened.

We all know him as that one guy who was Tall and Abrasive and, if you’ve played through Souma’s route, Somewhat Cruel and Possibly Insane.

Yes, he’s brash, and abrasive, and speaks before he thinks. Yes, he’s clearly rough around the edges, he’s arrogant and blunt. But those are all surface observations. Those are things you pick up from other routes. They don’t give you every angle that makes him a well rounded character/antagonist.

Sure, the devs could have gone into more detail about his backstory. We all would have loved that. It would have made his ambitions more clear and his motivations easier to understand. But since they didn’t, we are left to sift through the few scenes he’s in to piece together his character. There really isn’t much, but what we do have is enough to get a good idea for his primary motivation and drive: his pride.

This is pretty clear from his surface-level personality. He’s arrogant, brash and rude and a tinge of cruel (see Kyoto Winds, Souma’s route, near the end when he’s smashing Souma’s face in the dirt.) He’s used to getting his way. He’s used to people following him, to people falling at his feet. It’s very clearly gone to his head. But that all comes crashing down when his brother is murdered. When people he thought were on his side turn out to be spies and backstabbers cough saito cough heisuke cough.

During the whole thing, after Itou dies, the best way to describe Miki is lost. His leader is gone and he doesn’t know what to do. Suddenly he’s in charge of himself. He has to think for himself. No longer is he directly following the Imperial-Nationalistic ideologies of his brother. He’s forced with a worldview check at the same time he loses his closest and possibly only family member. Itou had been the only person keeping a check on him, keeping him in line, that it’s no surprise he completely snaps. (see Kyoto Winds, chapter 3, when he’s first introduced.) He doesn’t know what to do with himself. His home is in the middle of a Civil War, his only family is gone, his friends have all betrayed him and are currently using him for selfish means, and he just doesn’t know what to do. He’s good at carrying out orders, not making them. Miki’s been roughly thrown into more chaos than any person should have to deal with at once.

Just because he’s a follower doesn’t mean he’s stupid. He’s just a slice and dice now, ask questions later kind of guy. He acts on impulse and figures he’ll deal with the repercussions later.

He was ready to manhandle Chizuru into the bathhouse, just to prove a point. That he could, that his suspicions were correct, that she really didn’t belong and stuck out like a sore thumb. When Souma arrives, he backs off some and goes to plan B. He almost prompts her to admit that she’s a girl. If Nomura hadn’t said something, she probably would have admitted to it and the entire route would have gone differently.

It’s no surprise that he becomes a Fury. He felt like he didn’t have a choice. Miki’s a follower, not a leader. He just doesn’t know how to lead. “Who am I kidding? I’m no leader.” He’s used to being the backup brawn for his thinker of a brother. He’s used to following orders and not thinking about it.

“They made a Fury out of me, something I never wanted.” He felt that his hand had been forced by his superiors. He doesn’t know how to say ”no” to people above him, because he’s never had to.

Having your closest friend and family member murdered in cold blood purely for a political move would make any sane person seek restitution. He wanted justice for what he rightly felt was a crime. Sure, maybe he thought that his brother had done some things that weren’t the purest, but he was still family. Itou was still the only thing he had in the world, and it had been cruelly ripped away from him.

It’s no surprise that Miki chases them throughout Souma’s whole route. He’s been so beaten down and betrayed, the only thing he can think of is to finish what remains the Shinsengumi, even if he isn’t angry at the surviving members. Revenge is the only thing that gets him out of bed. He’s very clearly depressed at the end of the story, saying things like, “What’s the point in life?” ”Fate is cruel...at some point, we are made to expect nothing. It’s hopeless.” and, “I’m nothing more than a monster. A wretched beast. A burden.” He doesn’t know what to do anymore, forced to wander the earth until he either finds someone else to follow, or burns his life out by using his Fury abilities, which is possibly the saddest ending out of them all.

But, as overwhelming are his negative characteristics are, he does have some positive things going for him. Chizuru makes a direct reference in chapter 4 of Kyoto Winds, commenting that even though they weren’t close, he seemed pretty responsible. It leads me to believe that, if his ideologies had been the same as the Shinsengumi, he would never have left, carrying out his duties until his final day. He was also very loyal, sticking with Itou even though it meant leaving a safe position with the Shinsengumi to a more questionable position, one that didn’t necessarily mean victory in the long run. Even after Itou dies and Miki’s thrown into chaos, he still tries to follow what he thinks is a wise move, running after Kodo and the Imperialists. It lands him in trouble, turning him into a Fury; not always what we think is right turns out to really be the wisest of moves. You can’t blame him for chasing after the only hope he had. Running for his allies only for them to dump him onto the street isn’t necessarily his fault. Could he have seen it coming? Probably, if he hadn’t been so blindsided by his desperation.

He has a little bit of Okita about him. He makes the comment “A job is a job. I don’t plan on making it personal.” Take that how you will. Maybe it’s a good thing, that he knows when and when not to get attached, or maybe it’s proof of something colder.

His “ability to let his mouth run loose” according to Itou also leads to moments where I think he has a decent sense of humor. The scene in Kyoto Winds where everyone is cleaning is an example. Takeda is whining about cleaning, and Miki is straight up savage with him, joining in on the teasing of the 5th Division Captain with Harada. He also exhibits good teamwork in that scene.

Something tells me if life had gone a little differently for him, if it had treated him a little kinder, he might have turned into an amazing person. But he got the shorter end of the stick, and has one of the most unfortunate and tragic endings of all the characters in the game. If he had had a route, I’m sure his character development would have been amazing to see, to watch him grow from someone so brash to someone softer, who knows how to treat people decently and to know how to forgive and let go.

[birthdaylobotomy]

I Took It And I Ran

WIP                                                                                                                      Currently still very much in progress. However, I wanted to share this! 

CONTENT WARNING: Alcohol, drug use, violence, sexist/sexual language. In later parts there will be suicidal ideation, self harm, prostitution, sexual abuse,  homophobia and racist language among other thing. 

I do not share many of the ideologies my main character does. Remember- you are seeing this through the eyes of an angry kid in the early 90s. He says many things that are, in general, very bitter. 

@sec-lude, @misfitwings, @cohldhands, @smoke-the-woke and anyone else who wants to be put on/taken off the tag list let me know!!

With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy!!

CHAPTER ONE (Part One)

The first time I met Luke, I was at that house party Monica was throwing for her ugly friend Brittney. I don’t remember all of the details, mostly because I was completely and irreversibly hammered. I just know Britt was sad about something, probably her baby daddy not paying his support- he never did- and Monica, who knew everybody up and down the block, decided to throw a party. What can I say? Monica was great at making people forget their woes, until the next day and pounding hangover, of course. Monica, pretty Monica.

I remember the scene at least, the setup. Assad was ranting off to me about some dumb shit I didn’t care about, but I had to pretend to care because as long as he thought we were friends, I would get my weed cheap. Was I manipulative? Oh, for sure, but I didn’t care back then. I didn’t care about anyone.

“This bitch was all over me, I swear,” he sighed, doing the thing he always did, which was tug at my shoulder twice and clap his hands together when he caught my glare. “But, but, I knew I had a girlfriend. She knew too!”

I had already checked myself out mentally from what he was saying. It was always the same shit anyways. He would be dealing to a girl, and she would have no money, “No nothin’ but her body, and damn was her body rich!” And Assad, poor Assad, would be faced with the trial of either going ahead and having the fuck of his life, or staying loyal to his baby. His baby that he sure had the habit of cheating on.

“Yeah, yeah, this bitch- oh!” He cringed his face tight and smacked his hands together twice. “Her ass was so fucking fat, I almost had a- a seizure, just lookin’! My baby can’t find out, she won’t. I won’t let her.”

I nodded twice. I hated men who cheat, I still do. They are scumbags who deserve to be found out. Assad was no exception.

The party was packed. Monica’s parties usually were. Over 100 shady people, all squeezed into one tiny apartment. People who I had never seen, who’s scent I hadn’t even smelled yet. Everyone knew Monica though. If they hadn’t fucked her or her sister, then their boyfriend had. Despite this, everyone loved her.

The room stunk, and that was coming from a smelly punk who lived in early 90’s Detroit. Even my roomates, a former prostitute and her shithead boyfriend, smelled like a flower shop compared to the mess of people I was in. Assad didn’t seem to notice- he must’ve been high off his ass. His skin gleamed with sweat, and his afro seemed to be weighed down with gunks of stale perspiration. He wiped his face a few times and licked his lips constantly.

“Fuck, man,” Assad groaned, giving one last tug at my shoulder before swinging his head in the other direction. “I gotta go. Monica’s parties always end with someone either gettin’ cursed or killed or pregnant. I gotta go.”

I made no attempt to keep him at that party. Instead, I nodded in support of the concept. “Listen, man, if you need to leave, leave. I definitely wouldn’t blame ya,” I said, gesturing of the swarm of drunk criminals that buzzed everywhere I could see.

He bobbed his head three times, each time slower than the former. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take care, white boy.” I sighed at his awkward goodbye- was it well meaning or an attempt at insult? I would never know or care. I nearly shoved him away, which I disguised with a rough pat on the back, and Assad quickly vanished into the crowd of rats.

Since I was alone, I decided now would probably be my only chance at a cigarette until some other phony friend would find it to be the right time to attack me with their personal crisis.

So, with nothing but a cheap pack a cigarettes and a half empty bottle of warm beer, I escape from the soup of musty kids and into the lukewarm night.

It was such a blessed night. And chilly, too. The raggedy holes in beat-up jeans soaked in the cold and made the skin on my knees prickle up underneath. I kept swinging around the bottle, my arm rubber, as I chucked it out into the street. Even my swaying, drunk eyes could see the glass explode like fireworks.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t even realize just how freezing it was until the vapor rose out of my mouth, like smoke from a dragon. I rubbed my hands against my naked arms and cursed the invention of wife-beaters.

I was mad. I had been for a long time, for a lot of different reasons. The most recent fuel to my fire was the fact that I had fallen bitterly in love with Monica. The queen of whores, sitting on a throne of the men she had fucked and left in the dirt. Pretty Monica, with her cherry red lips and big brown hair, her perky tits and squeaky voice.

I dug a cigarette out of my pocket. I didn’t know a single guy that wouldn’t get a hard on when Monica would wiggle her way into a room, spill a few tacky flirts and wiggle right back out. Something about her left guys, even ones who were damn well smart enough to know she was nothing more than polite slut, drooling after her and her tight little-

I couldn’t find my fucking lighter. My dead old jeans were ripped right through as I forced my hand through my pocket. It came out on the other side, the hole shredded and unfixable. I completely stopped for a long minute. My favorite pair of pants, torn but not in a way I could frame as being some punk bullshit.

“Oh, fuck off!” I grabbed whatever my hands could snatch- a nearly empty pack of smokes- and I flung it as hard as I could muster into the sidewalk. A few wandering crackheads were the only ones to notice as I stamped my heart out against the pack. Up and down I threw myself, until the pack was nothing but a flat stomped out pile of tobacco crumbs and mashed paper.

I stared at the ground. A pile of mediocre cigs, wasted.

Why was I so angry back then? I knew it was just more than Monica. I knew it, but it would have taken a gun or war to make me admit what it really was.

This block was a rough one. Buggy eyed homeless people, all high on dope and some other shit would always come swaying around corners, like feral dogs waiting to bite. Just walking to Monica’s apartment, only seven o’ clock, made me paranoid. The city was going through a great death those days. The auto industry had fled, racial tensions were so strung that you could cut them with a knife. I think everyone was angry, waiting to burst.

I stood there like some kind of scarecrow. I had no cigarettes and no beer. No knife either. As the sound of police sirens acted as a distant lullabye, I was reminded of that. I had left my blade at the apartment. I always did when I came to Monica’s place. The why was really dumb, but I just told anyone who would ask that if Gloria, my roommate, ever got into shit with her scumbag boyfriend, that my blade would save her life. Now that I think of it, she never used that blade, not once in her short life.

That’s when I saw- no, heard first- a man who I would come to know as Luke Evans.

It started with the pounding of his feet- an anthem against the black tar. I heard his sneakers slapping against the earth before I saw him. And when I saw him, I saw all of him.

His feet were a blur, he was running faster than anyone I had ever seen before- you know, if he had for whatever reason changed his life and poured his being into being some trackstar, he would have left Bolt in the dust.

His face- his face was filled with some primordial fear, something out of a nature documentary. His eyes distant but near, wide wide open but closed tight shut, peering. He bounced up and down as his feet touched and released the ground, and he sported an oversized jacket- like a little kid trying out his dad’s old coat. He sprinted with his arms, pumping almost as quickly as his legs did. When I made him out I stopped breathing. I wasn’t afraid of him. I don’t why I wasn’t, but for some reason, I immediately felt the urge to guard him from whatever beast he was escaping.

He ran straight, right through the center of the street. I was to his left- probably just a blur, a small mark on a large map of shadowy, red-brick row homes. But to me, Luke was something like an asteroid. A comet.

Ten more seconds. In a wild racing screech, blared honking and two blinding lights- the beast was revealed.

A truck, torn inside and out with big blocky bullet-holes, shredded to the point it could barely even be called a vehicle. What monsters in human bodies could have destroyed something so thoroughly? I began to sweat as it all came closer. Monsters that lived in each and every apartment as far as I could see.

This is when I, a twenty one year old child, brimming with rage and lust and depression, saw a decision, that I seemed destined from the day I was born to make. I saw the option more clearly that I had seen anything else up to that point. I could save this stranger, who had done something, something big and bad enough to cause that chase, and that anger. Or I could save myself. I could allow myself to continue this existence of standing to the side and nodding to get what I want. A life of putting in no effort, no care, no risk of change. A life that would keep me safe but miserable.

Of course, in that moment, it wasn’t laid out like that- I didn’t think of it that way. However, even young and dumb me knew I needed to do something.

So, in one of my few moments of selfless risk, I made the choice to save him.

It was swift- the flash of my arm thrusting out, the smudge of the darkness and Luke becoming one thing, and, of course, the look. The look we traded as this happened, as he had finally passed me on the street and I, a formerly minor distraction on the sideline, became a central figure. In that moment, I made myself almost as important as the car, with its headlights licking Luke’s heels.

As he looked at me, I swear to this day his baby blue eyes held no fear. He was confused, as anyone would be in that moment- but he wasn’t scared, at least not of me. I don’t know why.

I wonder what I looked like to him. He would never tell me. Maybe a hero. I like to think that at the very least. I fantasize and tell myself I had a manly shine and glimmer, my eyes determined and my mouth a fine line of focus. I wish I had asked him.

But in that moment, I wasn’t thinking of me. I wasn’t really thinking about Luke either, truthfully. In reality, I was thinking about the car.

The car, which screeched as it came closer, closer, a giant hulking monster that would kill me in an instant if I refused to move any longer. I sprang, my legs weak and bouncy but strong. Strong enough to leap across the small plot of grass in front of the building, my arm a leash and Luke barely connected. I spotted the bush- the bush that all of Monica’s drunk boyfriends would piss in, littered with cigarette butts and and wrappers and whatever other shit people would be too lazy to actually dispose of.

In that moment, that nasty fucking bush was a paradise- something sent from God himself to rescue me and this beautiful blonde criminal attached to my arm. I threw myself fully into it, the thin twigs popping and crackling as they snapped around us. Everything was so fast, so urgent, that the moment we sat the world came to jolting halt.

Silence.

We were as silent as two panting, terrified children could be. I could only hear the sounds of our bodies and the city then- the constant warning of police and their wail, the close hum of the party in the building right against the shrubbery, and the car. The car, wheezing and sputtering like an old man. Its engine coughed and spat below the hood. I could hear shouting- what did they say? They sounded angry, and dangerous. I put my hand instinctively over my mouth, and I tried to slow my breathing one trembling huff at a time. My eyes couldn’t help but stray to the person inches away from me.

The light of the car moved slow, slow. It winked at us, walked across our bodies, the shadows of the leaves that crossed us looking like spots of black against our persons. The glint was too powerful and in a moment of impulse, I turned my face. I saw Luke, not move, not even blink. The light gave him a holy glow, a halo. He did not look at me. He looked only at the truck.

It seemed to last a million years. When finally the shouting stopped, I heard something like a mumble, and then the tires screamed against the street, and the truck sped off and away.

Neither Luke nor I moved for a full thirty seconds. Nothing. The car was gone- it was truly gone. I had been the first to hint at our safety; I looked at him and couldn't help but smile, big, goofy and relieved. Out of the corner of his eye he assessed me cautiously, before finally turning to face me fully for the first time. When he did, the corner of his mouth was a boyish grin.

Even in the hidden darkness, his eyes twinkled like Christmas lights. I could make out his dimples that shined through his babyish cheeks. There was something so alien about that youth, and those eyes. I couldn’t help but feel myself fall in an exhausted but hearty laugh. And he started laughing too, and I remember so cleanly both us giggling and sobbing with this brilliant feeling of ease.

When we eventually were became too sore to keep dying over nothing, we fell quiet again. I noticed Luke move his head side to side, as if he were searching for something. I could only see the darkness of his silhouette. I looked at only him.

“This bush smells like urine,” he said. That brought me back to a level of reality. It did smell like piss- and drugs. And whatever nasty shit people has dumped into it.

“Fuck, let’s get out then.”

“Okay.” Both of us moved at once- Luke, not drunk like me, popped up out of the bush with a flurry of broken and dry leaves. He yanked me up without me having to ask. We both stood there, very close, the brier scratching at our waists. It took my slightly intoxicated sway to get us moving again.

When we were back in the clear, Luke looked over up and down the streets as he yanked up his pants and held his huge jacket closed. He didn’t explain anything, but instead looked to me and nodded with gratefulness. “Thanks, man. Really.” I told him no worries, and picked a few thorns out of my knees. “What’s your name?”

My head jerked up. This was the crossing of a great bridge. I hid my happiness by raking my hand through my mess of hair. “Ryder. You?”

With one hand clutching his jacket, he stuck out a small, twig-sliced hand. “Lucas Evans. My friends prefer Luke, though.”

Did I plan it? Did I do it on purpose? I like to think I didn’t, and that I either was too stupid to realize it- which is much more likely- or that it was fate somehow. The idea of me doing it consciously makes me cringe.

“Alrighty, Luke...We should probably go inside.” Without hesitation, I took and shook his offered hand.

And in that moment, I didn’t just cross the bridge, but I flew across it, not even thinking to look back. Just by changing a few minor letters and shedding an S this person, who I barely knew but had still saved, went from being a complete stranger who owed me to a friend.

I saw him look to the ground in- in what? In pleasure, embarrassment, childish joy? But when he looked back up his dimples dotted his cheeks grandly.

“You’re right. I don’t-” He peaked over his shoulder again, scratching the back of his head, “I don’t think it would be all that smart of me to go back into those streets.”

“No kiddin’,” I said, leading the way back to Monica’s cluttered party. “If you just stay here for a bit you’ll be fine.”

When I opened the door I was hit with pounding, pungent reminder of why I left in the first place. Girls caked with makeup and sweat, greasy punk boys shedding their shirts to try impress someone, anyone. I let out a heave of a sigh and turned to Luke with a flip-flopped expression. “Just so you know, be weary of everyone here. They aren’t good people.”

[ardentfemme]

Beauty is Pain: A Fierce Fem’s Guide to Overcoming Misphoria

“The body has been made so problematic for women that it has often seemed easier to shrug it off and travel as a disembodied spirit.”

         - Adrienne Rich, “Of Woman Born”

When I was four, I shimmied into my mom’s fuchsia pencil skirt, hitching it up around my tiny body like a strapless dress. I flounced around the house in it like a tube-topped mermaid caught in a net. Next came the heels. I teetered in them and crashed into walls with no concern for scuffs, skids, or scratches. To complete the look, I smeared my mother’s Mary Kay Midnight Primrose all over my face, indulging in a little taste or two.

I was invincible.

When I was ten, I got my period. Evolution, God, or the Devil himself had catalyzed some alchemical reaction in a body that, for the first time, seemed outside the realm of my control. Womanhood was not all fun and games, my mother explained to me. Womanhood meant buying pads with my babysitting money and crumpling up with embarrassment when the only cashiers to be seen were men. Womanhood was double-wrapping your pads before you threw them in the trash in case your father or uncle or second-removed-visiting-from-out-of-town cousin stumbled upon them and recoiled at the evidence of Eve’s grave sin.

Ten was also the year a man groped me on public transportation for the first time. That same day, I threw away my skirts and pretend makeup. To exist in my body seemed an unbearable task. To bear the weight of my mosquito-bite tits, my ever-growing thighs, my increasingly curvaceous behind, seemed impossible.

I began to realize that my body didn’t belong to me. It belonged to the old men on the street who whistled at me, to the pizza-faced teens on buses who poked and prodded me, to my young male peers who snapped my training bra at recess. My body belonged to my future husband - Oh, when you get married one day, you’ll understand. My body belonged to the children I would raise with my future husband - Oh, when you have kids one day, you’ll understand. And, I learned, men would readily access what they knew their socially-sanctioned right would afford them - my hair was for Uncle Dan to swat, my breasts were for Mr. Crawford to cup, my behind was for Principal Ulricht to pat.

Because my body belonged to men, who dictated what was and what was not attractive in women, I was taught to groom it in accordance with their needs and wants. I was taught to distance myself from my body, to alienate myself from any pleasure it might bring me. “Beauty is pain,” my mother always told me as she plucked wayward hairs from my Brooke Shields brows.

If beauty was pain, then I decided to be ugly.

At twelve, I cut off all my hair and refused to experiment with makeup and clothes like the other girls my age. Teachers commended me for taking my school work seriously and not concerning myself with all the trivialities that come with pre-teen girlhood. My parents started to express concern that I wasn’t “like the other girls.” In a sense, they were right. I was deeply connected to the little girl who played dress up in her mother’s heels and lipstick years earlier, but I felt so alienated from my own body that that complex lexicon of feminine symbology had lost its meaning for me. I had no vocabulary with which to express my own experience with gender, misogyny, and my burgeoning sexuality.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I petitioned the school board to turn the all-boys basketball team co-ed because a certain crush of mine wanted to play. When she asked, “You’re gonna be on my team, right?” I faced a conundrum. Surely, I had realized by then that I was batting for her team in a sense, but I certainly didn’t want to play sports. 

By then, I was starting to reclaim the parts of me that had been stolen when I was younger. I wore frilly dresses, unabashedly experimented with makeup (and made some egregious mistakes involving neon eyeshadows), and amassed a sizeable collection of junk jewelry that I paired impeccably with exotic thrift store finds. 

But when I got to college, I got sucked into the radical feminist ideology that had swept campus. By reclaiming my femininity, I was making myself complicit in my own oppression under patriarchy by appealing to the male gaze. Just as I did almost a decade before, I threw out the dresses, makeup, and even quite a few of my bras. (In retrospect, the whole bra-burning thing was pretty liberating.) I was claiming my body as mine, I thought. My body was not an object for male sexual gratification. My body was not to be commodified and repackaged to sell products. My body was not an incubator for babies to be churned out in some state-sanctioned transfer of property. My body was mine and mine alone. If it took abjuring makeup and dresses to communicate this, then I would do so.

That same year, when I was twenty, I met my first butch. She was everything I never knew I wanted - curse-slinging, beer-guzzling, knife-brandishing. Loud and seemingly unafraid of anything whenever we were in a big group. Soft and fumbling when she was alone with me. We fell into a dance that felt new and exciting, and, at the same time, ancient and sacred. It almost seems a disservice to retroactively label this dance love. It was a coming home to myself. 

In her own way, she reminded me of what I discovered when I was four years old, playing in my mother’s closet: I am a powerful creative force and any way I choose to shape and mold my image is reflective of that. She instilled in me what my radfem circle had alluded to - My body belonged to me. Sharing a cigarette outside a club, her hand dipping below my skirt, she asked me, “Is this okay?” In that moment, I realized I had the ability to dictate what I would and would not allow to happen to my body. I had a voice, I discovered. And I used that voice to chant yes yes YES in that abandoned back alley. A mantra, a summoning, an outpouring of gratitude. 

All those years, I had been led to believe that my body was intended for the Mr. Crawfords and Principal Ulrichts of this world. In that moment, I would gladly have relinquished ownership to her instead. She had returned my body to me after decades of struggling.

In a sense, you could say the rest is history. Except that I still have difficulty existing in this body. If I’m being honest, I still feel alienated from my physicality often. Even when I’m intimate with someone, I see myself through the male gaze, silently counting my numerous flaws - stretch marks, moles, and shouldn’t I be doing more squats? My ass is getting flabby. I should cut back on the carbs, too. Although the people I love don’t expect me to be a hairless, poreless statue of a woman, I have been policed long enough by the panopticon of patriarchy to police myself.

I still get groped on public transit. I still get eviscerated by fellow feminists for being complicit in my own oppression and by fellow lesbians alike for not being “lesbian” enough. I get called out for mimicking heteropatriarchal gender roles and for not “queering” my gender enough.

Ultimately, to be a woman is to be under constant scrutiny - whether the scrutiny comes from one’s in-group or out-group, we are positioned to be judged - and often found lacking. 

After spitballing with a friend, I arrived at the word “misphoria” - a combination of “misogyny” and “dysphoria” to help explain this bodily alienation many women, specifically fem/femme lesbians, feel as a result of constantly being dissociated from our physical selves. I wanted to avoid lifting the term “dysphoria” from its original context as it relates largely to trans experiences with gender. I hoped misphoria as a concept could broaden the conversation without appropriating terminology. 

Due to what I’m referring to as “misphoria,” my relationship with my body has been fraught throughout my entire life. I was conditioned to believe that I had little to no agency over my body, my desire, or my goals. My first butch used her own body to guide me into an understanding that every inch is mine.

Similarly, my relationship to womanhood and to my feminine presentation is my own. If I wear lipstick, it is an homage to my mother, who taught me that being a woman means strength. If I make the conscious decision to put on a skirt it is to honor that young girl who didn’t feel safe from the prying hands of men on city buses. And if I wear lace and frilly undergarments, it is for you, all the butches who have taught and re-taught me that my body is mine alone.

In a sense, this is a love letter. This is a love letter to the butch who valiantly carried my makeup bag up 1,400 ft on a camping trip because I wanted to look cute in the photos. To the butch who just laughed when I said I hadn’t like, you know, shaved down there today. To every butch who has ever opened the door for me or carried a package for me, knowing full well I was just as capable. Each act has helped ameliorate my misphoria by making me feel safe and welcome in my body and in my gender.

As we work toward reclaiming our space, our bodies, and our minds, I am honored to stand beside you.