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teamdoubleoh · 4 years

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Boothroyd was Q’s Grandfather

vaguely (sorry) based on this post by @tamquamm and @spiritofcamelot s request. Also infused is @caffeinatedflummadiddlebutmerlin s gender fluid merlin, though I didn’t ask If I could use the concept, sorry.

pt. 1/2 wordcount: 3533 unbeta:ed (And written by someone who can’t spell for shite in any language.)

Q has heard all about MI6 from his grandfather, Gregory, also known as Major Boothroyd. Bond’s predecessor as 007 used to annoy Boothroyd to no end so when Q meets Bond he finds himself unable to resist making one or three references to his grandfathers work at MI6. The older Minions are in on it, the younger ones think it’s hilarious and Bond thinks Q is very pretty when he smiles so he won’t ask what the hell is going on, as long as it makes Q happy.

TLTR: Q is a Holmes, the Minions treat quotes from Boothroyd like vines, Eve is a genius and Bond is in love. They get drunk, and Bond learns about Q and his family.

(This developed from a 500-word Drabble to a 3.6k monstrosity. Also Q is a Holmes and has a fourth sibling.)

When Bond had first met Q he’d still been unaccustomed to the name Q in reference to the Quartermaster. For as long as he’d been an agent the Quartermaster had been Major Gregory Boothroyd, who had been referred to by most agents as Major Boothroyd.

This had made calling the new Quartermaster Q very easy, and even though Bond liked to let of snarky remarks about Q’s age, he was well aware that Boothroyd would have never appointed anyone as R who wasn’t perfectly fit to take over as Quartermaster at any given time. And yet James had thought that this new Quartermaster would be someone who wasn’t used to the antics of agents or at least the double-oh’s and thus easier to irritate. He was wrong.

At First he had thought it coincidence.

Q had sat next to him in the national gallery, made a comment about the inevitability of time and handed him his equipment. Then, just as he was about to leave, he had reminded Bond to return the equipment in one piece.

There had been something in his eyes Bond couldn’t quite place - but it came close to a look he know from his missions - something in the eyes of someone who had just fooled everyone in a game of poker to go all in, only to reveal a royal flush.

James had dismissed it, had thought he’d interpreted too much into a single look. He should have known better, of course there had been something. Saying these words had meant more to Q than the pride of being the Quartermaster of MI6 could rectify. He had smiled his tight little smile and his eyes had shone with pure mirth.

It had happened again and again; pieces of dialogue between him and Q that seemed to light the Quartermaster up.

Once he had been going over the speed limit while on mission; not an irregular occurrence, sure, but for some reason Q had seemed delighted when he reminded Bond that he had a licence to kill, not to break the traffic laws. Bond had hesitated momentarily and answered that, yes he was aware. The pure satisfaction Q had radiated when he said »Good!« Had been clearly audible over com. So had been R’s snort in the background.

Another time they’d been standing in Q branch and Q had begrudgingly handed James a ›class four grenade‹, whatever that meant. James had been delighted to find that it looked very much like an ordinary pen and made a witty comment about how the pen was mightier than the sword. Q had smiled as he reminded Bond that that was now in fact the case and that James had to thank Q for that. James had smiled flirtily. »Did you just make joke Q?«

Q just shook his head in something that seemed to be a combination of genuine distress and mirth. »I never joke about my work 007.«

At least two senior minions had trouble to stifle their laughs while one of the new ones working nearby just grinned for the remainder of Bond’s stay in Q-Branch.

Since it was common knowledge that basically anything in Q-brach was deadly - including any and all personnel - many of the A-list Agents and most of the double-oh’s were very careful when it came to touching things. The only double-oh who seemingly forgot this every time he appeared before and after missions was, of course, 007. He had the potentially fatal habit to pick up whatever was in his reach to twirl it around or trow it in the air.

One particular time he’d just put down a poisoned ring when he’d set eyes on a brown paper bag that looked innocent enough to him. When he went to pick it up Q turned around, lightning fast, and pulled the bag from his hands exclaiming loudly, »DON’T TOUCH THAT! That’s my lunch!« to the obvious amusement of everyone in the vicinity.

Whenever James said something remotely illogical, immature or not well thought out, Q immediately quipped »Oh, grow up 007«. After three weeks of this the phrase had become something of an inside joke between the minions and Bond, and even he could appreciate it, even though he didn’t quite understood why it was that funny.

Bond only figured it out after Eve had invited him to one of her and Q’s monthly movie nights, though there was more drinking than movie watching.

***

They’d met at Q’s flat because it was located more or less exactly between Bond’s and Moneypenny’s. It was cozy and reasonably small, but not cluttered. The living room was not very lived in, which made sense to James when he considered Q’s working habits, but well furnished.

There was a worn couch that could hold all three of them if they squeezed, as well as an armchair and a wooden coffee table. Next to two bookcases there was a drawer that was probably supposed to hold silverware and tablecloths but the bottom drawer was pulled open and filled to the brim with scraps and bits of old tech.

Much more interesting was what Q had placed on top of the drawer. There were photos. Photos of the Quartermaster, some of him alone with different diplomas, some together with others or groups of people.

To James’ amazement one showed Q standing next to Mycroft Holmes. Bond had been introduced once, by his M, who hadn’t actually mentioned what Holmes did - only that he was basically everyone’s superior and also on speaking terms with the Royal family.

Another picture displayed a black door adorned with golden letters, telling the passing crowd that this was number 221b. In front stood an old lady with two younger men behind her. One of them was Sherlock Holmes, Bonds realised, the genius detective who’d killed himself a few years back. The other, Bond recognised from his army days as one lieutenant John Watson. Next to the old lady there was the Quartermaster, bespectacled and wearing one of his cardigans.

One photo, at least twenty years old, displayed a younger version of M, Olivia Mansfield, next to a stern looking woman in a emerald green gown, that looked like it came straight from the late 19. hundreds, a woman that could only be described as ›motherly‹ and the woman from the picture with the detective.

The most recent picture was probably the one of the royal wedding. Bond remembered reading about it in a paper he’d nicked from a minions desk on his way to the airport. The crown prince Arthur Pendragon had caused a worldwide uproar when he’d announced he was not only bisexual but also planning to wed one Myrdinn Holmes.

The picture that stood in the very front showed a younger version of Q and Major Boothroyd. Q was standing behind Boothroyd’s motorised wheelchair in the old Q-Branch, the one that Silva had blow up, and both were smiling brightly at the camera.

Bond turned to Q who was setting down glasses on a small couch table.

»You and Boothroyd. You were close, weren’t you?« James asked softly.

Q hesitated before stepping next to Bond. He picked up the frame and showed Bond the backside where someone had written ›Q and Q - the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’

James turned to look at Q. He know how the Quartermaster looked, he had spent enough time staring at him when Q wasn’t looking but only now he noticed how similar Q and Boothroyd had been, both in complexion and behaviour.

»He was your grandfather. I’m... sorry for your loss« James stated.

»Who?« Moneypenny asked. She had appeared in the doorway to the small kitchen, holding a bottle of some alcoholic beverage in hand, which she had apparently opened already.

»Boothroyd.« James answered quietly.

Q smiled, the nostalgia in his voice barely concealed »He used to tell me stories about MI6, when I was little. About his work and the agents.«

»Did he tell you about what a great agent I was?« Bond smirked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

»By the time you were a double-oh I was already working for MI6, unofficially I mean. He told me about 007 - your predecessor that is. It was a joke between him and me, you know? The ›grow up 007‹. We would make wagers about how often he could get away with saying it to 007 before he got suspicious.«

Moneypenny snorted a little.

Q smiled his brilliant smile at her, melancholy all but forgotten now. »He told be about you, too. Said you were brilliant. He always wanted to make a bet about how you would be M some day. I never accepted because I knew he was right.«

Moneypenny put her head to one side. »I was still an agent back then…«

Q only shrugged. »He said you were too good to be an agent.«

Moneypenny blushed lightly and smiled happily. »Sounds like he was a good grandfather.«

Bond grinned. »Sounds like he was just like Q.«

Q turned to the coffee table to pour three glasses of what appeared to be Bombay sapphire and gave James and Eve one each. »You’re both right. Now, what movie shall we get drunk to?«

***

Three hours later they were sprawled on top of each other across the seating accommodations.

The only source of light was a small lamp, standing atop the drawer, which emitted a warm, candle like light.

Eve had called dibs on the armchair ages ago, eying Q and James with barely hidden mirth.

After two hours of drinking she’d picked up the framed photo of the royal wedding and waxed about the beauty of the crown princes sister, while Q and James smiled, already too intoxicated to mind the terrible puns and metaphors comparing the duchess’s hair to the night sky and her eyes to stars. In a final motion of grandeur she’d remarked that the lady looked like she could kill anyone, just by staring them down.

After half an hour she’d put the frame back and hadn’t said a thing for at least thirty minutes before exclaiming in a fit of something that Q could only call euphoria, »R is Q’s second in command because R comes after Q in the alphabet!«

Then she’d closed her eyes and started snoring softly.

Q, who had given up trying to keep his distance from James on the tiny couch and instead had now sprawled out on top of the other man like a drunk blanket, had only murmured »Bloody hell« before refraining from saying anything more and staring at the ceiling in silent contemplation instead.

Bond was silent. There was a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest that could have been caused by alcohol as much as by the adorable idiot that had chosen him as his mattress and was now studying the ceiling.

Bond turned his head, slowly, as not to disturb Q, to look at the picture of Q and Boothroyd - Q’s grandfather - on the drawer next to the couch.

»Did you know M? Olivia Mansfield?« He asked softly.

Q turned his face towards the drawer too. »Why else would I keep her picture?« His answer had been barely a murmur but the voice was right next to James’s ear.

James snorted softly. »You can’t tell me you know everyone in these Photos Q.«

»You’re adorable.«Q smiled lazily against Bonds chest.

Bonds heartbeat quickened the slightest bit. »Q. You do know there is a photo of Mycroft Holmes on your drawer.«

Q wiggled a bit so he could see the frames without rearranging his vertebrae and frowned slightly. »Why wouldn’t I know Mycroft?«

Bond wanted to shrug, but Q sounded like he was almost asleep. » M - my M - introduced me once. Told me he was her superior. Said he was friends with the Royal family.« He paused for a second, before continuing »She also told me to never, ever, piss him off.«

»She knew you well, huh?«

»S’pose so.«

»Granperé told Mycroft about you too.«

»Boothroyd told Mycroft Holmes about me?«

»’Told him about all agents.« Q corrected.

Bond smiled about the absurdity. »Your Grandfather spied at MI6 for Mycroft Holmes?«

» ’course. So do I« Q slurred, before snuggling closer to James’ chest.

»Why? He’s Mycroft Holmes. ’s not like he needs outside support now, does he?«

»Outside?«

»Y’know, not family.«

»Boothroyd was Mycroft’s family, Bond.«

James chocked on air. »You’re related to Holmes? What, s’ he your uncle?«

»Don’t be daft Bond, I’m not related to a Holmes- «

»Could you stop calling me Bond all the time?«

»If you stop interrupting me I will. I’m not related to a Holmes, I am a Holmes.«

» You’re a Holmes… Mycroft Holmes is your cousin.«

»Brother.«

»…Ah.«

Q found that he was almost asleep, which was a feat in itself, considering where he was currently located.

Then James spoke up again. »That’s how you now the royal family then? Through Mycroft?«

»Why the royal family?«

»You have a picture of the royal wedding framed Q. Although I s’pose keeping a picture of your brother and your former Boss is slightly different from keeping picture of the Pendragon family, even if you were introduced. Hadn’t taken you for a royalist, Dear Quartermaster.«

»My former Boss?«

»M, Q. Olivia Mansfield?«

»Oh yeah. I don’t keep her picture because she w’s my boss.«

» ’Thought you only kept pictures of people you knew.«

»Actually not true. ’only keep pictures of Fam’ly.«

»You’re related to M?« Bond had known M had had children, but not much else.

»My mothers sister. One of the four Ms.« Q giggled like he’d made a formidable joke.

»Your’ aunt’s and mother’s names all start with M?« James asked, a smile on his lips.

» ’course not, James. You know M’s name was Olivia. They all grew up to be M though.«

Q reached out to grab the picture displaying M and what apparently were her sisters but failed.

James picked it up and handed it to Q, who turned so he faced the ceiling again and pointed at M to explain.

»You know Olivia Mansfield, born Holmes, who was called M for her position in MI6.«

He pointed at the woman who James had dubbed ›motherly‹ upon first glance a few hours back. »This is my mother. Her name is Violet Holmes. She kept her last name when she married my father but no one calls her Violet of even Mrs. Holmes. Everyone just calls her Mummy. Mycroft started it when we were kids and it stuck. This is her older sister, Minerva,« Q pointed out the stern looking woman. »She’s Headmistress in a… private school up north… well. And this is Martha, the youngest. She got married too, but Mr. Hudson did some illegal stuff on the other side of the pond and got himself on death trail. Martha asked Sherlock for help, of course. Now she lives in London again. Thus the four Ms; Minerva, Mummy, M and Martha.« Q trailed off.

James picked up the photo of the woman he now knew as Martha Hudson in front of the door and showed it to Q, pointing out the short man standing behind her left shoulder. »John Watson, right? I know him. Used to know him, I mean, in the army.«

»Hasn’t been a Watson in some time though. Goes by John Watson-Holmes now. ’S my brother in law.«

»Mycroft is married?« James asked softly. ›Mycroft is gay?‹ went unsaid.

»He’s married, alright. Not to John mind you, but Lestrade. His first name is Greg, but everyone ’cept Mycroft calls him Lestrade. Gregory Lestrade-Holmes is quite a mouthful, so we collectively decided to go with the easier option.« Q grinned lazily.

James blinked a few times. Now Q had lost him. »’Thought you said John was you brother-in-law?«

»I have more than one sibling, James. John is married to Sherlock, my second brother.«

» Thought I lost you back there for a mo’. How are you related to the Pendragons then? You in line for the throne or s’mthing?« James joked.

Q laughed for a few glorious seconds before catching his breath. » Yes, very funny James.«

»You said you only kept photos of your family Q,« James answered with fake outrage. »And now I have to find out you’re not actually related to Royalty?«

»Don’t be silly James, I know what I said. And technically I am related to them, though only by marriage. Hand me the photo of the wedding and I'll show you.«

James complied happily. »I have to say Q. After the confusion with your brothers I am now genuinely interested how you could possibly complicate this further.«

Q let out a stifled groan. He pointed out the few familiar faces out of the crowd of nobility behind them. While the nobles kept in the back the King stood in the middle of the picture, right behind the happy couple. To Arthurs right there was his sister, smiling happily at her brother, who only had eyes for his husband. »It’s not that bad. Let me show you. This is the king, as I hope you realise. These are his children Morgana also known as Eve’s long-time crush and -.«

»I know you think me a fool Q, but I do recognise the King of the country I have sworn my life to.« James smiled while shaking his head in disbelief.

Q groaned. »Oh shush James. If you’re so knowledgable, why don’t you tell me who these people are and save me the effort, hm?«

James mentally shrugged. There were only four people in Britain who were actually royals at the moment and he knew their names. After all, he had legally died for one of them.

He pointed at each person as he went along. » This is, as you have so graciously explained dear Q, the King, Uther Pendragon, whom I coincidentally happen to have sworn my life too. Then there’s the crown prince, Arthur Pendragon, who I will pledge my life to should I mysteriously manage to outlive the King. This one is the lovely lady who Eve has the undeniable crush on. Huh.« He pulled the framer closer. »She really does look like she could kill me. Name’s Morgana Pendragon, illegitimate daughter to the king. I believe she a duchess but I couldn’t tell you her title if my life depended on it.«

»If it’s any consolation, I don’t know it either.« Q quipped.

James rolled his eyes fondly. »I thought you wanted to save your breath, Q.«

Q only let out a ›tsk‹ noise, so James returned to his explanation. »And that is the crown prince’s husband, of whom I only know because I nicked a newspaper from Q-Branch on my way to the airport. Should both Uther and Arthur die before me I would pledge my life to him too, I suppose.« James mused. »His name is Myrdinn Pendragon. I’m sorry to admit I don’t know his title though.«

»He goes by ›prince consort‹. Now, you see who that is standing in the far left corner, right behind the lady so-and-so?«

»Is that…Mummy?«

»Hm hm. That next to her is my father. If you squint you can even see me, right next to Mummy. I was wearing a suit, you know. Mummy confiscated all my cardigans. To my left there even are two of my siblings and their husbands.« Q seemed genuinely upset about the fact that he hadn’t been able to wear a cardigan to the royal wedding.

»Two of your siblings? You have a sister?«

»Occasionally. They’re gender fluid.« Q frowned up at James, scrunching his nose. »You do know what gender fluidity is?«

»I’m an agent, I know about people. You have another sibling then?«

»’s male that day. Name ’s Merlin. He’s right there.« Q murmured, eyes fallen shut from fatigue.

James brought the picture to his face, trying to make out another figure in the crowd he now recognised as the Holmes’.

As if sensing his confusion Q looked up. »In the middle, James.«

James’ eyes darted back to the middle where the royal family stood.

For a moment it was silent.

»Q« James asked gingerly.

»Hm?« Q’s eyes had fallen shut again.

»Are you telling me your brother is married to the crown prince?«

»Sibling. Yes.«

»…Alright.«

It was quiet for another few seconds.

»Who used to be your favourite?«

»Hm?«

»You said Boothroyd used to tell you about the agents. Who was your favourite?«

»Moneypenny.« Q answered deadpan.

»Awe, you hurt me dear Q.« James put the pile of picture frames on the floor next to the couch, then he wiggled to make himself more comfortable and slung his arms around Q. »Who’s your favourite now?«

»Oh, grow up 007.« Q murmured, face pressed against Bonds chest. For a few seconds he was silent. Then Q spoke up again. »James?«

»Q.«

»Would you mind putting out the light?«

»Not at all. If you could do us all the favour and introduce Eve to your sister-in-law.«

»I’ll invite you both for Christmas at the palace.«

»You are lovely, you know that.«

»So are you. Now shut it.«

#007 fest 2020 #team00 #00q #pre relationship #merthur #johnlock #mystrade #but all ships are pretty background-y #so don't get your hopes up #eve moneypenny #drinking #005.Vi

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filthysweetie · 5 years

Text

James Bond drabble

Prompt: “Dear Diary...”

missed a day >.< this one is begging to be a longer story, but i had to cut it so i can finish packing...note that there’s a brief description of torture in this one.

Edit: This now has a sequel here if anyone wants to read it :)

———

Dear Diary,

Let it be known this is done under duress. Apparently, not being a bloody field agent does not get you out of psych evaluations and ‘recommended’ methods to cope with ‘high stress levels’ and ‘worrying tendency to identify job performance as self-worth’. I bet they didn’t make Boothyard do this. You get kidnapped once and then everyone suddenly thinks you’re a delicate flower.

Hell, Bond got kidnapped (I guess it’s just called captured when they’re agents…which actually is now making me quite offended that when I was taken it was called kidnapping) on 7 of his last 15 missions. I don’t see him writing a damn diary about it! (Although god, imagine that.) Besides, what’s the point of keeping a diary if it’s mandated and also!! Your psychiatrist will be reading it? Maybe I should start writing in code. 01000110 01110101 01100011 01101011 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01000100 01110010 00101110 00100000 01011001 01100101 01101110 00101110 ——— “What is…that?”

Q turned, not the least bit surprised to see James standing there behind him. He had a mission coming up and was obviously ready for his kit. Q did a little ritual over the case, always so sad to see the fine pieces of machinery go when the chance of them returning was so dismal. Instead of focusing on the kit, though…Q followed his eyes to the little journal on his desk. It was covered in stickers (most of them shiny, some of them hello kitty gifted by a little one on the tube who got three on before he or her mother noticed) and attached in the pen holder was a pen with a fuzzy feather top. It was rainbow.

Can’t blame the man for noticing it, it was a rather stark deviation from the normal color pallet and maturity level of Q’s desk.

“Oh, that old thing?” Q pat the top with a little more force than necessary, “my psych assigned diary. I figure if they choose to treat me like a child I may as well oblige.”

James took a moment before speaking, “And what, pray tell, made them think you need it?”

Q blinked, “Does that mean you’ve done it too?” That was a bit of a surprise. The double-o agents seems to thrive on their disregard of ‘normal’ coping, of medical, and of psych all together.

“Answer the question, Q.” James had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“Now I’m very curious,” Q can’t help it, “what do you write in it? About the girls you like? About more interesting ways to destroy my tech?”

“Mostly survivors guilt.” James says, nonchalant.

Well, that answers that, “Oh…” damn it, now he’s obliged to answer James’ question regardless of if this is an interrogation tactic or not. He gives a half shrug, “Dr. Yen assigned it after the kidnapping.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know, I thought it was all very much over the top as well.” Q fights a sigh, “Now your kit—”

James shakes his head, “No, wait, you were kidnapped?”

Q blinks, ignores the chill that goes down his spine; “I knew they didn’t release that on the official channels but I assumed you’d know none the less.” Q clears his throat, “Now, your kit.”

James quiets then, but there are a lot of questions behind his eyes. Who’s to say if Q focuses on his tech a bit more than he normally would. ——— Dear diary,

I didn’t realize it had been kept quite so secret. I should have known, we are a spy organization. But I was {Q hesitates over the word, crossing out kidn and captu wishing suddenly that he was using his standard pencil instead of this purple inked mess of a pen} gone for 11 days. I guess I figured they would have told the double-os at least, maybe brought them in to help find me. Not that I needed anyone’s help, of course, I mean I got out of there myself, didn’t need anyone rescuing this damsel.

But the fact that {Ja is scribbled over fully; must remember that this will be read} there were agents I’m the primary handler of that didn’t notice at all. What excuse were they told when I wasn’t on the comms? Would they have just kept been given excuses until the forgot to keep asking?

My cats were fed, at least. Moneypenny thought I would come back, or at least held out enough hope to not sell my apartment and put my cats in a shelter after 11 bloody days.

R had been searching non-stop—bless her, I think she needs this exercise more than me. Poor girl looked like she hadn’t slept since I’d left; keeping all the missions on track while searching for me. It was her and Riley and Sunil that found me on the security footage after I got out of that place and got me a pickup. It’s not like I was forgotten or anything. {Why do I feel forgotten? Q stares at the line in it’s stark purple ink for a long moment before crossing it out. He doesn’t want to talk about that with himself, let alone Dr. Yen.}

Regardless. R has finished debriefing me on all active missions that I’d missed some portion on, and overall everything is going well. Testing of the new laser pen fell behind during my absence but it’s to be expected. It will give me something to do tomorrow when most of my active agents are in transit. ——— “Q, Sir, we really need you in the pit.” Laila said, standing at the threshold of his office, seeming a bit more frazzled than normal. There are no alarms (auditory or silent) going off around her, so the attitude was a bit perplexing.

Q puts the soldering iron down on it’s stand and takes off the magnification glasses, replacing them with his own, already getting up and heading towards her, “What’s the matter?”

“Sir, one of the agents is being belligerent; requesting to speak only to you before moving forward with his mission.”

That’s a new one; “Alright then, transfer the secure line to my station please, Laila.”

It’s always nice, walking out to the floor, seeing his people working away. Standing at the center of it is like being cocooned within the greatest minds of London. It’s safe.

“Yes?”

“Q”Jame’s voice is instantly recognizable, “I’ve arrived in Paraguay and will be rendezvousing with the contact at 1430.”

Q waited. Nothing.

“And?”

“That is all.”

Q blinked, glad that James couldn’t see the confusion that must certainly be coving his face, “You called me away from my prototypes to give me a standard mission update that you could have given to any one of my people?”

“Had to make sure you were still around, Q”

“Still—” it clicks, “Oh. Well. Yes, I am very much still around.

“Good.” Is that a smile in his voice or is Q projecting? “I’ll check in again after the rendezvous.”

Q’s throat clicks, dry; “I’ll be here.” ———— Dear Diary,

When will this little experiment be over? It’s been a half month! I haven’t got much free time at all, and wasting it in this damn book isn’t helping anyone. Least of all me. ————— “I notice you haven’t actually written anything about the kidnapping?” Dr. Yen asks, looking through his entries with a clinical eye.

“I much prefer to call it capture.” Q says in leu of an answer. The sticker covered mess looks silly in her hands, but she seemed to have enjoyed his take on ‘making it his own’ even if he’d been doing the antithesis of that. Granted, some of his minions have added stickers to it too—so next to hello kitty is a ‘back it the fuck up’ sticker in fancy script with an old school desktop monitor showing the phrase, and a sparkly unicorn that Trevor insists is from his kids but Q has his doubts. If he leaves it on his desk unattended, when he comes back there are always new stickers. No one ever opens it, respecting some privacy that doesn’t really need respecting (it’s not like there’s anything of substance in there), but it’s a nice gesture none the less.

Dr. Yen smiles, “Of course,” Q wishes she were a bit more of a dick like Dr. Reynard had been—it was easier to dismiss someone when they were being an ass, “I notice you haven’t written about your capture—or escape for that matter—at all. There are some references to it, but no detail. Do you have any thoughts on why that is?”

Q takes a sip of tea. It is nice that these meetings are uninterrupted tea time—though he could do without the conversation.

“There’s nothing important to say about it.” Q set the mug down, making sure to be gentle about it, “it’s all done, and I don’t exactly plan to get kidna—captured again.”

Dr. Yen gives an amused smile, “no one really plans to get captured at all.” Then, “Sometimes the act of writing down an experience”—she stopped using ‘traumatizing experience’ a while ago, Q did not have a traumatizing experience, thank you—“can solidify it in our reality. It may be difficult to do that at first, but once it is solidified, we can begin to process it in a healthy way.”

“It’s already written up in the after-action report.”

“Yes, but that was what happened, not how it felt to be going through those things.”

Q rolls his eyes, “do you want me to write a soliloquy on how sad and lonely it was and how I felt abandoned by MI6 and made peace with my death? Or maybe how it transformed me in ineffable ways and I have a new lease on life?”

It was so annoying to lay on that perfect level of sarcasm to have it disregarded so thoroughly, “If that’s how you feel, yes.” God she’s so earnest.

“Well it wasn’t” Q snapped out. He picked up the mug again and took another sip. Setting it down extra soft, with barely a ‘clink’ on the glass table, “Excuse me, I must be more tired than I thought.”

“Not to worry,” Dr. Yen smiled, “your job is stressful any given day of the week, it’s certainly understandable. Please do give it a thought though as you go through this week. Sometimes putting things to paper allows our minds to ‘get it out of our system’ instead of having it linger in our subconscious.”

“Very well. I will give it some thought.” ———— Dear Diary,

Lets give it the old college try, shall we?

I admire James Bond. He’s one of our best field agents, though his record for returning his tech is abysmal. He seems to come back from the brink of death more times than a cat and never seems to let it affect him. Always ready for the next mission.

I want to be like that. He’s been through so much, the loss of M, the burning of his home, the burning of so many false starts at a normal life, and he comes back and he may be battered but he’s still whole. Undoubtedly whole. I get kidnapped once and now I can’t even get a good nights sleep unless I’m folded awkwardly on the little couch in my office, and of course that sleep is poorer for other reasons.

I know I’m capable, I know I can destroy countries and get myself out of most any situation that I find myself in, but I didn’t realize exactly how that situation would affect me. I haven’t lost confidence in my abilities, but maybe loss of confidence in my security? Is it just a waiting game to see when I’ll next be thrown into the back of a van, drugged, and then wake up in a windowless room, IV in my arm strapped to a chair with no fucking idea how much time has passed? When will I next find myself threatened and beaten? The soles of my feet slashed, so dehydrated that I can’t put my head up without feeling dizzy?

Obviously I can survive it. I have.

The thought of it happening again…it’s terrifying. And it can happen at any time. And I thought I admired James because he looked like a good lay. Maybe it’s because he seems unbreakable and I worry I’m already broken. ———— Q stared at the pages for a long time. Was he supposed to feel hollow?

He tore them out, crumpled them like a secret and then lit them on fire. This was a spy organization after all, no point in letting that level of weakness get out. ———— Dear Diary,

Laila got a new corgi puppy. Despite being a cat person, I have to admit it’s quite cute.

#007 #james bond #q #00q #if you squint #drabble on #i fancy myself a writer #tw: torture #dear diary

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initiatingtheheadcanons · 4 years

Text

Scarlet

Author’s Note: I’ve been working on this fic since August because I’ve been shipping my Doctor OC named “ArtFall” which is my username in Arknights jfhdks and been shipping her with an Operator codenamed Shining.

Anyway, after a few revisions and showed it to two close friends of mine, I think I’m ready to share it. Enjoy!

Ao3: Link coming soon!

____________________________________________

Series: Arknights

Summary: Dr. ArtFall doesn’t know how to express her feelings for a particular Sarkaz. More or so, it seems her powers start to awaken despite having amnesia. With some encouragement from a certain Chimera, she finds a way to finally confess.

Words: 4.6k

Genre(s): Fluff, Romance

____________________________________________

Confessing isn’t easy, ArtFall is well aware of that. She’s very attuned with the other’s emotions despite being the brains behind most of Rhodes Island’s operations. Over a few months, she had taken a liking to one specific Operator. Though some of the Operators noticed, they still don’t know exactly who she’s flustering over. Rumors spread around like wildfire and ArtFall tends to dismiss anything related to the subject if asked by a curious R.I. staff or an Operator. Unfortunately for her, Amiya is the only one who figures it out and flashes a teasing smile towards the Doctor. ArtFall is impressed and flustered at the same time; Amiya having empathy powers isn't helping the Doctor’s situation. Thankfully, she always has her helmet to cover her furious heat present on her cheeks.

They are inside the briefing room at the time, occupying two chairs near the board with the written previous strategies by the Doctor herself. Amiya initiates a conversation while the rest of the squad is on the way, a spark present in her eyes.

“I think I have an idea who it is, Doctor,” Amiya starts with a mischievous smile forming on her lips. Much to ArtFall’s slight annoyance and panic, Amiya opens her mouth to say her crush’s name, “It’s Sh-“

“Hey, Amiya, Doctor!” an operator’s voice came from the doorway that remained open since the duo had entered the room. It’s Matoimaru, unbeknownst saving the Doctor’s skin.

“Hey,” Amiya and ArtFall greet in unison, the latter glancing at the Chimera who still has the playful smile.

The Oni stares at both of them and says, “Not to interrupt or anything; but what are you two talking about?”

Amiya could only giggle and ArtFall recomposes herself, saying, “Nothing important in particular. Anyways, we have important things to discuss for today’s operation. Take a seat.”

Matoimaru takes a seat on the opposite side of the table and starts chatting with Amiya. As they talk, the other Operators come in one by one - including ArtFall’s assistant, Shining, whom she gave a day off to spend time with the Followers. The Sarkaz has a pleasant smile on her face and glances at the Doctor who nodded wordlessly, taking her seat beside her.

With all the squadmates in the room, ArtFall begins to discuss the tactics against the enemies they are going to face today.

____________________________________________

After another successful operation, Amiya keeps insisting ArtFall to confess to her assistant. The Doctor wonders why she hasn’t deployed her friend somewhere on the battlefield so she could have a momentary peace. Unfortunately for the Doctor, the Operators executed her plan too well. They had seized the situation in no time, so ArtFall and Amiya could sit back and watch Reunion’s minions get obliterated.

ArtFall received reports from the squad that the area is secured and clear of hostiles, she announces the operation was successful before commanding her unit to meet her and Amiya at the rendezvous point. Gentle as ever, Amiya pulls the sleeve of ArtFall’s and somewhat drags the Doctor out of enjoyment as they go down the stairs. The Doctor keeps rolling her eyes and blushing furiously as the Chimera keeps teasing her about the particular Sarkaz.

After meeting at the rendezvous point, Amiya and the medics available make sure everyone’s injuries are treated before they get back on their designated vans. ArtFall takes one last look at her squad before taking the front seat, glancing at Texas the driver of their van. She greets her with a nod before the vehicle in front of them drives away and they too move along.

The Doctor is expecting to have a lot of files dumped on her table per usual. She shakes that thought off by leaning on her seat and listening to the chattering from the backside of the van. Most of the conversations are all about the recent operation and overhearing a few Operators are talking about their other interests. In two hours, they finally reach the Ark, and ArtFall retreats to her office along with her assistant who walked by her side, greeting her with a diffident but friendly smile.

ArtFall opens the door to her office and finds her desk piled by files again. Her shoulders hunched forward as she marched towards her desk, her eyes lingering on different files awaiting for her to read them.

“Do you need any help, Doctor?” the Sarkaz asked, almost amused; settling down her things by a cabinet and putting down her sword on a weapon rack that is mostly found in every single dorm that the Doctor has decorated.

ArtFall sits on her chair and starts reading a file, “I can manage but snacks would help me through this pile of dogsh- things…”

Shining didn’t insist any further but asked, “Shall I bring you tea and cookies?” ArtFall looks up from the file, surprised that she knows her favorites and almost sinking on the chair out of pure embarrassment. “Er, sure. T-thank you.”

With that, Shining takes her to leave, closing the door behind her. ArtFall is left alone with the files she needs to work on. After a few minutes, her assistant is back with a tray containing two cups of tea and a bowl of cookies. Shining places the tray down on the table before picking up her cup of tea. Nodding in acknowledgment, ArtFall grabs a cookie and munches on it while skimming through a file.

The Sarkaz finds it intriguing that the Doctor can keep up with work just as long as she has food to munch on and not make a mess on the table either. She pulls a book from ArtFall’s shelf and begins reading to distract herself.

- A few hours later -

It’s night time and only a few familiar lights are open in the hallway, including the familiar lights in ArtFall’s office during these hours. She mutters to herself as she tries to focus her eyes on the document on the table, fingers massaging her temples. She leans back against her office chair, closing the file at hand. ArtFall glances at her assistant, sitting on the couch and sleeping upright with a closed book clutched within her fingers.

ArtFall’s eyebrows furrowed together and attempted to remember if they had really met before, her Arts were vaguely familiar. She shakes off those thoughts, removing her helmet from her head, letting her messy hair down. She settles her helmet carefully near the pile of documents almost without care. ArtFall touches her eyepatch which conceals her power, the source of her Arts which she forgot to use; internally cursing her amnesia for the umpteenth time since she had got it.

Maybe she could ask someone around Rhodes Island to regain the control back? Dobermann is not an option, she is too harsh to recruits she contacts every week and would force her on a strict schedule. Amiya is off-limits, ArtFall could tell as she was warned by Kal’sit not to put another responsibility on the poor girl’s shoulder. Wait, what about her assis-

“Is something wrong, Doctor?” A gentle voice made her snap from her thoughts. The Doctor’s hands scrambled for her helmet with some files slipping off the edge of her table and immediately shoved it back on her head, feeling the beads of cold sweat on her forehead. Seemingly unfazed by the Doctor’s quick reaction, Shining sets the book on the couch and approaches the panicky ArtFall.

“Uh, help me pick up the files first.” ArtFall stands up to pick up the damn files scattered on the floor. Sure, she’s always been highly intelligent, but her clumsiness is all the same as Amiya describes a couple of times. Shining helps her pick up the papers and keeps them in an orderly fashion, which ArtFall doesn’t have any complaints about. After stacking them on her table, she sits on her chair again, even more exhausted.

“Doctor” Shining places her hand on ArtFall’s shoulder, “Are you alright?”

A simple question it seems but there’s a concern in her voice or… maybe she’s just imagining things? She rarely sees Shining being worried, always having calm yet have an unreadable expression.

“I’m just tired” she half-lies, hoping her assistant wouldn’t take notice. She could’ve sworn that Shining frowns at her response, not out of anger but out of iota of discontent - the corners of her lips slightly dropping from its thin line. Her hand stayed on the Doctor’s shoulder, almost squeezing as if begging and not letting her off until she told the truth. They both know that.

ArtFall gulps silently and immediately finds herself feeling guilty for lying. Well, half-lying – for the most part, she’s tired from the recent operation and scanning the files on her table for hours. The gaze of her assistant starts to weigh down her shoulders as if she could feel the unflappable intensity coming from Sarkaz's scarlet eyes.

Without a word, ArtFall sighed and reluctantly removed her helmet, Shining removing her hand from its firm place as she watched the Doctor settle her helmet yet again and, only this time, she placed it on the table carefully to not knock off the files. ArtFall sees small sparks inside Sarkaz's eyes - as if she’s amused - before looking away and awkwardly blowing off stray hair from her face.

“…I see” Shining mutters. ArtFall noticed her tone relaxed like her calm gaze, though, she’s uneasy as the medic inspects her covered eye. The Doctor gently grabs the medic’s hand and lets her touch the eye patch, her thumb brushing against the other’s calloused fingers.

“It contains a power I possessed that I had forgotten.” In response, the touch against her covered eye softens, “Perhaps you could… well, help me to regain control of it?”

The Sarkaz smiles warmly as if it’s glowing. “Of course, Doctor.”

ArtFall smiles back sheepishly and says,“Thank you.”

She subconsciously leans against the medic's palm, secretly craving for her touch, “I should get some rest now”

With that, Sarkaz pulls her hand away and ArtFall gets up from her chair. Pain suddenly began surging through her temples; crippled by the sudden feeling, she lurches forward and collapses into Shining's arms.

“I hate it when this happens,” the Doctor mutters and blushes when she realizes the Sarkaz caught her by her ribcage. She’s thankful the medic doesn't notice as she guides her to the bed on the other side of the office, ArtFall sitting while her assistant is checking on her once again.

“Nothing odd.” the Sarkaz says and prompts the Doctor to lay down. ArtFall obliges and lies on her back, staring at the blank ceiling while Shining within her peripheral view.

“Doctor, close your eyes.” the Sarkaz says softly as if whispering. The Doctor follows along and senses the medic’s hands on her temples, her headache gradually fades away and the only thing left is her fatigue. As she drifts off to sleep, she feels Shining’s hand brush some of her stray hair and feels something on her forehead in a second as if the medic leans in for a moment, followed by a peculiar scent of tea and metallic tang, possibly coming from Shining’s necklace. An embarrassing thought gradually forms in her mind but she refuses to believe it.

“Good night, Doctor”

It can’t be.

“Good night, Shining.” she mustered to say though almost like a whisper and she felt her heart flutter at the realization: Shining just gave her a kiss… on the forehead. She lays still and is tempted to open her eye after she felt Shining get up from her bed, unbeknownst that the Doctor is becoming a flustered mess.

A question boiled in her mind as her blush spread across her cheeks to the tip of her ears. Does the Sarkaz aware of her feelings or she’s feeling things because of Shining’s Arts?

She prays that the Sarkaz doesn’t see how red she is and turns her back away from her assistant, focusing on her drowsiness. Her heartbeats slow down as she gradually falls asleep.

-Time: 7:45am -

The next morning, ArtFall wakes up by the alarm followed by a short greeting from PRTS and groans as she covers the entirety of herself with the blanket. She suddenly remembers what happened last night and sits upright, cheeks flushing and she scans her office. She is relieved that Shining isn’t there; she probably just woke up before her. ArtFall pushes herself up, walks to her office table, and puts her helmet on to cover her flushed face.

The door opens behind her and she whips around to look at who it is. It’s a good thing she covered her face in time: It’s Amiya who’s holding a clipboard and a pen, wearing a usual smile on her face.

“Good morning, Doctor!” Amiya says cheerfully, closing the door behind her, “How's your eye? Shining told me you requested her to regain control over your Arts.”

“Well,” ArtFall starts, cheeks still flushing underneath her helmet, “I just wonder how my Arts works or at least get the hang of it”

“Mhm,” The Chimera hums teasingly. “To spend time with her?”

ArtFall remains silent for a while and raises a finger. “Yes and no”

Amiya grins wider this time and clutches on the Doctor’s sleeve. “I genuinely believe that you are planning to confess during one of your private sessions, is it not?”

Wait, was that a suggestive joke, or Amiya is messing with her on purpose? She couldn’t hide anything from her empath friend that she likes Shining that much and there’s no point in lying. She mentally caved to her defeat and is ready to deal with the fallout as much as she hates to admit it.

“Amiya, please don’t let anyone know,” ArtFall admits, embarrassed as a smug Amiya clings to her shoulder and shakes it ever-so-slightly. “I don’t want the other Operators to know, hell, even Kal’sit”

Amiya lets go of her grip on ArtFall’s shoulder, looks at her clipboard, and walks towards the door whilst facing the flustered Doctor. “I won’t tell anyone, Doctor. If you don’t, I’ll make sure everyone will know about it!”

It’s a tease, ArtFall knows her friend is teasing but she had her arm outstretched to stop the Chimera from hiding from her sight.

“Amiya, don’t-!” Doctor shouts so suddenly and Amiya only giggles before closing the door behind her, ArtFall let her outstretched arm down in frustration and quietly cursed herself for being so bad at this.

____________________________________________

-Time: 1:17pm-

It’s already afternoon and ArtFall heads to the cafeteria to grab a quick lunch. Shining is dealing with a debriefing along with other Control Center assistants so the Doctor has to do things on her own for an hour or two.

The cafeteria isn’t packed as she expected, Operators probably dealing with their respective tasks or it’s already late to have lunch. A few Operators greet her as she passes by and go back to their conversations. ArtFall scans the available meals and frowns at the choices. Though not a particularly picky eater, the choices provided by the assigned chefs are needed to be consumed in the cafeteria. She grabs two sandwiches and packs of coffee sachet because she ran out of stock in her office.

“In a hurry, Doctor?” Gummy says, holding up her pan, “I made that one special!”

“Thanks, Gummy,” ArtFall says as she begins to walk away.

“No problem, Doctor!” Gummy exclaims and continues with her cooking, happily humming a tune.

ArtFall walks on the hallway alone with her helmet’s shield up, munching on her sandwich. She holds Gummy's cooking in high regard, recipe blending so well as they melted perfectly in her mouth. Before she could enter the office, Shining is on the other side of the hallway, having a conversation with Amiya. The Doctor slips into her office speedily when Amiya sees her and closes the door back to its frame, with her leaning against it. She sighs and continues eating her sandwich on her hand while staring at the files on her table, she is halfway through everything.

As she pushes herself away from the door, it opens - bumping on her back. She immediately steps out of the way and comes face to face with her assistant who seems to have been slightly tired from the debriefing.

“I apologize for bumping on you, Doctor,” she says with a hint of fatigue though her face remains calm as she closes the door - the doctor only noticing she’s holding a laptop that’s obstructed from her view due to the Sarkaz’s robes.

ArtFall gulps a lump of chewed sandwich and says, “Hey, it’s no big deal”

She gets back on her chair and continues to work as usual while her assistant checks on the logs recorded on a laptop she probably borrowed from the Control Center. ArtFall glances at her and the Sarkaz’s face remains blank most of the time until she sees something. She began typing swiftly, - almost unnoticeable to most people - but the perceptive Shining doesn’t miss a particular log. ArtFall’s mentally notes to herself she’s going to read the updated logs later and continues to finish signing the file on her hand.

The Doctor began to feel sleepy, her eyes struggling to focus, and fell asleep on the table, her head resting on her folded arms.

After scrolling through her medical logs, Shining glances at the Doctor and sighs, signing off the R.I. network before shutting the device. She placed it in one of ArtFall’s cabinets since the latter needs to read the logs she had typewritten.

The Sarkaz hears the Doctor snoring from the desk and finds herself amused that the Doctor could sleep like a log. A long-forgotten, warm feeling resurfaced from her chest; the one she felt from years ago which is dampened by the wars she participated in.

“How...za… feeling…?” the Doctor murmurs in her sleep. Shining has never seen this before throughout the many months of working with her. “It’s...no...good...zzz”

The Sarkaz sighs to herself and carries the sleeping Doctor onto her arms; she’s surprised that ArtFall is lighter than she looks. She carefully lays the Doctor on the bed, thankful that she isn’t awake and still sleeping like a baby - which she finds adorable. The helmet is removed carefully, ArtFall’s purple strands scatter on the pillow in all directions and Shining settles the helmet on the nightstand.

After putting a blanket on ArtFall, she heads to the office desk to sort everything out. A few files left astray, she notices, and most folders are already alphabetized. Three, yellow sticky notes are placed on the top of the desk once she cleared everything up, the writings are a bit messy but eligible enough to be read if one looks closer.

Note 1: Files of Dur-nar is chek chek, no need to worry :) Note 2: Reminder: Received private logs from different Operators, I’ll read them later.

The last one, however, has strikes on it.

Note 3: Am Amiya, if you’re reading this note, I’m hoping you keep your promise. And, no, not yet.

The Sarkaz isn’t the type of person who’ll intrude into people’s lives, especially with the promises. She wondered no longer and stood up from the desk to sit on the sofa, glancing at the Doctor, who was facing away from her, still snoring softly.

She stays up until it’s late, distracting herself with books - keeping her awake long enough before she starts to doze off. The still quietness was interrupted by another murmur from the Doctor herself from the other side of the room.

“...Can’t...say…” ArtFall murmurs slurrily but intelligible enough to understand, “...Do…love...her. Don’t… be.. Silly, Amiya...erkkzzz”

It’s obvious at this point: ArtFall likes her from the very start. Shining feels the low glow of her Arts due to her welling feelings at the thought of the Doctor, small contentment, and relief rest upon her chest. The feelings are mutual and she couldn’t help but smile to herself as she lays down on the couch and drifts off to sleep, her glow remains the same.

-----

-A few days later-

ArtFall is pumped to test out her Arts for the past few days even though she wasn’t sure if it’s going to work or not. Only a handful of Operators that she trusts know her condition and she’s thankful that they still keep their promise up to this day.

With enough motivation, she finished all the files - ranging from recruitment to operation debriefing - given to her with the help of coffee sachets she got from the cafeteria days ago. Still hyperactive from the caffeine, ArtFall sits back and stares at the two stacks of files on the right side of her desk, amazed such motivation would make her finish the files within four hours of that day.

ArtFall slips a hand on one of her pockets, pulling out a comm device to call her assistant. She waits for a few minutes after pressing the button, nervous and excited at the same time: she’s going to learn Arts… for the second time if it counts.

There’s a knock on her door that made her snap from her gaze.

“Come in”, the Doctor says almost enthusiastically, her intuition telling her it’s her assistant. The door opens. Shining walks in and stops momentarily at the doorway, there is a spark of astonishment in her eyes.

“You seem to have finished everything early today, Doctor,” she says, closing the door.

ArtFall smiles sheepishly behind her helmet. “I am just excited about learning Arts, well, for the second time, I guess?”

The Sarkaz chuckles softly and smiles. “Let’s get started.”

The Doctor removes her helmet for once and becomes nervous to remove her eyepatch, afraid to unleash her Arts. Shining keeps reassuring the Doctor that simple Arts like hers wouldn’t even hurt a fly. That encourages ArtFall to finally remove her patch, exposing her scarred, red-eye to her assistant. The medic takes a closer look at ArtFall’s eye, she could see some uniqueness within the eye but she doesn’t question any further.

At first, the Doctor struggles to grasp the concept. It only took an hour for ArtFall to make any progress by projecting the Arts through her pen. The two have experimented with the available materials inside the office and ArtFall chose her pen out of all things. The energy released from the tip of the pen is small, circular energy which dissipates in a matter of a few seconds.

“I did it,” ArtFall says, partially exhausted from releasing energy, “Ugh, I’m still getting used to this.”

“I’d recommend taking a rest, Doctor,” the Sarkaz says calmly as she guides the Doctor to the couch. As she sits, ArtFall lifts a hand on her right eye, her small smile still present from the small accomplishment.

“I didn’t know I’d lose a bet I have with Amiya that fast,” ArtFall chuckles to herself, looking at Shining. “I...I’m still a bit nervous about saying it.”

The medic could only stare at ArtFall before the warm feeling on her chest rose yet again; Shining truly enjoys her company and knows the fact that the Doctor is ready to admit her feelings.

ArtFall begins to fidget, looking away from her assistant, her lips tight and tapping her free hand on her knee. After gathering enough courage, she stands up, her mind coming up with words she had kept at the back of her mind for months.

♫♫(music)♫♫

“I...okay, don’t be surprised.” ArtFall inhales, preparing for anything that will come out of her dry lips, “I… think... l...love you.”

ArtFall’s got to admit, there’s no other way out but to steel herself and take a shot. Even for a tactical genius like her, Amiya outsmarted her with the bet.

For now, all she could do is hide her face entirely on her palms and attempt to hide the blush spreading on her cheeks. She anxiously waits for Shining to react, any reaction will do. They have been standing still seemingly for ages until she is pulled into a hug, almost flinching from the sudden touch.

“I know, Doctor,” the Sarkaz leans close to her ear to whisper. “I found it out myself.”

ArtFall settles her head, along with her hands, on the other’s shoulder. “...How?”

Shining smiles warmly at herself, amused that the Doctor, a genius, hasn't even figured out what happened yet. “I heard you talking in your sleep. I apologize for listening in.”

With that, ArtFall opens a gap from her fingers to peek. “Y-you… what? Well, uh, talking in my sleep isn’t in my control so...”

“I would’ve guessed,” the medic replies delicately. “I find it… endearing.”

They stayed still for a few more seconds before the Sarkaz whispered once more to ArtFall by her ear, “Close your eyes, Doctor.”

ArtFall almost didn’t catch her words but she obliges, settling her arms on the medic’s shoulders, almost clutching on the Sarkaz’ black robes out of nervousness.

These are the same words she said nights ago before receiving a forehead kiss.

She could feel the medic’s whole upper body leaning down slowly and steadily. Her assistant’s scent greets her like that night, this time, however, with the reminiscence of a book that has been recently bought with an underlying scent of metal.

It’s a mere second before she could register what the Sarkaz would do, the Doctor felt her lips pressed against the medic’s. ArtFall tenses at the contact and melts on the kiss right away, her assistant pulling her in a tight embrace to calm her down. The Doctor feels her heart hammering against her chest as if it likes to burst out of her ribcage and lets out a small whimper against the medic’s lips.

Shining momentarily opens her eyes half-lidded and makes sure to pull the Doctor in a deeper kiss before closing her eyes once more, her embrace loosens as she relaxes. ArtFall eventually finds herself relaxing her tensed shoulders along with her fingers, unclutching the robes and held to the Sarkaz’s shoulders. She leans her head further to her left as their tongues momentarily entangle before ArtFall pulls away from their kiss for both of them to have a breathing room and settles her head on Shining’s shoulder once again, catching her breath. She’s captivated yet flustered on what just occurred as she never experienced this before or… has she forgotten entirely how it feels to love someone romantic wise? She buried the said thought under and pressed her head further into Shining’s embrace.

Shining, on the other hand, rests her head against the other’s hair and lips almost press against the Doctor’s forehead. After a whole minute of enjoying each other’s embrace, Shining finally breaks the silence.

“Doctor ArtFall, I do find myself enjoying your company and have mutual feelings for you,” the Sarkaz says, corners of her lips pulled into a small smile. “I cherish you like nothing else.”

ArtFall, despite being flustered and still having her head pressed on her assistant’s shoulder, figured out that the Sarkaz is speaking in a different language of “I love you”.

The Doctor lifts her head from the other’s shoulder to meet her beloved’s scarlet eyes. She smiles at the realization and every fear in her mind slipped away, finally able to say the words without any weight of dubiety attached to it.

“I love you too.”

♫♫(music stops)♫♫

Thanks for reading!

#arknights #arknights fic #arknights fanfic #arknights x oc #shining (arknights)#i'm really nervous to post this ao3 maybe i'll do it in the weekend kjfhskjdfh #so i'll just post it here instead #to the res-q

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agnesacacia · 5 years

Text

Hansy Holidays

Pansy Parkinson hated these things. These insufferable fundraiser galas her mother insisted on throwing every few months, where they would honor some wizarding organization or another and all prominent members of wizarding society were invited to donate toward the cause. Because Pansy's mother, like all good pure blood witches, was a philanthropist. Honest to Merlin, that's what the woman called herself, like it was her career. A position that had been drilled into Pansy so hard that even at Hogwarts when she'd had to discuss her future career plans, she'd insisted on 'philanthropist' like it was a job title. She'd never forget the way Professor Snape had rolled his eyes at her and dismissed her as a silly, idiot girl with no real ambition. Which, to be fair, back then that's exactly what she was.

Sure she did well in school. Well enough to be at the top of her house. Not as smart as Hermione Granger (the twat) but she did alright. But a career just wasn't what someone like her did. She was a Parkinson and Parkinsons lived off of their investments and old family money. They contributed to the wizarding world through fancy parties and donations to politicians. And they married other pure blood members and continued to make pure blood children who would carry on that legacy.

But now.

Now Pansy was twenty two, still living with her parents, and woefully and completely single without any sort of career option to speak of. Her days were spent planning these horrible gala events with her mother and becoming increasingly aware that she would rather be doing anything else in the world.

Especially when these galas involved them. The Golden Trio. Harry bloody Potter and his two little minions were always at the top of the guest list and any event that was hosted had to have at least one of the three to be considered a success.

So here she was, glowering across the room as she watched Hermione Granger, looking absolutely fab in a chic new designer robe, her bushy hair tamed into an elegant bun. Weasley stood at her side, looking just as fab in a dark purple robe that made him look distinguished and important, which she guessed he was now. Both of them. Weasley was an auror for Merlin's sake. And Granger was already a top ranking official at the ministry of magic, working in magical creatures rights or some such shit. It only made Pansy feel even more inadequate. Why yes, I'm a philanthropist. The phrase made her stomach turn.

Potter was no where to be found, but that was nothing new. He had probably been roped into some horrid discussion about goblin rights or some such rubbish by all the diplomats here tonight. Sometimes Pansy actually felt sorry for him.

Across the room Pansy's eye caught that unmistakable white blond hair. Draco bobbed into view, looking miserable as always. He caught her eye and nodded in her direction. She forced a smile back, but made no move toward him. There was nothing left to be said between them.

Draco's parents sent him to these things in their steed because they were both too traumatized to leave their manor. They'd been mysteriously and inexplicably pardoned for their war crimes at the insistence of Harry Potter himself, and for that the Malfoys donated to every cause Potter endorsed. It made very little sense, especially to Pansy, but it was why it was so important that Potter be seen at these events. Potter meant money. Money meant success and success meant that the Parkinson family upheld their status as wizarding royalty.

Pansy rolled her eyes and gulped down the last of her elf-made sparkling wine. It was sweet and gritty on her tongue and her stomach rolled for a moment. She hadn't eaten much that day and her head suddenly swam. She needed some fresh air. It's not as if she'd be missed. No one was talking to her anyway. People rarely did.

She exited the party off the main floor out into a secluded courtyard garden. It was a cool November night and the air felt good on her skin. The smell of jasmine surrounded her and she relished the quiet, the calm.

A small sound made her turn around. It was then that she realized she wasn't alone. A figure stood hunched against the garden wall. Pansy lit her wand and drew closer. As her eyes adjusted to the night, she found herself face to face with none other than Harry Potter.

He still looked the same as he did when they were in school even though someone had clearly tried to tame him. He still had that same messy black hair, same glasses that sat a little too crooked on his face (why didn't he get a new pair for Merlin's sake?) and upon closer inspection, Pansy soon realized he was wearing the same bottle green dress robes he'd worn to the Yule Ball in their fourth year. Her eyes swept the hem at his feet and wrists and she was little surprised to find it had been altered rather poorly with a growth charm to adjust to his height.

She resisted the urge to scoff. The man was the savior of the entire wizarding world, had endless funds from his own family name, as well as that of the Blacks which was no small fortune, not to mention the fact that any robe maker would happily have him wear any of their designs free of charge (simply for the publicity...it's how Granger remained so well dressed) and yet here he was, at one of the most posh galas of the year, still wearing the same dress robes from Hogwarts.

How did he even exist?

"Pansy Parkinson," he said her name as a statement and a rather slurred one.

"You're smashed, Potter," she answered and sure enough he brought a flask of fire whiskey to his lips and took a swig. He cheers to her, then took another longer drag.

"You best be careful," Pansy said, wrinkling her nose. The man reeked of the stuff. She was surprised she didn't smell him the moment she went outside. "About a dozen reporters are here, and whatever truce you have with Rita Skeeter will doubtfully apply to the rest of them. No one would ignore the Chosen One being completely pissed at the gala for the benefit of war orphans."

"S'pose not," he said. He pocketed the flask and pushed away from the wall. He took a tottering step and promptly stumbled into a bush. He landed hard on his knees, then rolled to the ground before settling on his back giggling.

Merlin.

Pansy pursed her lips. She should just leave him here. It's not like she and Potter were friendly after all. In fact, other than a few cordial greetings over the years, she hadn't actually spoken to him since Hogwarts. And of course back then, could that really be considered speaking? It was more like jeering. She was such a shit back then.

She did sort of owe him. There was that whole thing where she tried to turn him into You-Know-Who.

Pansy sighed and pocketed her wand. "Oh go on," she grumbled as she pulled Potter's arm over her shoulder so she could haul him to his feet.

He leaned on her heavily, and Pansy steered him toward the staircase that led up to her personal terrace. She cast a concealment charm as they climbed the steps. Best not to be spotted leading a drunken Potter up to her bedroom. Imagine the scandal.

She led him through her ornate French doors and into her suite to the adjoining bathroom. Waving her wand, she lit the room and deposited the now hiccuping Potter onto the toilet and began rummaging through her medicine cupboard.

"I was saving this for a special occasion," she said as she thrust a vial of pearly pink potion in Harry's direction. "But I guess your needs are greater than mine, so bottoms up."

Potter studied the concoction with eyes that were very nearly crossed. "Wha izzit?" he slurred.

Pansy raised her eyebrows. "You don't get sloshed often enough, do you Potter? It's a sobering potion."

"Who sayz I wanna be sober?" Potter asked her.

Pansy shrugged as she settled herself on the vanity, her legs crossed under her black silk robe. "Fine," she said, "piss your pants in front of half of the Daily Prophet. Be my guest, but don't say I never tried to help. Besides, as smashed as you are, it probably won't make you completely sober. You'll still be a bumbling idiot...don't worry."

Harry glared at her a brief moment before uncorking the vial and tossing the potion back. It took about ten seconds before Pansy could see the effects. His eyes cleared and his pink face faded back to its normal swarthy tan. It was another thirty before he was vomiting.

Pansy couldn't help but smirk. "Forgot to mention that part," she said as Harry glared up at her from the toilet.

When he'd finished he sat back down heavily, took off his glasses and rubbed at his face vigorously. Pansy watch him impassively with her arms and her legs crossed. She summoned a glass and filled it with water. She handed it to him and he muttered a thanks before gulping it down.

Pansy watched as Potter buried his head in his hands, and for the first time since she saw his drunken arse in the courtyard, she wondered just what had driven the Boy Who Lived to get uncontrollably smashed. She thought about just asking him. It's what she would have done if it were anyone else sitting before her. But this was Harry Potter. And she was… well. She was Pansy Parkinson and while she and her family hadn't technically been death eaters, they weren't not death eaters. No matter what her mother pretended to be these days, she and Pansy's father, her aunts and uncles and cousins, they were all happy to sit the sidelines during the war and favor whoever won. To be fair, that's what most pureblood families did. They weren't really all that different than the Prewetts and the Greengrasses and even the Fawleys who never officially declared sides and didn't have any prominent family members representing them as death eaters. But they didn't fight either.

Pansy didn't fight. She didn't fight. That horrid seventh year at Hogwarts...the things those Carrows wanted them to do. What Amycus made her do...the things he did to her. And she'd survived it all by hiding behind her pretty face and her blood status and her last name. No one cared. Not even Snape and McGonnagal, not even the Weasley girl and Longbottom and all those pitiful DA members who fancied themselves saviors. They had new injuries every other day and Pansy thought they were insane, the lot of them. To resist was the die, didn't they see that? And many of them did die. They did.

Even Harry had died.

The Boy Who Lived had died, then lived again. A miracle many still didn't understand, Pansy included. But here he was. The boy wonder. Vomiting in her toilet.

He finally looked up at her and Pansy had a momentary shock that Harry Potter wasn't actually bad looking. Without his glasses, Pansy could clearly see those green eyes everyone always talked about. She realized with a jolt that she'd never actually been close enough to him to actually see. See the way they sort of glowed. Like emeralds, like actual jewels.

Her heart fluttered. And it made her angry. It made her feel vulnerable. And she was so done feeling vulnerable.

"So, Chosen One," Pansy said snidely as she studied her fingernails. "What's with the fire whiskey anyway? Felt like livening up the party out there? I admit it is rather dull."

Harry shook his head. "I've just been going through some things."

Pansy scoffed. "Going through some things? I suppose having thousands of admirers falling at your feet isn't enough for you? Now you've got things?"

Harry glared at her. "You haven't changed a bit, have you, Pansy Parkinson?"

Pansy laughed meanly. "No more than you. Still feeling sorry for yourself, are you? Still fancying yourself the poor little orphan? That's why you're here tonight, right? To help war orphans like yourself? Some job you're doing of it, getting pissed and hiding in a courtyard."

Harry stood up. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?"

"You don't. All you know is parties and jewels and money and Merlin why am I even talking to you?" He turned to leave. "Thanks for the potion. I'll be going now."

Pansy stood up now. "You think you're the only one who's suffered? You think you're the only one who's got things? We've all got things, Potter. You're the just the only one who's allowed to wallow in them, is that it?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry snarled. "I put on a happy face and smile for the bloody cameras and I come to these parties with people who would have stabbed me in the back five years ago, and I do it all because I was there, Pansy. I am the one who saw the dead bodies and the kids crying and I have a godson who will never know his parents, and yes, I was bloody one of them. And where were you that night? Fleeing. Just like the coward you always were. Now if you'll excuse me." He turned to leave again and in a rage Pansy waved her wand with such viciousness that the bathroom door slammed shut.

"Coward, you think I am?" Pansy said softly and her voice was low, dangerous. "Do you have any idea what it was like at Hogwarts that year? Do you have any idea what we all went through, what I went through. Of course not. All you've heard is what your precious girlfriend told you. The blood traitor that the Carrows all but ignored unless she was making trouble. But me? Did they ignore me? Did they let me just be? Do you have any idea what it was like for me, Potter? To be Amycus's little plaything? Because he liked me Potter! He liked me, and it didn't matter that I was a student, that I was a young girl, or that I said no. All that mattered was that he liked me, and he wanted me, and I was pure blood and the Dark Lord promised him pure blood. And no one could protect me. All I could do was endure it all. You think me a coward, do you? For fleeing? You don't know anything, Potter!"

She was crying now and her hands trembled on her wand. She didn't know why she was telling him this. She'd never told anyone, not really. Draco knew, but only because Amycus used to brag to him about it. How he'd stolen his girlfriend. Another way to rub it in Draco's face that he and his father had fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord. Amycus used to whisper things in Draco's ear. Filthy things. The filthy things he'd done to Pansy, and he'd laugh and lick his lips and Draco could do nothing. Nothing except look at her guiltily, pityingly.

Sort of the way Potter was looking at her right now.

She didn't want his pity. She didn't want his guilt. She just wanted him to understand. To understand why she did what she did that night. Why she wanted it all to just...end.

"You're right," Harry said, and he looked like he might vomit again. "I don't know anything. I didn't know. And...I'm sorry. That's...horrible."

Pansy seemed to deflate. She collapsed on the toilet seat, and buried her face in her hands. Potter handed her a wad of toilet paper and she took it, carefully dabbing at her kohl lined eyes.

"I shouldn't have told you that," she muttered. "It's not something I want people...knowing."

Potter sighed and sat down opposite her on the edge of her immaculate bathtub. He sat there quietly for a moment.

"Ginny's chucked me," he said finally.

"What?" Pansy was still drying her eyes, still trying to calm her racing heart.

"It's the things I've been dealing with. Ginny. She's chucked me for some Bulgarian beater, Boris Vulchanov."

"You're kidding," Pansy said.

"I know. I'm being an idiot...I know it doesn't compare to what-"

"That twat!"

"What?"

"That unbelievable twat. I never did like her, no matter what Blaise always said. What a bloody idiot. Chucking the Boy Who Lived for some daft quidditch player. And a foreign one at that."

Potter raised his eyebrows. "What do you c-?"

"I suppose she thinks she's all high and mighty now that she plays for the Harpies."

"I really didn't think you'd-"

"I mean, honestly. Boris Vulchanov? He's not even good looking. And he talks like he's taken one too many bludgers to the head. The bloody idiot."

Potter cocked his head to side. "I don't know what's more strange. Your outrage or the fact that you know who Boris Vulchanov is."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Everyone knows who Boris Vulchanov is. And if you ask me, he'll never live up to his father's stats. He's too thick."

Potter's mouth was hanging open.

"Ginny bloody Weasley chucks Harry bloody Potter…" Pansy shook her head in disbelief.

Harry frowned. "Well I'd rather her chuck me than stay with me just because I am...who I am."

Pansy leveled him with a glare. "That's not what I meant," she said. "It's just that the two of you… well Merlin if Harry Potter and Ginny bloody Weasley can't make it work, then what's that say for the rest of us?"

"That we're just as fucked as everyone else?"

Pansy surprised herself by laughing.

And Harry cracked a smile.

And Pansy's heart fluttered again.

She heaved a sigh. "Well I take back what I said before. You totally deserve to get smashed." Taking out her wand again, she summoned in a bottle of Scotch, the good kind, the kind she saved for special occasions.

"Whatever they say about muggles," Pansy said as she poured out two glasses. "They know how to make their liquor. Here." She handed him a glass and raised her own. "To Ginny bloody Weasley and Boris Vulchanov. May they both fall off their brooms."

Their glasses clinked and they both took a healthy sip. "Good, eh?"

Potter smacked his lips and nodded. "You know, my uncle used to drink this stuff like it was liquid gold. I always thought he was exaggerating."

"Was it awful? Being raised by muggles?"

Harry snorted. "It was awful being raised by the Dursleys, yes. Because they were muggles? Nah."

They sat in silence a bit longer, each sipping their Scotch, each lost in their own haunted memories.

"I'm sorry," Pansy said. "About what I said earlier. And about...well. You know. When I wanted to hand you over. I thank god every day that no one listened to me."

Harry drained his glass and poured them both another.

And they sat there. Together in Pansy's oversized bathroom, sipping muggle Scotch and silently forgiving each other.

Harry saw Pansy again about a month and a half later. She was standing in line at a shop in Diagon Alley, her arms filled with brightly wrapped parcels. She wore gray robes, stylishly cinched at the waist with a long matching cloak that was buttoned to her throat. A light pink scarf circled her neck and her black hair was windswept, her fringe a bit mussed and her cheeks a bit pink.

Harry caught himself staring before he realized it.

If he was completely honest with himself, he'd thought of Pansy Parkinson more than he'd have liked in the past weeks. It was a bit...annoying really. He often wondered what she was doing, who she was with, what she was wearing that day. It was absurd.

And then there was that trip to Azkaban.

After arresting Corban Yaxley, having taken years to track him down, Harry had wanted to personally escort him to Azkaban, as the man had managed to escape ministry clutches three times already. After depositing him in a high security cell, Harry had found himself standing in front of Amycus Carrow.

The man was lying on a low, hard bed. His legs were crossed as he thumbed through a copy of Witch Weekly. He looked so...at ease. Comfortable. And the rage that hit Harry was so hard that it was alarming. All he could think about was what Pansy had said. What this...scum...had done to her. He nearly reached through the bars and cursed the man right then. He'd settled for incinerating the Witch Weekly.

He watched Pansy pay for her items and exit the crowded shop. It was nearing Christmas and Diagon Alley was a bustle with witches and wizards scrambling to find gifts. Harry followed her outside into the snowy street. She had taken out her wand and was levitating several parcels and shopping bags, making her way toward Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Harry entered the shop behind her and wasn't surprised to find that the store was more crowded than ever. Fred and George had just launched a new product that was selling like wildfire. Harry had actually had a hand in its development and was quite pleased to see its success.

"Messenger Diaries for sale over here," called out a familiar voice. "Step right up, there's enough for everyone. The perfect holiday gift." George was manning the Diaries sections and though his face was a bit red, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

The diaries really were a brilliant new invention and Harry and Ginny had actually gotten the idea from that old diary of Tom Riddle's (though they'd never admit it to anyone but each other). When Ginny joined the Harpies, she'd had to move to Holyhead, of course, which meant she and Harry rarely found time to see each other. And then there was the match schedule which took her around the world and with Harry busy with auror training and his work with the ministry, it was becoming harder and harder for she and Harry to keep in touch. Owls were much too slow, and flooing required a fireplace, and was always a bit uncomfortable. If only there was a way to write messages to one another that they would receive instantly.

"I hate to say it," Ginny had said, "but I sort of wish we had something like Riddle's old diary. It was bloody convenient being able to chat with him all day."

"Well if Riddle could do it, why can't we?" Harry had said. And so he had enlisted Fred and George's creative minds to help. It was quite simple once they got the logistics down. As long as two people had diaries, they could write to each other.

"Like walkie-talkies," Harry had mused, though the twins had no idea what he was talking about. But Fred took it a step further and enhanced the product so that one could chat with anyone else in the world who also had a diary.

"All you have to do," he'd explained, "is write their name at the top of the page, like this." He demonstrated by writing "Ron Weasley" at the top of a random page. "And now you just..." He took out a quill and wrote Hey git, don't think I didn't see you pocket those dung bombs. You owe four sickles or I'm docking it from your pay.

From across the room Harry and Fred had watched Ron's diary chirp. He opened it, read the message and frowned. He turned and made a rude hand gesture at Fred who merely waved.

"Neat, eh?" Fred asked.

"Brilliant," said Harry.

"We're going to make a killing of it. All thanks to you and Ginny. Don't worry, you two will get your share."

"Don't be daft," Harry protested. But Fred and George were very careful accountants. They were always sure Harry got his share in his investment and despite all Harry could do to discourage this, he continued to find fat amounts of gold in his Gringotts vault, deposits marked Weasley Bros Inc.

Harry watched Pansy head straight for the Messenger Diaries. She inspected several different styles, for the twins had different cover designs for sale. There was the standard brown leather, but also an assortment of designs ranging from deep purple with silver stars to vibrant orange and red stripes.

Pansy selected a shimmering pink that came with a matching quill and Harry smirked. He remembered how Ginny had detested the pink one. She then selected an emerald green one before making her way to stand in the curling line to get to the cash register. Harry saw that the twins had hired several new faces to help in the Christmas time rush, among which he spotted Colin and Dennis Creevy. They stood at adjacent registers, each wearing a matching smile and magenta robes.

Harry followed Pansy as she exited the shop and snaked her way through the crowded street, her parcels floating along behind her. She held her head high, her narrow hips sashaying as she strode along, quite oblivious to Harry following her.

She paused outside Madam Malkin's and surveyed a robe in the window display. When she went inside, Harry took out his own messenger diary. He turned to a new page and wrote her name at the top. Pansy Parkinson.

Fancy a cup of tea?

Her response came quicker than he would've thought.

Bout time you've asked. Seeing as you've been following me all afternoon.

Harry laughed out loud.

Meet me at Rosa Lee's in ten minutes?

More like twenty. I've just found a set of robes to die for. Must try on first.

And so Harry found himself, twenty minutes later, sitting in a crowded tea shop, across from Pansy Parkinson as she sipped her tea and nibbled on a biscuit shaped like a snowman.

Her cheeks were still pink from the cold, and her lipstick left red stains on the teacup. Her fingernails were perfectly manicured, painted a bright, festive gold that matched the studs in her ears. And she looked...beautiful.

Harry couldn't help it. She did.

"So," he said. "Er, Christmas shopping?" He nodded at her parcels and bags which now floated above their table, bumping gently into neighboring parcels as other patrons levitated their purchases as well.

"Ah yes," Pansy said. "All the obligatory gifts. New quills for Mum, shiny new cauldron for Dad—one he will never use, mind you. Let's see, a new hat for Grandmum, which she will surely detest but then...she detests everything. Some sweets for the house elves...let's see, what else..."

"Who's the second diary for?"

"Oh, I'm sending that to Daphne. She and her family moved to America, didn't you know? Just before all hell broke out here. I expect they'll move back after Astoria graduates Ilvermorny, but who knows. Daphne seems quite at home there. Met an American bloke she seems quite enamored with. It's a shame really. She's the only real friend I have left." Pansy smiled wistfully and took a sip of tea to hide her sadness. But it was there. Just under all the makeup and beauty potions, Harry could see it.

Harry didn't really know Daphne Greengrass. She was in his year, but being a Slytherin and one of Pansy and Draco's lackies, he never gave her the time of day. Of what he remembered of her, she was quiet, pretty, and was often found sniggering at something mean Pansy or Draco had said about him.

"And what brings you to Diagon Alley? Christmas shopping too?" Pansy asked him politely.

Harry frowned. "Er, yes. Kind of. I—well, Christmas this year might be a bit...awkward for me, considering…."

"Ah," Pansy nodded. "Considering the She-Weasle chucked you and you spend Christmas with her family every year."

Harry nodded. "Yes, she er—owled me that she was bringing Boris home to meet the family. Puts me in a bit of a strange position."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "The twat," she muttered under her breath. And despite the fact that Harry's impulse was to defend Ginny, he couldn't help feeling a perverse thrill at hearing Pansy's disdain. Part of him agreed. Yes, Ginny was a twat. He was angry with her. And everyone else in his life seemed very eager to stay on neutral territory when it came to Harry and Ginny's breakup. And he couldn't blame them, not really. Half of his friends were related to her, for Merlin's sake. And the other half –well….they adored her. Most people did.

But not Pansy. And that was...refreshing.

He raised his teacup and cheersed her. "So I fear my Christmas this year will very much consist of me popping into the Burrow for half an hour, just enough to drop off gifts and ensure Mrs. Weasley's feelings aren't hurt, then spending the rest of the day at home with my very old, surly house-elf and a portrait of a woman who hates my very existence."

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "I doubt that a dozen or more wizarding families wouldn't very much welcome the Boy Who Lived at their Christmas table."

"Yes, that's just what I want," said Harry sarcastically. "To spend Christmas dinner being toasted and saluted and asked to recount how I'd died and come back to life. That's in the real spirit of the holiday."

"Perhaps not," said Pansy. "Though might be better than spending Christmas alone."

"I suppose you have some lavish pureblood party to attend?"

Pansy sighed. "Well, yes. The Parkinsons are rather connected. Every Christmas Eve the Notts throw this large, ridiculous dinner party where we purebloods stand around together and congratulate ourselves on our numerous achievements and blessings...and until recently discuss how the muggles and muggleborns were destroying our society. But oh no, not anymore. Now it's all about integration and tolerance and creating a new world where wizards and muggles coexist peacefully. All thanks to you and Granger, really."

"Is that so?" Harry said.

"It's all very hypocritical. But at least the wine is good."

"I suppose you have some pureblooded suitor lined up to be your date to this party?"

Pansy snorted into her tea. "Are you serious, Potter? You think I have suitors? First of all, what bloody year do you think this is? And secondly… I don't suppose you read the papers do you?"

Harry gave Pansy a blank stare.

Pansy sighed. "You know Rita Skeeter might be on a tight leash when it comes to you and your posse, but unfortunately for the rest of us...we are free game. And her favorite topics are those of us who were so bold as to oppose you during the war. There's an article in the Daily Prophet every other week about me."

"About what?" Harry said, confused.

"Oh, usually some snapshot of me with an unflattering look on my face with some appalling caption like, 'Pansy Parkinson, Underground Death Eater Cult?' or 'Pansy Parkinson's Secret Pregnancy- how she sacrificed her baby to the Dark Lord!' She almost always begins the article by reminding everyone that I was the one who of course suggested we all turn on you at the battle of Hogwarts. No one wants anything to do with me, least of all romantically. Anyone seen with me in public runs the risk of being my alleged baby daddy to the child I used for some spell to bring back You-Know-Who, or some such rubbish."

"I see," Harry said slowly. He glanced around.

"Oh, don't worry," Pansy said. "There aren't any reporters here. And no one has been following me today...well except for you."

"How did you know I was following you?" Harry asked. "I thought I was being very discreet."

"Oh, you were," Pansy assured him. "You were the proper creep, don't worry. You'd make a fine serial killer. But lucky for me, I've had ample experience with predators and I've become quite adept at the tracking charm. It alerts me to anyone following me, or anyone getting too close. It only took once of being attacked by one of your many fanatics for me to realize I need to protect myself a bit better."

"The tracker charm?" Harry asked. "I've never heard of it."

"Ah, well you wouldn't would you? Learned it seventh year. Flitwick sort of took it upon himself, as did most of the other teachers, to take on teaching some more defensive spells. You know, since Defense Against the Dark Arts had ceased to exist."

"Ah," said Harry.

"It's bloody useful," Pansy went on. "Perhaps you should learn it yourself. Might save you the trouble of being harassed for autographs every few minutes."

"Perhaps you might teach it to me," Harry said before he could stop himself.

Pansy started to say something, but stopped as a blush crept over her cheeks. She buried her face in her teacup in an attempt to hide it, but Harry saw. And his heart lurched.

"So this party," Harry hedged. "At the Nott's… will there be press there?"

"Of course," said Pansy. "They never miss it. The Notts actually invite them. Pay them off to write something positive."

"And will the press be writing about you then?"

"It's likely, yes." Pansy said wearily.

"Well," said Harry, and here he started to smile. "What would they write about if you showed up with a pure blooded suitor on your arm? A certain, war hero of a certain...notoriety?"

Pansy frowned. "Potter, are you actually saying…?"

"Well, why not?" Harry asked. "You said it yourself, anything is better than being alone on Christmas. And this gives me a good excuse to duck out of the Weasleys. And of course, I still owe you for saving me from embarrassment at the last gala. Least I can do is return the favor. Imagine what the papers will say if they see we are friendly. All is forgiven, you're not a death eater, and so on."

Pansy looked down at her plate a moment. "Is it all forgiven then?" she asked quietly without looking at him.

Harry reached out and impulsively took her hand. It was warmer than he thought it would be, her fingers small and delicate. She looked up at him, her expression both surprised and hopeful. "There's nothing to forgive," Harry said softly. "The war was...hard. On everyone. I understand more now...what you were going through."

Pansy visibly swallowed and nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze back.

"So it's settled then?" Harry said lightly. "You'll take me with you to Nott's Christmas party?"

"On one condition," Pansy said, tossing her hair back.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You wear proper dress robes. Not that ghastly one from the Yule Ball. Something new. Something posh."

Harry laughed. "It's a deal."

Pansy stood in front of her full length mirror and studied her reflection. It'd been a long time since she'd dressed with such care.

Her hair was sleek and straight, and it framed her face perfectly. She wore it just as she always did, a black bob with a thick straight fringe that hovered just over her blue eyes which she had lined with kohl, a thick coat of mascara and shimmering eyeshadow. Her complexion was perfect thanks to a beauty potion she'd splurged on and her lips were berry red and matched her robes –the latest fashion – floor length with a plunging neckline that went down past her sternum. The sleeves were tight to the wrist where they flared out slightly and it was made out of a slinky new material that clung to her every curve. She'd paired it with a short gold necklace and matching gold chandelier earrings and when she moved, every bit of her seemed to sparkle. On her feet she wore a pair of simple black stilettos, her creamy white legs peaking out from a slit in the robe.

Pansy checked the clock. Potter would be arriving in just a few minutes time by floo and then from Pansy's suite they would floo to the Nott party together. She tried (and failed) to calm her fluttering heart, reminding herself repeatedly that Potter was just doing them both a favor by accompanying her to the party… but the truth was, her mind seemed determined to think of this as a proper date. She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel a hint of attraction to him. Okay, more than a hint. And it made no sense because he was Harry bloody Potter, and she was Pansy bloody Parkinson and she'd spent most of her life despising him. But for what? Simply because Draco hated him, and she always did what Draco said?

Well Pansy decided to put that all behind her. All was forgiven. Isn't that what Harry had said?

Pansy checked the clock again.

She had no idea what Potter would be wearing. She'd received a number of messages in her diary a few days ago that had given her cause for concern.

H: Pansy, what's the difference between white and ivory? Is ivory just a dirtier white? Why does it cost more?

H: Should I get cufflinks?

H: What are cufflinks?

H: Do they honestly expect me not to wear trousers under the robe? Is that really the latest trend?

Pansy had finally taken pity on him and responded. P: Don't let them talk you into white. Ask for a forest green blended robe, calf length with matching trousers. And yes, get cufflinks, preferably gold.

And when Potter walked through Pansy's ornate fireplace a few seconds later, Pansy was almost rendered speechless by how closely he had followed her directions.

His robe was perfectly tailored, dark green with golden embroidery. It hit him at mid-calf, just as she'd instructed, and he wore matching green trousers underneath. The robe was cut close to his shoulders and waist, accenting both his broad back and trim waistline. He looked...good. Someone had actually succeeded in taming his wild hair (Pansy suspected Sleekeasy's potion) and he wore new glasses –black rectangular frames that complimented the sharp angles of his face and jawline.

"Well don't you look dashing," she said, recovering from her momentary shock.

He smiled at her. "Likewise," he said, his eyes sweeping her from head to toe, lingering just a moment too long at her plunging neckline.

Pansy flushed and swallowed. "Well, shall we go then?"

"Just a moment," Harry said. "I um...well. Considering it is Christmas and all. I...got you a present."

"A present?" Pansy said.

"Yes, you know. Gift giving is sort of a Christmas tradition, isn't it? Here." He took a small poorly wrapped parcel from his pocket and handed it to her.

She held it in her hand and frowned. "I didn't get you anything," she said bluntly.

Harry laughed. "Don't feel bad just yet. You haven't even opened it."

Pansy tore at the shiny red and white paper, revealing a small black box. She opened it and nestled inside in a pillow of velvet was a small gold bracelet with a tiny emerald in the center.

"It's got a cheering charm. Just something to spread the Christmas cheer is all. No need to get weepy about it," Harry said, sounding a bit panicked.

Pansy hadn't realize that her eyes had misted over. She blinked rapidly and looked up. "Thank you," she said. She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and she immediately felt the charm's effects. Happiness bubbled in her chest and suddenly she was smiling.

"Strong," she said a little breathlessly.

Harry nodded and held up his wrist which bore a matching gold cuff. His smile was as wide as hers. "I thought we could both use a little fun tonight."

Pansy sighed happily. "You thought right."

"Well," Harry said, offering her his arm. Pansy took it and together they made their way back over to the fireplace.

"Oh wait," Pansy said. "I almost forgot." She went to her desk and picked up the invitation. It was spelled so that it allowed access to the party, which was strictly invitation only, very exclusive. Once Harry had basically invited himself, Pansy had owled the Notts to change her RSVP from one seat to two. She received a new invitation back almost immediately, that showed two guests were now allowed access to the party.

They flooed into the Nott's main foyer. It was a magnificent room. At least a dozen Christmas trees lined the walls, each decorated with silver and gold baubles, tinsel and sparkling lights. The ceiling hung with garlands and enchanted snow fell around them. They were greeted by a sweet little house elf wearing a red and green pointed hat with a matching dress and curling shoes. She looked straight out of the North Pole and every time she moved jingle bells sung from her hat and shoes.

"Right this way," she squeaked, and she led them out of the foyer, down a hallway and into the main ballroom. The Nott's manor was very large, but Pansy knew the ballroom had been magically enhanced to accommodate so many guests. It was quite crowded already. Witches and wizards mingled in a sea of colors, chatting and hugging and laughing. No one had noticed them yet, which Pansy was secretly grateful for, but she knew it was only a matter of time.

"Shall we get a drink?" Harry asked.

She nodded gratefully and pointed toward the bar positioned just to their left. Pansy ordered a glass of red wine, and Potter ordered a scotch. They were just turning away when Pansy heard her name.

"Hello cousin," It was Theodore. He leaned in and kissed Pansy on the cheek.

"Theo," Pansy nodded. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know, the same. The mastery at the department of mysteries is keeping me quite busy. My final project is due at the end of the- Potter?"

"Hello Theodore," Harry said, lightly raising his glass in greeting.

"I didn't know you'd- with Pansy?" Theo looked back and forth between the two of them as if waiting for some kind of explanation.

"Good of Pansy to invite me," Harry said. "I've been wanting to meet her family in full for ages. This seemed an opportune moment, seeing as it's Christmas and all."

"Er, yes," Theo said, eying Pansy, who merely smiled. Her cheering charm was in full effect and she was finding this entire exchange quite hilarious.

"Well… er, welcome?" Theo tried again. "This is my grandmother's house. She'll be….er….delighted that you're here."

Harry nodded gratefully and started to lead Pansy away. They left Theo standing there with his mouth agape and Pansy covered her mouth to stifle the burst of giggles that just exploded.

"This is going to be fun," Harry said softly in her ear, and Pansy's neck broke out in goosebumps. They meandered around the room, Harry's hand settled lightly on Pansy's lower back. Pansy watched people glance at her and then away, so used to avoiding her as they were. It was most comical once they realized who she was with. Their heads nearly rocketed off their necks as they did a double take.

"I didn't know Theodore Nott was your cousin," Harry said, taking a sip of scotch as they walked.

"Oh yes," Pansy nodded. "Our mothers were sisters. Both Warringtons."

"Is that so?"

"Of course. Though, poor Theo's mother died when we were very young. He was raised by his father, didn't you know? The death eater. I don't think anyone else in the world was happier than Theo was when the wanker was sent to Azkaban. I think he's secretly grateful to you for that. Ah, and Cassius is just over there. You remember Cassius?" She pointed at her other cousin who was standing just ahead of them. He wore green robes, similar to the ones Harry wore, and his golden blond hair was so carefully disheveled it was almost comical. He stood next to his date, a pretty brunette Pansy recognized as Eleanor Branstone, a muggle-born Hufflepuff several years their junior. Pansy studied Cassius. He looked as pompous and bored as ever, and she wondered if he were really interested in Eleanor, or was simply courting her to improve his family's image after the war.

"Ah, yes," Harry said. "Played Chaser for Slytherin?"

"Harry! Harry, good to see you!" Horace Slughorn seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Pansy watched as her old professor's reddened face smiled fondly and greeted Harry profusely. Slughorn was closely followed by Mr. Olivander, the wandmaker and another distant relative of Pansy's. And so for the next twenty minutes until dinner was served Harry was greeted and received and smiled and cajoled into hugs and handshakes, so much so that Pansy finally took pity on him and directed him straight to their table.

The ballroom was set up with two dozen massive round tables that seated twelve. Pansy and Harry were seated with an assortment of Pansy's cousins. Cassius and Eleanor, Theo and Tracey Davis, her two elder Parkinson cousins from her father's side of the family. Both heirs to massive fortune and had pureblood wives with 2.5 children, lived in wizarding villages and had upstanding careers at the ministry. They pointedly ignored Pansy on most occasions, but tonight they were all smiles, and "Happy Christmas" and "lovely weather we've been having" and "Oh, Harry Potter, what a pleasure!"

Dinner was delicious, of course. A six course masterpiece that left Pansy feeling comfortably full and warm. Her wine glass was never empty and she was feeling quite good by the time their plates had been cleared and the music started.

"Is that Celestina Warbeck?" Harry's voice came from her shoulder, his lips hovering just over her ear.

"Of course," Pansy said, turning toward the stage. "She sings every year."

Harry's eyes widened. "I've tried three times to get tickets to her show as a gift to Mrs. Weasley. They're always sold out instantly."

Pansy watched the aging witch in her glittering robe and her elaborately styled hair as she crooned out her classic hit, A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love. She shrugged. "I suppose I could introduce you. I'm sure if she would have known the famous Harry Potter wanted to get tickets to her show, she wouldn't refuse you a box seat."

Harry gave her a lopsided grin. "I don't suppose you'd care to dance, would you?"

Slowly couples were taking the dance floor, swaying together as Celestina switched tunes and started in on a Christmas song about the three Magi and their travels to Bethlehem.

So Pansy followed Harry out to the dance floor. The cheering charm and the wine and her full stomach were filling her with a sense of elation that she couldn't describe. It felt like a dream, swaying there in Harry's arms, his warm breath on her neck, her chest pressed lightly against his. This close, he smelled oddly like wood. Like he'd just gotten off of a broomstick.

She didn't even notice the cameras.

They danced for several more songs, and when Celestina took a break Pansy introduced her to Harry, and they chatted like old pals. Then there was more wine, and more people to meet, and house elves walking around with trays full of chocolate cauldrons spiked with fire whiskey, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the bloody minister of magic, was hugging her, for Merlin's sake and before she knew it she and Harry were standing in the doorway under a patch of mistletoe, and Harry was saying something about Nargles, and then he was kissing her.

And for a bit, she couldn't breathe. Like the oxygen had been sucked from her lungs, and lights were flashing, and people were laughing, and his lips felt like soft cushions of heat, and he tasted like whiskey and chocolate, and something else that reminded her of quidditch games at Hogwarts and she still couldn't believe that Harry Potter was kissing her, and then they were dancing again. And the cheering charm and the wine and Harry, it was all happening so fast and so strange, and so amazing and she loved it, every minute of it…

"Harry, are you mad?" Hermione slammed a copy of the Daily Prophet down on the bar table, her face a violent shade of pink, and her hair looking particularly bushy. "Pansy Parkinson?"

Harry looked down at the moving photograph of he and Pansy kissing the other night at the Christmas party. He hadn't realized that he'd sort of pinned her against the door jam, one hand braced against the wall, the other wrapped tightly around her waist. Her hand cupped the back of his neck, and their lips moved passionately.

The memory of her lips and her body and the warmth he felt… it set his veins on fire. He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"You think this is funny, do you?" Hermione's voice had taken on that shrill tone she used to use in school when she was telling him off for copying.

"Oh come on, Hermione," Ron said from Harry's right. "He's entitled to a rebound shag. I mean, Parkinson is an interesting choice, but-"

"Harry," Hermione said, cutting off Ron. She took a deep, steadying breath. "I know you and Ginny's breakup could hardly have been easy...but...but… Pansy Parkinson? Is this really the way to get back at Ginny?"

Harry frowned. "It's not about that," he said. "Hermione look. I know you don't like her. Hell none of us did. But she's changed. She's different now. I… fancy her."

"You fancy her?" Hermione shrieked. "Need I remind you that she it was she who suggested we turn you over to Voldemort that night at Hogwarts?"

"No, you don't need to remind me," Harry said crossly.

"Need I also remind you that she tortured us for six years of school? She made up that wretched song about Ron in fifth year and during the Triwizard Tournament she made up all those lies about you to Rita Skeeter? And what about Draco? How could you like someone who was so into him, like she was?"

"Hermione, come on. None of that was that bad."

"Not that bad?" Hermione's face turned even pinker. "Don't you remember fourth year when she sneaked into my dormitory and stole all of my underwear. Yes, all of it! And I had to write home to mum and dad to send me more. And then she just handed my knickers out to all the Slytherin boys who made up disgusting stories about how they'd gotten them. And then there was that whole period during third year when she charmed a tampon to fall out of my pocket every time I raised my hand in class."

Ron snorted and Hermione rounded on him with a glare so fierce Ron nearly backed away. "Sorry!" he said. "But...period." He raised his arms in surrender.

"Yes. Period. I'd just gotten my period that year and it was mortifying! Don't you remember any of this?"

Harry looked at Ron and raised his eyebrows. Ron shrugged. The truth was, Harry didn't recall either of those things. But then, he was a bit oblivious back then. "Hermione, come on," he begged. "I said she's different now. All those things happened in school. People change."

"Oh well, in that case, I'm sure you wouldn't mind a bit if I went off and snogged Goyle. I'm sure he's changed."

Harry sighed.

Hermione was studying the Daily Prophet again. "It says here that you went to the Nott's annual Christmas Eve party with her. Harry Potter was spotted sharing a mistletoe kiss with none other than pure blood bad girl, Pansy Parkinson."

"Bad girl," Ron chuckled.

"Could this mean the two have set aside their differences in the name of a budding romance, or was this merely revenge against Potter's newly split ex-lover Ginny Weasley, chaser for the Holyhead Harpies? See page eight for more details. Oh, honestly Harry. The press is having a field day."

"Oy!" Harry said, his voice rising a bit. "I don't complain when the two of you snog each other in public and your bloody faces are all over the cover pages. Just let this be… Meet her. Get to know her better. I promise things are different now."

"Do you mean to say...you're actually going to… date her?" Hermione said.

Harry shrugged. "I've invited her to Neville's New Years Party. She's said she'll go. I expect you can speak to her then."

"Harry, you didn't," Hermione said. "Don't you think you ought to… ask Neville if it's okay if you bring her?"

"Why would he care?" Harry asked.

"Well...because!"

"Hermione just because you hated her guts in school doesn't mean everyone did."

"Don't you remember how she cast that leg lock curse at him when he was trying to ask out Susan Bones? And how she actually pushed him down the stairs in fourth year? Or how she would call him Neville the Nutless? Or… or what was the other one? Oh yes, Limpdick Longbottom. She was just awful to him."

"But how did she know he was limpdicked?" Ron asked seriously.

"Well," Hermione said smugly. "That is the question, isn't it?"

Harry frowned. He didn't really remember Pansy being that terrible. But then… Neville was always being teased, especially by the Slytherins.

"Alright," Harry conceded. "I will ask Neville. But if he says it's fine, she's coming. And you best be nice to her. There's more to her than you know, Hermione. Trust me."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and looked doubtful. "Well there's Neville now. Go on and ask him."

Harry peered across the bar and sure enough, Neville had just arrived. He donned an apron and began his work behind the bar.

Ever since Neville quit the aurors to begin his mastery in herbology, he'd been working at the Leaky Cauldron alongside his girlfriend Hannah Abbott. Hannah's uncle Tom, the Inn's notoriously peculiar innkeeper had recently retired and left the entire establishment to her. And honestly it was probably the best business decision the man ever made because under Hannah's management, the Leaky Cauldron had become a completely different place. It was warm, and comfortable and served delicious food and drinks. It's rooms were no longer drab and dark, but decorated tastefully. It's service was impeccable and it was quickly becoming a favorite destination for witches and wizards all over the country, rather than just the entrance to Diagon Alley.

And for Harry, Ron and Hermione...it was basically a home away from home. They met up there nearly daily. They all lived in London now and with all three of them working at the ministry, it was a great place to meet up. And then of course, the pub always had friendly faces.

"Hi Harry," Neville greeted as Harry settled on a bar stool.

"Hey Neville," Harry began. "I was wondering...do you have a minute to chat?"

Neville shouldered a tea towel and turned to Harry, giving him his full attention? "'Course, mate," he said. "What's up?"

"So about yours and Hannah's New Year party… I was sort of wondering if it'd be okay if I… well, if I invited Pansy Parkinson?"

Neville grinned. "Well, of course. You can invite whoever you want."

"It doesn't bother you that...well that it's Pansy? You know, since she was sort of awful to you in school?"

Neville waved his hand dismissively. "Aw, Pansy's alright. She's changed a lot since then."

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Right?" he asked. "That's what I've been saying." Neville followed Harry's gaze as he glanced toward Hermione and Ron.

Neville frowned. "Seventh year was harder on her than most people think. You three weren't there… you don't know how it was. Not really."

Harry paused and studied Neville. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

Neville lowered his voice and got a bit closer. "Well, it was the Carrows of course. They liked her. I knew what Amycus was doing to her. We all sort of knew. It was...kind of obvious."

"It was?"

"Well sure. Everyone always thought she had it easy...you know because they wouldn't punish her like they did the rest of us. She was always showing up late for class and not doing her work and smarting off to the teachers...but they'd just let it all slide, right? But then Amycus would make her stay after class with him most days and... she'd get all pale and shaky. I saw her afterward a few times and well...it wasn't pretty. I tried to help her. I really did. But you know Pansy… she snarled at me, told me to leave her alone." Neville shook his head as if to rid it of the painful memories. "Like I said, people thought she had it easy, but I'd rather take the cruciatus curse any day than what Amycus had in store for her."

Harry looked down at his hands. Had he really been so blind, all this time? Was it true that everyone knew? And that no one did anything? Harry looked up at Neville. There was still a scar on his cheek, a souvenir from the seventh year Harry missed out on. No. Neville had done something. Harry thought of the DA and the room of requirement and the stories he'd heard of the students rebelling…. They'd all done something, hadn't they? And they'd won in the end. He had to remind himself of that.

"And that night..." Neville went on. "The night of the battle when she… well when she wanted to turn you over?" Neville shrugged. "I sort of felt sorry for her, you know? She was so broken by then, like a horse. But honestly, ever since the war she's been right decent. You've heard about all the philanthropies she heads, right?"

When Harry gave Neville a blank look, Neville grinned. "Oh yeah, she's the head of loads of them." He started ticking them off on his fingers. "There's the War Orphan Welfare fund...you've heard of that one I'm sure."

"Of course," said Harry. "I donate every year. Teddy gets a good amount of benefits from it."

Neville nodded. "Hannah too. Even though she's of age and all, they give her a fair amount of money… you know, because her mother was killed by those death eaters sixth year? It helped rahab this place," he gestured to the Leaky Cauldron. "But at first Hannah didn't think she should get the money, you know? She thought the money should be used on kids and stuff. She tried to send it back, but then Pansy showed up one day with a bag of galleons and right near forced Hannah to take it. And the funny part was...even though she was being typical Pansy, yelling and insulting and being a right hag...she ended up hugging Hannah. Saying she was sorry for her loss and then they were both crying. It was mad."

Harry glanced back at Hermione. She was watching them carefully.

"And then there's the St. Mungo's Fund," Neville went on. "She raises a lot of amount of money for that one too. And you can tell things have gotten better there since she started heading the foundation. The hospital's expanded a lot. And now my mum and dad get their own rooms. It's more like a flat than a hospital room. They get their own kitchen and bathroom and sitting room… Me and Gran brought in a bunch of photographs to put up and old furniture from their house that my Gran kept all these years… and while they're still… you know... They seem happier. Mum makes her own tea now and my dad's even started doing a little magic again. Nothing crazy, just sort of turning the lights on and off and summoning his shoes, that sort of thing. Kid stuff you don't need a wand for...but it's done wonders. And I think it's because he feels more at home, like his old self. And I'm truly thankful for that."

"Blimey, Neville," Harry said. "That's great."

Neville nodded. "And that's not the half of it. She's on the board for the Welfare for Magical Creatures, the Muggle-born rights committee, the Severus Snape foundation, Pureblood allies…. Probably a few more. The papers don't report about any of that though," Neville said disdainfully. "They'd rather talk about her clothes or her hair or who they think she's shagging."

"Neville," Hermione interjected. Harry hadn't noticed that she'd joined them. "I've looked into those charities and while yes, they raise a lot of money, the Parkinsons and other pureblood families keep a substantial part of the money for themselves. So while sure, they might be raising money, they work it like a business and it's really not all that philanthropic."

Neville shrugged. "I don't know anything about that. I just see what I see, that's all. But anyway, I'd be happy if Pansy came to the New Years party. Hannah will be delighted too."

"Thanks Neville," Harry said, relieved.

Pansy peered over the edge of coffee mug and watched Draco pace the room furiously.

"I saw the Prophet this morning and I just couldn't believe it," he was saying, his hand running rampant through his blond hair. "I had to come over. I just don't understand. How could you do this?"

Draco had woken Pansy up this morning by pounding frantically at her front door, frightening the hell out of one of her house elves, demanding to see Pansy at once. She'd allowed him into her suite with a roll of her eyes. She knew this was coming.

Now she sat sipping her coffee and eating her breakfast, quietly watching him rant.

"It's Potter, of all people, Pansy. Potter! What are you trying to prove?" he glared at the wall, and wouldn't directly meet her eyes. "What's he trying to prove?" Draco muttered more to himself. "It's got to be an angle. Another swipe at me. Hasn't he gotten enough? How much more can I bend and scrape to him?"

"Draco," Pansy said firmly. "I know it's hard to imagine that absolutely everything in the world doesn't revolve around you, but honestly...this has nothing to do with you at all."

"Nothing to do with me? Pansy. You're my girlfriend and Potter just up and snogs you in public!"

"Ex-girlfriend," Pansy corrected.

Draco met her eyes then. "Pansy, I- I know things haven't exactly been...warm between us lately, but I just always thought..." he shook his head and looked away, his face growing red.

"You always thought I'd be here waiting for you," she finished for him.

He glanced at her guiltily before looking away again.

Pansy sighed. To be true, she couldn't exactly blame him. She always thought they would end up together too. After everything died down, with the war and the pure blood mania and his death eater ties. Once they'd both redeemed themselves enough to be accepted by society again… they would inevitably get married. Not because they loved each other, but because they both thought no one else would have them. It was unspoken between them. He was an ex-death eater, known adversary of Harry Potter, and she was the one who sold out the Chosen One. They belonged together. And then of course, there was their history.

She'd been in love with Draco Malfoy since she was eleven years old for Merlin's sake. It wasn't something she could just forget about. He'd been her first kiss, her first...everything. They used to meet in the Slytherin common room at midnight, used to find places to steel away together. And then sixth year happened… and Draco started drawing away from her. Hiding from her. Disappearing for hours at a time, coming back sick and shaky and afraid and it was obvious what was happening, but Pansy didn't know what to do so she just ignored it all… and then came seventh year and everything changed.

Draco wouldn't touch her after that. And he hadn't since.

Sure, he'd tried. He really did. There were late night floos and trips to muggle London for dinner dates, and small, chaste goodnight kisses and weekly owls that felt more and more like correspondences between colleagues, than romantic partners.

"Draco," Pansy said softly, setting down her coffee cup. "Come here."

He seemed eager to comply, sitting directly in front of her, finally meeting her eyes. She reached across the little sitting room table and took his hands in hers. She tried not to notice that he flinched at her touch.

"Listen to me," she said. "I love you." She held tight to him as he tried to pull away. "Wait, listen," she said. "I love you. I always have and I think I always will. But… it's been over between us for years. You and I both know this. And we both deserve better. I see that now. Maybe one day you will too."

His blue eyes met hers and she saw the hurt there, the pain. Not that they were over. But that she thought him worthy of...something more. She could tell that he didn't believe her.

"But why Potter, though?" he asked. "Why him, of all people?"

Pansy smiled softly. She looked down at her wrist, at the gold bracelet she hadn't removed since the Christmas party, though the cheering charm had long since faded. "I honestly don't know," she said.

Draco studied her a moment longer. "I don't like it," he said. "If he's using you, if he hurts you, I'll-"

"Oh Draco," Pansy shook her head softly. "I can take care of myself. You know that."

Draco looked at her a bit longer his expression changing from anger to guilt, to grief. Suddenly his eyes filled. He blinked a few times and bit his lip. "Pansy," he choked out. "I should have – I should have stopped him. Carrow. All those years ago in school. I just...I just..." he bit back a sob.

"Shhhh," Pansy said, soothingly. "There was nothing you could have done. We were just children. Both of us."

Draco let out a muffled sob. He brought Pansy's hand to his lips and held it there with his eyes closed. "I wanted so long to tell you...tell you that I was sorry...that I wanted to do more, but I was afraid. I spent so much time being afraid..."

Pansy waited, watching him silently as her own tears spilled over. They'd never talked about seventh year. Not really. They'd both suffered so much and yet they were both so proud, so stubborn. They should have found comfort in one another, but instead they had pushed each other away. Maybe now they could find healing.

"Come now," she said finally, brushing away her tears and sniffing. "Have breakfast with me. We've much bigger issues to discuss."

Draco sniffed and looked up. "Is that so?" he asked, wiping roughly at his blotched face.

"Yes," Pansy said with feigned seriousness. "What in the world am I going to wear to Longbottom's New Year party?"

"Master Potter, your guest has arrived."

"Thanks Kreacher," Harry said, feeling his heart rate increase. "Er, how do I look?"

The old house elf was momentarily surprised at being asked such a question, but his face quickly turned calculating as he inspected Harry's attire. "Very...fetching, sir. Kreacher thinks young Sirius would be most pleased to see you wearing his old jacket. He was quite fond of it, if Kreacher remembers correctly. It drove my poor mistress mad."

Harry turned back to his reflection and studied himself again. He'd found the old leather motorcycle jacket in Sirius's closet (now his closet since he'd moved into Grimmauld Place and taken over Sirius's old bedroom) and immediately fell in love with it. It was well worn black leather with a broken zipper and when Harry put it on he felt almost as if Sirius were hugging him, it fit so well. He smiled at his reflection. He looked...cool.

The leather was so supple and worn it was as if he were wearing cotton. He could just picture a teenage Sirius running around London in the seventies, hopping on the back of muggle motorbikes and sneaking into pubs to listen to muggle bands. Yes, poor Walburga Black must have been beside herself.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Harry made it to his front drawing room where Pansy waited near the fireplace. She looked….well. To be honest, she looked like a glass of sparkling pink champagne.

She wore a shimmering pink dress that fit so close to her body it was as if it were a second skin. It was of modest length, down to her knees almost, and had long sleeves, but the back was completely open revealing smooth, white skin all the way down to her tailbone. On her feet she wore matching high heels, the kind that said all kinds of interesting things, and Harry sort of lost his breath at the sight of her.

She smiled at him. Her eyes were lined with kohl and shimmering pink eyeshadow to match her dress. Her ears dangled with overlarge chandelier earrings and she carried a small black clutch. She looked beautiful and elegant and sexy all at the same time.

"Hi," Harry said, dumbly.

"Hi," she answered. "Lovely home," she said gesturing to the drawing room.

Harry looked around. Grimmauld Place surely had come a long way since he'd moved in several years ago. After months of Kreacher hounding him, Harry had finally relented to the renovations the house elf had in mind. And now the house was almost unrecognizable to those who had known it when it was headquarters for the Order. It was bright and airy and decorated in the most modern and comfortable furniture. It turned out that Kreacher was quite capable of removing all the portraits and tapestries that had been permanently charmed to the walls and he proved quite adept at exterminating all the pests that had been living in the old house. He'd even moved the old portrait of Walburga into a less central location where she wouldn't be disturbed as easily. (Removing it altogether was out of the question of course, and Harry didn't even suggest it.)

Within several months, with the help of a few house elves from Hogwarts whom Kreacher had befriended in his time there, the house became nicer than anything Harry had ever dreamed of living in. The hardwood floors had been refurbished and now shined bright mahogany. The carpets had been replaced, along with the curtains and the bed linens and the ghastly old curio cabinets with all their old, scary relics. The house was massive with eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, two formal dining rooms, two parlors, and one large seating area. The kitchen, located in the basement was now warm and inviting, and was where Harry spent most of his time entertaining guests, despite the ample space upstairs.

The house was of course much too large for Harry to be living in all by himself, and for a bit Ron and Hermione had been his housemates with Ginny a nearly constant presence. But it was decided (mostly by Hermione) that she and Ron needed their own flat to "grow as a couple" as she put it, and of course with Ginny's move to Holyhead and the ultimate demise of their relationship, Harry was quite alone as of late. That didn't stop Kreacher from making sure the place was spotless with fresh flowers and abundant holiday decorations dripping from every spare corner.

Harry watched as Pansy's eyes swept the room. "Thanks," Harry managed.

"You know, I saw the expose' in Witch Weekly last year, but it honestly didn't do the house justice," Pansy said, inspecting a fuzzy white throw pillow Harry didn't even know existed. Harry winced. He'd agreed to let Witch Weekly do that wretched article because he knew it would make Kreacher happy, but the publicity it sparked was a bit overwhelming. Grimmauld Place, a street in London which had once been quite abundant with witches and wizards, had fallen out of favor in the past century with the wizarding community. The surrounding houses had been sold off to muggles who had turned them into apartment flats that were rented out cheaply to mostly unsavory people. Crime had been quite rampant in the neighborhood when Harry moved in and even he had to be careful walking home alone at night. Muggles with guns were not afraid of the Boy Who Lived.

But then the article came out and suddenly those old townhouses were being sold and its muggle inhabitants evicted as prominent witches and wizards moved in. In a matter of months, Grimmauld Place had been transformed into a popular wizarding street. Everyone wanted to be Harry Potter's neighbor. Harry had lifted most of the enchantments that kept the house hidden...the Fidelius charm, for instance, and the unplottability charm, but many protective enchantments were still in effect. Otherwise his house would be swarmed by his many...fans. He'd learned that the hard way.

"Love the jacket," Pansy was saying, gesturing to his attire.

"Love the...er," Harry said, gesturing to all of her.

Pansy laughed, a soft tinkling sound.

"I figured we could apparate to the pub, if that's alright?" Harry asked.

"Of course," said Pansy. She withdrew her wand from the tiny clutch and Harry suspected she'd enhanced its interior with the extension charm. He took her hand in his and together they apparated.

They appeared together in an alleyway just outside the Leaky Cauldron. Loud music and shouts of laughter could be heard from the pub out on the snowy street. It seemed the party was already in full swing.

Harry led Pansy inside where they were greeted by a warm rush of bodies and noise. Harry spotted familiar faces everywhere, mostly friends he'd gone to Hogwarts with. Neville and Hannah were standing together near the door, each bedecked in paper hats and plastic beads.

"Harry and Pansy!" Neville shouted when he saw them. "Welcome, welcome." He draped his long arms over both their shoulders and it was plain to see he was already quite smashed. Hannah smiled widely, her own face flushed with drink. Harry thanked them both as they fetched him and Pansy glasses of sparkling champagne.

Harry kept an eye on Pansy as they were greeted by an array of guests. He'd been quite prepared to defend her presence, but it seemed no one really cared too much that she was there. No one greeted her quite as warmly as they greeted him, of course, but no one was outright rude.

They met Dean Thomas and Susan Bones, who were currently dating... along with Seamus Finnigan and a girl Harry recognized as being in Gryffindor but a few years their junior. Then there were Parvati and Padma Patil, each wearing identical golden dresses that were so short they might as well have been knickers. Lavender Brown actually kissed Pansy on the cheek as she greeted them, her blond hair piled in an array of curls so abundant she looked a bit like a lion. Ernie McMillan was there with his muggle girlfriend and of course the Weasley twins were there, dressed alike in their dragon hide jackets, Angelina Johnson and Verity Hopkirk on each of their arms both dressed prettily in sparkling dresses enhanced with some kind of spell that kept them changing colors. The effect was quite pleasant.

Then there was Luna Lovegood, wearing a white floor length dress that somewhat resembled a wedding gown. "Daddy says it's auspicious to wear white at the new year," she explained. "It marks the purity of new beginnings." Her date was a tall American bloke whom she introduced as simply Rolf. "We met in India," Luna said. "We were both studying the mating habits of the Dukuwaqa. They are really quite fascinating creatures."

They finally met Ron and Hermione, both of whom looked well into their cups as Ron had already spilled something on his shirt and Hermione hadn't bothered to spell it away yet. Hermione looked lovely in a black velvet cold shoulder dress that fit snugly up to her throat and Ron, despite the stain, looked rather good too in a matching black velvet waistcoat and dark washed jeans.

"Harry," Hermione said brightly as they approached. "I'd been wondering when you'd get here… Oh. Hello Pansy."

Pansy smiled tightly. "Good evening Hermione. Happy New Year."

"Yes, and you," Hermione said politely, glancing at Harry. "Er… Harry, what kept you? It's nearly ten o'clock. Hagrid has already come and gone. Said he had another party to get to."

"Ah, that's a shame," said Harry, genuinely disappointed. "I'd been hoping to hear about his holiday with Madame Maxine."

Ron chuckled. "Well, mate. I 'spect you'll hear all about it soon enough. Bloody lovesick puppy, he is."

"So what kept you?" Hermione hedged again. "I thought you'd be here ages ago."

"Er, got hung up at work," Harry lied. "Paperwork, you know."

"Ah," said Hermione. "That I do. I was just telling Ronald about a new piece of legislature I'm bringing to the wizengamot. It's advocating for the equal rights of non wizard magical creatures so that they can rightfully own property. Isn't it just appalling that house elves don't have any personal possessions? Goblins and centaurs too. Not legally."

"Quite," said Harry, glancing around the room. He had already heard about this new bill Hermione had been working on nearly a dozen times and was quite keen to change the topic.

"Yes, working in the department for regulation and control of magical creatures has come with many challenges," Hermione went on pompously, "But I feel I'm really making a difference, you know? And Pansy, how is the ah...philanthropy going?"

Harry felt Pansy stiffen beside him. He prepared himself to interject but Pansy spoke before he could.

"Quite well actually," Pansy said. "It's been an exciting time of year, what with Christmas and all. We've managed to almost triple the donations made for St. Mungos and the War Orphan fund is always growing. I expect we'll raise even more in years to come. It's quite rewarding to see the funds going to good use."

"I'm sure its quite rewarding for your pocket books, as well," Hermione said with a sardonic smile.

Pansy gave a quizzical look. "My pocket books?"

"Well, yes," Hermione said with a false conspiratorial wink. "I've seen the numbers. These philanthropies you head retain nearly seventy percent of their earnings. Quite a bit considering the national number is twenty five percent on overhead."

Harry bristled and opened his mouth to intervene but again Pansy beat him to it.

"Ah, while you may have noticed we retain seventy percent, it hardly goes into the pocketbooks of the heads. If you reviewed the numbers again, and paid attention to the donors themselves, you'd see that the heads of the charities, the Parkinsons in particular, donate much more to the cause than we retain. And I think you are referring to muggle organizations when you say the national percentage, yes? The national number for muggle philanthropies is around twenty five percent spent on overhead, as you noted, but what you're forgetting Hermione, is that muggle organizations get tax breaks and incentives which unfortunately the wizarding world lacks. Therefore our organizations are forced to retain a higher sum in order to pay for staff, food, event spaces etc. Perhaps you should take that to the wizengamot for a change in legislature. It would certainly make things much easier for me."

Harry smiled at the dumbfounded look on Hermione's face as Pansy politely sipped her champagne.

"Er, Neville's been raving about the changes at St. Mungo's," Ron said quickly, glancing nervously between Pansy and Hermione. "Says his mum and dad have been doing really well in their new apartments."

"I'm delighted to hear it," Pansy said. "As chair of the financial committee I've made it a special project to ensure long time patients, especially those suffering from ailments caused by dark magic at the hands of death eaters, are given the utmost care. They are the true heroes, after all."

"And you have that much power?" Ron asked. "You can actually tell them how to spend the money."

Pansy frowned. "Well of course. Haven't you learned this by now, Weasley? The people with the money have all the power."

Ron laughed.

Hermione scowled.

And Harry took a long drink of his champagne.

Pansy had never been to a party like this. It was lively and...fun. Everyone was quite smashed, dancing and laughing and cheering at unnecessary things. People she hadn't spoken to in years were offering her shots of fire whiskey and fetching her glasses of champagne and asking her about her life.

She was one of only three former Slytherins present. There was Bridget Farley, a girl a year or so younger than Pansy in school whom Pansy had rarely spoken, and then there was her own cousin Cassius Warrington who had accompanied his girlfriend and former Hufflepuff, Eleanor Branstone.

"Happy New Year cousin!" Cassius exclaimed when he saw her. "Fancy seeing you here."

Pansy stared. He was wearing one of those horrible black top hats with Happy New Year flashing across the brim and a hot pink lei. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and he was quite sweaty. Perhaps most surprising was that he was smiling for Merlin's sake. She'd never seen him looking anything but crisp and calm and surly.

"Happy New Year Cassius," Pansy responded. "And to you too Eleanor." The girl seemed surprised that Pansy knew her name. She wore a bright pink dress that was quite tight and quite short and Cassius looked at her with such adoration that Pansy felt foolish that she'd ever thought his feelings for her were feigned.

As midnight approached, Harry pulled Pansy close to him. His hands circled her waist and he eyed her in a way that made her feel hungry and soft and warm and feminine and just...deserving of...whatever this was. And as the Weasley twins cast large golden numbers in the air counting down the seconds until midnight, Pansy couldn't even watch the firework display raining above them, her eyes didn't leave Harry's and three, two, one...midnight arrived and so did Harry's lips on hers and she just sort of melted against him just like she'd done under the mistletoe just a week ago.

Shouts and cheers surrounded them, champagne bottles popped and fireworks exploded. Confetti rained down upon them, getting stuck in Pansy's eyelashes and Harry's hair, and Merlin she didn't want the moment to end. And then the music was thumping and she and Harry were dancing and he twirled her around until she was dizzy and then she was posing for a photo with Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones and Eloise Midgen, smiling like they were all best mates as Colin Creevey's camera flashed. And then she and Oliver Wood were having a lively discussion about Quidditch and Terry Boot was laughing at one of her jokes, and then she and Sue Li were comparing the best charms for levitation.

Around two in the morning the party started to die down. Harry found her near the bar, wrapped an arm around her and drew her close. He kissed her again, open and unembarrassed and she kissed him back, aware that they were surrounded by people but not caring one bit. He broke away a moment later and whispered close to her ear so that his breath sent shivers down her back.

"Come back to my place?"

They apparated together again, just outside the pub. It had begun to snow and the night felt mysterious and alive. When they arrived back at Grimmauld Place Pansy knew she ought to be cold, but Harry's presence warmed her.

"Do you-ah...want a drink?" Harry asked her when they got inside and were seated on the leather sofa in the drawing room. He seemed suddenly shy, unsure.

"Okay," she said.

Harry disappeared for a bit and returned a few moments later with a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He sat down next to her and poured her a healthy dose. "Hope this is alright," Harry said. "I couldn't find the Scotch and my house elf is...erm… a bit useless at the moment." He chuckled at Pansy's confused frown. "It seems Kreacher had a little New Year party of his own. Kitchen has about five or six Hogwarts elves, passed out on butterbeer."

Pansy laughed and raised her glass to her lips. The brandy was sweet and warm. She eyed him sitting next to her, nervously fidgeting. She knew he wanted her. She'd known he wanted her the night after the Christmas party too. She remembered how he'd flooed back to her suite with her, how he'd given her a chaste kiss goodnight, wanting more, but expecting nothing. She hadn't quite been ready then. She wasn't quite sure about him, about what it meant. But now. Now, she knew.

Setting her brandy glass down on the end table, she edged toward him. His lips parted as she drew near, and he leaned into her, their lips meeting in a heated tangle of limbs and tongues and hands touching everywhere. She gasped as his lips left hers and found her neck. His mouth made a trail of kisses down her throat, to her collar bone and she hitched up her skirt so she could straddle his hips. She felt his cock pressing hard against his jeans, and she sort of ground herself against him, just once and he let out a weak whimper. His hand snaked out from behind her back and slowly crept up the hem of her skirt, tracing the line where her knickers should be. Only she wasn't wearing any knickers.

He let out a deep groan as he realized this and his grip on her tightened.

"Hold on tight," he whispered and then she was being jerked upward as he apparted them to his bedroom.

They landed lightly at the foot of his bed and Pansy's hands got busy tugging at his clothes. His leather jacket fell to the floor, followed by his shirt, then his belt. He was more muscular than she'd thought he'd be, all sinewy and lithe biceps and abdominals and back muscles that rippled and moved under her roving hands.

She grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up, and up and up until it disappeared over her head, and she stood in front of him quite naked. He stepped back for just a moment and surveyed her body drinking it in with his eyes. The room was dimly lit, just a candle or two flickered on the dresser and she felt her skin singing under his gaze.

Then he was on her, his hands gentle yet urgent as they started at her hips then slid up until they cupped her breasts, his thumb flicking once, twice, three times over her nipple. Then he went south, his right hand sliding between her legs, lightly and gently and delicately touching her clit, just enough to make her gasp out his name and lean into him.

He pushed her gently down onto the bed, lifting her until her head rested on the pillows. He trailed his lips down her mouth to her throat, between her breasts, past her stomach until he fit his mouth directly on her cunt, taking her clit between his teeth he flicked at it expertly with his tongue. He pushed her knees apart and slipped a finger into her cunt where he curled and pulsed in an antagonizing rhythm, one that made her hands go numb and her mind go blank until all she knew was his mouth and her body and she was getting so, so close.

And then his mouth made its way back up her stomach, kissing along her rib cage as his hand cupped her breast. He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly as her hands fumbled for his jeans. She tugged and pulled and was panting that she needed him inside her now and then he was, so full and so firm and he let out a deep groan that was almost a growl. He began moving back and forth, slowly at first, then faster and faster and Pansy gripped the back of his neck and guided his movements with her hips.

But she wasn't getting the friction she needed so she pushed him in the chest, rolling him over so she straddled his hips. She sat above him, his cock fully sheathed inside her as she rolled her hips, balancing on her knees. Reaching for his hand, she pressed his thumb against her clit, and taking her cue he began to circle it frantically. His other hand found her breast and he rolled a nipple in between his two fingers, tugging with just enough force to finally take her over the edge. She came with a barely contained scream and she rode him hard and fast until she felt him grip her tightly, groaning as he came with her.

She sort of collapsed on top of him, her breathing ragged and fierce and somehow still wanting more. They lay side by side for a few moments, catching their breath and relishing the satiation.

"You're amazing," Harry finally said, rolling onto his side and pulling her closer to him. His fingers trailed over her lightly, making circles on her arms and chest and breasts, her skin humming under his touch. And even though it was late, and they had both just come mere moments before, they found each other joined again.

This time it was slower, less urgent. She rolled onto her stomach and went up on all fours, guiding him into her so he could take her from behind. His hands kneaded at her and his thumb pressed and massaged into her. She rocked her hips into his, feeling his cock hitting her just right. He reached around at the last moment, his fingers finding her clit just in time for her to come all over again.

...

She woke up warm, comfortably hidden under a large white duvet, her face buried in a mound of pillows. Morning light streamed into the bedroom from the window's slightly parted curtains. She rolled over and stretched. Harry slept soundly next to her, his breathing long and deep and low.

She watched him for a few minutes still in awe of what her world had become. It was just a couple of months ago that she'd found him drunk in her courtyard moaning over wretched Ginny Weasley and accusing her of being a coward.

Now she was in his bed.

She glanced at the bedside clock. Ten-thirty. She yawned and stretched again, her limbs feeling liquid and soft and good. Rolling over she stood up and walked naked to the adjoining bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it was rehabbed with new tile and a large vanity and a steam shower, for Merlin's sake.

After taking care of her business, Pansy studied herself in the overlarge mirror. She cringed away at the way her makeup was smeared and the way her hair was sticking up in the back. Her eyes felt crusty with sleep and she could smell herself—old sweat and liquor and smoke from the night before. She left the bathroom and tip toed back out to the bedroom. Her dress had somehow been folded neatly and placed on the dresser, along with her shoes and her clutch.

Harry's house elf must have recovered, she mused as she grabbed up her things and brought them with her back to the bathroom.

The steam shower did not disappoint and Pansy emerged feeling quite refreshed. She used her wand to dry her hair and applied some light makeup so she felt more human. Then she reached into her clutch and extracted a pair of knickers, a soft bralette, a pair of black stretch pants and a long, soft jumper.

The breakfast table near the window had been filled in her absence. That house elf of Harry's really knew his stuff, Pansy thought. Harry still slept soundly, his soft snores rumbling from the bed. Pansy helped herself to a cup of hot coffee, a buttery scone and a plate of eggs. She sat there, enjoying breakfast and watching the London street below. The window had frosted over and snow was still flurrying down.

Pansy felt warm and safe tucked away at Grimmauld Place and for the first time in a very long time, she thought that maybe everything would be okay after all.

Harry roused a bit later and joined her at the breakfast table. They chatted and talked and perused the Daily Prophet and as morning turned to afternoon they fell back to sleep, a lazy new year's nap. And when the time came for Pansy to go home, Harry kissed her before she flooed away.

She hadn't been home two seconds before she heard her messenger diary chirp.

Harry Potter: What are your plans for dinner?

Epilogue

The Daily Prophet, December 25th, 2007

Harry Potter Marries Long Time Girlfriend Pansy Parkinson in Christmas Eve Wedding of the Century.

By Rita Skeeter

Notorious auror and hero of the wizarding world, Harry Potter, married long time girlfriend Pansy Parkinson last night during a beautiful Christmas Eve ceremony that had everyone raving. The bride looked stunning in an antique, goblin made wedding gown, a family inheritance from the 14th century. It had been refined to match the bride's particular sense of style with a six foot train and a floor length veil. The dress itself contained over nine million fairy pearls, each individually and voluntarily offered to the original Euphadora Parkinson in the 14th century after she single handedly saved an entire species of fairy from muggle fairy enthusiasts.

Pansy Parkinson, successful philanthropist known for her devotion to the War Orphan Fund and St Mungo's Home for Dark Arts Ailments along with the Foundation for Lycanthropy, which she co-founded with now husband Harry Potter, commented that this was "the happiest day of her life." She certainly looked happy as she walked down the aisle of St. Uther's Cathedral with a large bouquet of winter roses and a swarm of fairies following in her steed. She was preceded by chosen bridesmaids Daphne Greengrass and Hermione Granger, the bride's two most devoted friends, each looking radiant in floor length gowns of frosted blue.

Potter wore customary black dress robes, and was accompanied by his best man Ronald Weasley and godchild Teddy Lupin, a child of eight who shocked the crowd with his red and gold hair.

The reception was privately held in the bride's family home where dinner and dancing followed.

The couple now resides in their private residence, the former Black homestead on Grimmauld Place. They kindly request that in lieu of gifts to please donate to one of their many organizations listed below.

War Orphans Fund, St. Mungo's Home for Dark Arts Ailments, Welfare for Magical Creatures, the Muggle-born Rights Committee, The Severus Snape Foundation, Pureblood Allies, The Albus Dumbledore Foundation, The Granger Home for Newly Clothed House Elves, The Remus Lupin Foundation for Lycanthropy

#harry potter #pansy parkinson #harry x pansy #hansy #christmas #holiday #new years eve #kreecher #ron weasley #hermione granger #draco mafloy #neville longbottom

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childoftimeandmagic · 5 years

Text

Burning for You

Klaroline AU Week 2019 is here, catch me sneaking this in under the wire. Thank you @itsnotacrimetoloveyou for getting my author juices flowing again.

Read on AO3

Growing up when giants walked the earth Caroline often felt older than she truly was. That being said being reborn often made her feel exactly her age. Stranding slowly, her head fuzzy with the details, she glanced around her store and groaned. The scorched tile and ashes of where her store had been made sense. Feeling her chest, she felt the healing wound on her chest. Bullet wound, wood by the fact she’d rebirthed so quickly. Humans had the most entertaining toys to play with, holding out her hand she absorbed the residual flames and heat back into her body. If anyone had been around to notice it, they would have seen the briefest glimpse of fiery wings rising behind the naked blonde.

Taking a deep breath, she started moving through the rubble of her jewelry store for anything of value to take with her. Since she’d most likely be considered dead from a mysterious fire, it was time to leave Mystic Falls. After recovering a hundred pieces of gold and silver gemstone encrusted pieces, she took a deep breath and in a swirl of blue fire disappeared from the rubble, just as sirens started to pour in.

Unbeknownst to Caroline someone had been watching her stumble through her former store. Someone who had been looking for the being that couldn’t be killed by a weapon of man nor flame of the gods. A man who was bent on controlling or killing the powerful beings in creation. Someone who believed himself to be the most powerful creature to walk the earth. Klaus Mikaelson stalked from the shadows across the Mystic Falls square his suspicion confirmed.

People had murmured his entire immortal life of the powers of rejuvenation and destruction a Phenix controlled. A nice bedtime story for those who needed a miracle or a plea of vengeance. Then the alters had started popping up, about six hundred years ago or so. Whispers saying that if one left a vibrant gemstone, or something of equal beauty the Auroral Phenix would answer their prayer. Klaus had dismissed it as the blithering tales of human’s hell bent on praying for anyone to save them or protect them.

Then his minions had started pouring in stories of villages being burned down the day after an opal or precious stone had been left at one of these alters in the woods. Soon more stories came in of the sick miraculously healing. Abusers of women and children, catching fire spontaneously while walking through the town after a doll from a little girl or toy cart from a little boy had been left with pleas for help. Yet no one saw anything but a burst pretty petite blonde near the location of every occurrence. Soon his interest was piqued, Rebekah and Elijah had amused his curiosity to an extent.

Caroline reappeared five thousand miles away in her villa ruins of Despotiko. While she could have reappeared anywhere, her family home was were her body always pulled following a rebirth, over the last two thousand years she’d given up on resisting the pull. Despotiko was protected and a national archaeological site for the Greeks. Whether or not they’d ever actually owned it or not was of little matter at this point, the ancient history of man and nymphs lost to time. Once islands across the Mediterranean had been known to be sanctuaries for the children of the gods. Walking through the broken pillars to where she could look out over the bay, she closed her eyes.

Lots of mythos surrounded her people but, in the end, she was the last one left. Shapeshifting hadn’t protected them as much as Helios and Hephaestus had hoped. Man was a cruel race willing to destroy anything it didn’t feel it could control or conquer adequately. Rolling her shoulders, she walked over to her mother’s chest, that she had here masked by magic and careful misdirection. There were sentimental things, like her mother’s molting plumage which never faded, an aquamarine pendent in the shape of a tear, as well as practical things like clothes and weapons. Grabbing her gear, she got dressed quickly. Placing the gems and jewelry she’d recovered from the remnants of Rising Jewelers ashes into the box she placed her hands on the chest and said a prayer to her father to protect her from whatever was chasing her.

She like her mother, was child of an air nymph and the sun god Helios. Nymphs who bore a Phenix didn’t survive the birth, so most Phenix’s lived with an older member of the flock until maturity which was between six hundred and eight hundred years old. While they rarely stayed in human forms, their avian forms in the end had been their undoing.

As humans had realized that they were demi-gods or the grandchildren of a titan and a being of Gia, the desire to control grew. Phenix’s could neither be controlled or tamed, they also couldn’t be recreated through interbreeding. Then the age of iron had come, and with-it man’s weapons grew stronger. Unbeknownst to her flock or her father, to prevent them from growing too strong, Zeus had cursed his cousin’s children to be burned by the touch of iron. As such they could only be killed by iron through the heart or brain.

While man had destroyed her culture 1200 years ago, her god father had spirited her away from the blood bath and placed her with cousin Hephaestus in the volcanic chasms underground until she’d reached maturity of six hundred years old. Carolina as she’d been known then had trained as a jewel smith under her god cousin, who was amazed at her ability to focus and her attention to details.

The old gods slumbered now though, their worshipers far and in-between, not enough to keep them awake. Caroline drifted through the world of man taking time to help innocents here and there. Caroline missed her flock often especially after a traumatic rebirth, but life moved on and with time so did she. Man was impressionable though and with a few well-placed whispers and alters popping up on every continent she thrived.

She pulled a replacement phone from the chest and plugged in the password to unlock it. Walking around the ruins of her old life, she ran a security check on her various properties across the globe. Everything was fine except her store front in New Orleans. Rolling her eyes, she zoomed in on who was sitting on her counter. Niklaus Mikaelson. He had been sniffing after her tail feathers for six centuries. Still her deal with Kol Mikaelson not to engage with his older brother was the reason; why his overzealous murder happy brother wasn’t a crispy critter her to consume.

Growling low in her throat, she felt the fire rise within her. Taking multiple deep breaths didn’t keep her phantom flame wings from unfurling behind her, scorching the points of her shirt where her real wings would have come out of her back. Spinning on her heel she walked back to the chest and grabbed her favorite leather jacket. If Klaus Mikaelson wanted to fuck with her, he was about to find out that getting too close to an open flame got you eaten by the last daughter of the sun.

Klaus was hoping that his minion wasn’t wrong otherwise he was sitting in gorgeous jewelry store that had been closed for five years. In fact, the store according to his minion had closed the day after he and his siblings had returned home. Klaus looked around the store from his spot on the counter impressed with the amount of gold and gems left just sitting on display. Was this woman really so powerful that she felt comfortable leaving such expensive things behind in her absence.

“You know getting ass sweat off of glass is a lot harder than people assume,” a crystal voice startled him out of his thoughts, “get off the furniture hybrid.”

Spinning he looked for the source of the voice, standing behind him was the slight blonde beauty who’d burned and the reformed in the rubble of a small-town jewelry store four nights previous. “So, you aren’t a myth?”

“No very much real now if you want to continue to terrorize your section of the supernatural realm, I suggest you leave now,” the blonde replied, barely looking at him. In fact, it looked almost like she was bored. Snarling he flashed forward only to meet heat and smoke. Turning on his heel he froze as he felt a burning pain on his back. “I told you to leave Mikaelson.”

“I’ve been looking for you,” he breathed through the pain trying to ignore the searing pain that burst forth from her hand on his back.

“You have hmmm, I don’t remember you calling me up or sending me a message on twitter,” she pushed more heat through her hand feeling the flesh start to burn under her hand, the shirt long gone.

“I didn’t think you’d take me call.” he wheezed flashing away finally giving up all pretense that it didn’t hurt to feel her touch.

“Oh, but breaking into one of my stores seemed much smarter,” Caroline was growing impatient. The predator in her wanted to eat him in one gulp, people forgot that some birds weren’t herbivores. She felt the fire from her hand itch to come out and play.

“I wanted to know if the stories were true, if you were the Auroral Phenix incarnate,” he said, shifting his shirt off to look at the scorch marks her hand had left. Only the marking looked more claw than fingered.

“So why not just ask, one apex predator to another?” she asked, looking around her store, and Klaus paused.

Up close he was amazed there weren’t more stories of how beautiful this blonde woman was. Eyes that made him feel he was staring into the deepest pools of water, and hair that could only be described as spun gold. “I never heard tale of a Phenix’s kill, or destruction until you started burning whole villages down as you pleased.”

“It’s not my fault man built their homes out of such flammable material, if they couldn’t handle a little heat then they shouldn’t beat their wives or children,” Caroline stated, as though the thought of not burning down a tinder box of a wooden home hadn’t occurred to her. She was working ridiculously hard at focusing on his ches-no eyes. God why did immortality tend to happen to the only physically gifted individuals of the world.

“So you only ever burned down villages of people who deserved it?” Klaus asked, stepping closer.

“Sometimes a rebirth went wrong, or my heart too heavy to contain my flame,” Caroline sighed, she was growing bored.

“It’s true though, all the stories about your kind though?” he asked, pushing closer when she made no move to stop him.

“Depends on what you’ve heard, though I doubt any of it was actually correct.”

“You don’t cry healing tears, nor journey to the ends of the world to die and be reborn?”

“Maybe yes, but maybe no,” Caroline answered, moving around her store looking to check if he’d stolen anything, always keeping one eye on the man in her store.

“Don’t play games girl,” he growled.

“Girl, that’s rich, I was in my first thousand years when your people hadn’t yet learned how to make swords.” Caroline spun on him so quick he felt off kilter. In a thousand years he’d never met anything or one who made him feel weak. Her hair glowing an almost auburn kind of gold, the color of molten metal. “Either tell me what the great Hybrid wants with me or be gone!”

“Madam,” he cleared his throat. “I merely thought that us powerful creatures should get to know one another better.”

“Bullshit, those words might work with the witches, and fae queens you’re used to dealing with, but my magic is older than the magic of man and far less forgiving Niklaus Mikaelson,” Caroline felt her body aching to change and devour the abomination before her. Stealing the monster inside herself she remembered the teachings of her mother and her people.

“It’s actually my sister Rebekah, she’s been poisoned by something and withers away day by day, I was looking for you because Kol told us that only you could save her,” he relented, stepping back.

“You came to ask a favor, or did you think you could force my hand Niklaus Mikaelson?” she said, eyebrow arched as flame wings glinted behind her reflecting off the gold and silver pieces hanging around the store.

Klaus was at a loss for words, if this was her half transformed, with wings of flame, it belied a beautiful creature in her natural form. He could see shades of reds, blues, and yellows, rippling over her hair and through the flames behind her. “I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

“Bring me the thing you value most and I’ll give you the gift to save your sister,” she said, stalking forward and holding her hand out to him. Taking it, he hissed as the heat seared his palm. Pulling away he saw a scar on his palm in the shape of swirling smoke.

When he looked up, he was alone on the roof top of One Shell Square, alone. Spinning around he saw a faint sparkle of something flying off into the night sky a thousand yards away from him. Growling he flashed home to see how Rebekah was faring in his absence.

Two days passed and Klaus had not come back to her shop. She was calmer now, the heat of the rebirth finally worn off. Sighing she turned back to her styling and sculpting of the vial that she would use to hold her tears. A phenix’s tears gained their healing ability from the lost souls that they cried for. Crying allowed them to protect and preserve themselves and their flock outside of rebirth. Even if Klaus didn’t come back, she would leave the vial on Rebekah’s bedside. She need only drink the tears and all curses, maladies, and pain would leave her body.

Standing she walked to the garden outside her workroom, she knelt down and placed the vial at the center of the sundial design in the tile. Finally, she allowed herself to shift into her natural form. Deep red and yellow plumage spilled out as her bones thinned and shifted to become her real self. Shaking out her tail feathers, she let out a low mournful call, which startled every bird within a half mile out of their nests and into the sky.

Crying drops the color of molten gold, she angled her head so as the tears dripped down her face, they rolled off her beak and filled the vial below. She cried for all the women lost to anger, the children dead in the name of greed, and the loss of her family a millennium twice past. When the vial was full, and her heart felt as light as her bones she shook out her plumage and looked up into the sun which was highest in the sky.

“Thank you, father,” she silently prayed.

“Caroline?” he was here, curious she turned her head 180 degrees to look at him. Standing in the doorway of her work room was the hybrid empty handed. Cooing she looked at him eyes wide. Shifting back into her sun-dressed human form she shook off the few feathers that clung through the transformation. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a fairy princess transforming in a gust of wind and flame?”

“I tend to eat most beings who see me transform, so no,” Caroline said softly, looking up at him as she knelt to stopper the vial. “I believe the deal was what you value most, in exchange for your sisters cure.”

“I thought about this for two whole days Nix, and I couldn’t come up with anything,” he said slowly, “my sister actually figured it out first, you want me to give myself to you in exchange for her.”

“I wanted the offer, but I’ve never left a woman to suffer,” Caroline laughed, and tossed the vial to him.

“Dinner on the gulf?” he offered, snatching it deftly out of the air.

“Our pact is fulfilled,” she answered, walking over and leaning up to kiss his cheek lightly. “Don’t be late.”

#kcauweek2019 #klaroline fanfic #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline drabbles

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agentdagonet · 5 years

Note

so this may be asking too much but… Headset Romance: The love story of two people who have never met. With Agent!Harry and Handler!Eggsy

Okay so I know that this is several thousand years late, but I hope that it was at least a little worth the wait?

Headset Romance

‘You’re a bloody peacock and that’s somethin’ I’ve learned from experience, Galahad. The fuck did you say that for? He’s def gonna remember your sorry arse now.’

'I found his company degrading- I can get the drive without playing nice with an adulterer.’

'If you say so, guv- but if this comes back to bite your arse I expect the whole song an’ dance. An’ a stiff drink.’

'And how will I deliver these things to you, oh faceless one?’

'You’re a fuckin’ secret agent, I’m pretty sure you can figure out a private youtube link and how to pay a drink forward. Or just do the performance for Merlin- he’ll make sure I get to see it.’

'Alternatively, you and I could simply go out after a job well done like normal people do after work.’

'We ain’t normal people, guv- on your left, yeah good- and I’m plenty satisfied with this arrangement.’

'You could be further satisfied.’

'Did you really jus’ try an’ pull that one on me? Next you’ll be saying somethin’ about the many benefits of physical interaction. Upstairs, third door on the right.’

'Well it’s not as if I haven’t suggested such things before. Got it.’

'Good, can’t go back the way you came but there’s another stairwell down the way- go up a floor and go down elsewhere. Minimal interaction means you can’ just punch your way outta this one.’

'Fists are so uncivilised-’

'Or any of your gadgets, neither. Jus’ get home safe and drop that drive at HQ.’

'Fine. In repayment for you taking away all of my fun, I’ll be sure to send you the most awful thing I can find in-’

'Oh there you are’

'Shit.’

'Lemme guess, it’s the prick you insulted earlier. An’ he ain’t too happy.’ There’s no response, but the view from the feed is answer enough. 'Knock 'im out and get the fuck outta there. This cover’s a bust now, anyway so it don’t matter how just get it done.’ Galahad doesn’t acknowledge him, though he does knock the target’s lights out as quietly as possible before making his way quickly but calmly from the event. Small favours.

'So I’m expectin’ that song an’ dance before you’re sent off on your next mission.’

'Is now really the time to rub it in my face?’

'Are you dyin’?’

'No.’

'Bein’ pursued?’

'No.’

'Injured in literally any way?’

'Well, my knuckles ache a bit.’

'That don’t count. An’ my point is that now is the perfect time to rub your mistakes in your face like a pup who’s pissed on a rug. I dunno how you survived twenty-somethin’ years without me.’

'Merlin had hair to pull out. And I resent that statement.’

'Y'mean you represent that statement. An’ I’m buying that man a cake. “Congratulations on Surviving Galahad” has a nice ring to it.’

'In what way do I represent a pup? I’m perfectly grown, thank you.’

'Oh I know you are; you’re a big boy, ain’t ya? But you listen to very few people, an’ even then do things your own way, and then you strut your way home expecting a bone and a belly rub for a job well done.’

'I’m hanging up now- obviously made it to the extraction point; I’ll debrief upon arrival.’

'Oh don’t take it personal, Galahad- you know you’re my favourite.’ The silence on the other line was answer enough. Eggsy closed the feed and smiled to himself, happy with the successful mission. He’d only been Galahad’s main handler for a couple years, but it was easily the most fulfilling job he’d ever had. Percival took him too seriously, Bors was a bit obsessed with explosions, and Lancelot was far more pun than professionalism.

It also wasn’t a bad thing that Galahad was incredibly witty. And fit. And so out of his league it wasn’t even funny. One glance in the mirror when he forgot (He assumed he forgot; no need to make assumptions and make things worse than they were) that the feed was running and Eggsy was completely gone for him. Lust at first sight, when he’d already been enamoured with his dry wit, made Harry’s inexplicable interest in him the worst temptation.

But he didn’t know much of anything about Eggsy besides his sarcasm. Well, that wasn’t quite true either, Eggsy mused as he wrote up his end of the mission report. Eggsy’d spoken about his sister, and his mum, and about the Prick with a capital P he’d managed to get rid of when Merlin had hired him. He’d talked about loads of shit. Just nothing he thought was worth the kind of fuss Galahad made of him- Galahad, who had never even met him, and probably just had a thing for a bit of rough.

Not that that was a bad thing- but Eggsy knew he’d want more than a tumble with him and he just didn’t think that was possible.

'Eggsy, I have something for you.’ Merlin spoke from the doorjamb, ever-present clipboard in his hand and a smirk on his face. There’s a ping from his monitor, and Eggsy opens a file under the watchful eye of Merlin labelled 'He Told Me So.'

It’s a simple video, a sheepish smile on Harry’s face as he sits in the Kingsman plane, doing these silly little waves with his hands while he sings 'you told me so’ in varying pitches at a whisper. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want the pilot (a mate of Eggsy’s named Ryan, not that Harry knows that) to hear him and turn around, he’s flushed from his neck to the tips of his ears. It’s actually adorable.

'I don’t know how you get him to do these things, lad.’ Merlin’s chuckling behind him, eyes bright behind his specs. ‘I can barely get him to show up on time.’

‘What c’n I say, I’ve got the magic touch.’

‘If I didn’t know better I’d accuse you of having siren’s blood- he’d do just about anything you asked of him.’ Merlin nods his head at the screen, where Harry is paused mid-song. ‘This being the least of it. He’s also instructed me, in this e-mail, to tell you that your drink will be waiting for you at the pub down the street once he’s back on home soil. And not to sound terribly cliched, but am not an owl so stop using me to send messages back and forth. Give him an e-mail or something if you refuse to give him your number.’ He grumbled a bit (sounds suspiciously like you oblivious bastards) before wandering off.

Eggsy finishes his report with a smile, and places an order at the bakery he knows Merlin prefers.

Harry got off the plane at HQ early the next morning, sun barely over the horizon, and immediately went to debrief with Arthur. Merlin would be sure to meet him there, the way he always did, and then Harry would get to go home and sleep in his own bed. Sounded like heaven.

‘Now, Galahad, it seems like the mission went off without issue?’

‘For the most part, yes.’

‘The most part?’

‘I’m afraid that alias is unusable now- I accidentally compromised the mission but managed to work around it to fulfill the objective.’

‘Excuse me, gentleman- dropping off some reports for Arthur.’ A young man came through, dropping a thick stack of files on Arthur’s desk with a nod. Nothing in particular stood out about him, accent as upper-class as most everyone at Kingsman (with the one notable exception that Harry could never track down) and his clothes, though casual, were obviously of high quality. He was probably one of Merlin’s minions.

‘Ah, Lunete, thank you.’

‘Sir.’ In lieu of goodbye, he nodded at them (and exchanged a wry smile with Merlin, confirming his suspicion) before leaving the Dining Room.

‘Now, to get back to things- there was no “accidentally” involved in your alias being compromised.’ Merlin turned a severe glare in his direction before turning back to Arthur. ‘I reviewed the footage personally, and he brought attention to himself by insulting the target. Claims he found his company degrading, and could accomplish the task without following the instructions of his handler. In the end he forcefully knocked the target unconscious because too much time had elapsed to use the amnesia darts.

‘Well, as he did achieve the objective, we can at least attest to his being correct on part of that- though you did lose us a useful alias and years of work.’ Arthur turned to Harry, who looked sheepish for a moment, intent on opening his mouth to defend himself, but Merlin redirected his attention once again.

‘Yes sir, he did- but I’d like to bring something to your attention; glasses, please.’ They looked up at the hidden screen, which was now displaying the details of his alias’ file. ‘This is the file for Atticus Grey as it was originally constructed.’ He typed something onto his clipboard, ‘this is what is associated with that person.’

‘Well, this is convenient.’ Arthur muttered to himself, saying what Harry had been thinking. By some kind of divine intervention, it seemed that all of the people he’d made connections with through Atticus were either in custody or dead. The former of which was adding to the latter every year.

‘So, even though he did in fact ruin this alias, it’s not an altogether unsalvageable situation. Honestly, we probably would have scrapped this alias within the next couple of missions anyway.

‘However, with this alias being scrapped a bit prematurely, my team will need a few days to make the new alias as airtight as possible. With most agents off on missions we’re prioritising handling over our background work- when Percival and Lancelot return we should be ready for wherever you wish to send Galahad next.’

‘Forcing our Galahad into some down time, are we?’

‘No idea what you’re talking about, sir, it’s just procedure.’ There’s a glint in Merlin’s eye that says otherwise, but nothing he says will change their minds. This wasn’t the first time they’d pulled such tricks, merely the most recent. Arthur dismissed Merlin with a smile, and he and Harry finished their tea with non-work related chatter.

‘I have some errands- a few days home shouldn’t be too tedious.’

He was wrong. Harry Hart was many things and now he would be adding wrong to the list. A few days on home soil with no clear objective or clear end in sight was tortuous. He’d taken to pestering Merlin for updates every few hours, which had resulted in him being locked out of his office and the direct link from his glasses being shut off.

‘Any reason in particular there’s a picture of Merlin’s face taped to that punching bag?’ The voice comes from behind him, bemused and unfamiliar, and Harry turns to find the minion from before. Shit.

‘Needed to let off some steam- Merlin’s decided to force some down time upon me, but I have nothing to do.’

‘That so? Still doesn’t explain why you’re punching his face like that.’

‘Sure it does- he’s insufferable and I can’t take it out on him in person.’

‘Isn’t there anything else you can do to pass your time?’

‘I’ve already finished all of my reports- and I’m doing the only other thing I can here at the gym.’

‘You could go for a swim- or the obstacle course! That one’s always fun. Or family to visit, or something?’

‘Been there, done that; and the obstacle course is only fun the first few times. Doing it on repeat for days takes it away. And no, they all died years ago. Just me and Kingsman.’

‘You need to get out more. Come with me.’ Lunete had one shoulder propped against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets, and a smirk on his face like he’s got a fabulous joke but won’t share it.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well I was going to head home and hang out with my mother and sister, but you need a night out. Come on, then.’

‘I barely know you.’

‘First off, we both work at Kingsman, so how dangerous can I be to you; and second your file’s public to those of us in the Lake, so I know all about you- you could come out and even the score?’

‘I think you’re just trying to keep me from beating Merlin the next time he emerges from his cave.’

‘Eh, that’s just a pleasant bonus.’

Eggsy ended up bringing Harry to the first pub he saw between the mews and Kingsman- in the opposite direction from the one Harry’d left his “you told me so” drink at. It wouldn’t do to be recognised since he was doing some serious posh-acting; he didn’t want the jig to be up too soon.

On the one hand, it was annoying as fuck to act like someone he wasn’t for longer than he absolutely had to. Arthur and his cronies were bad enough on site let alone out in public. On the other, though, it was probably the closest he’d get to actual spy work even if it was all for his own benefit.

But, even as they sat across from one another at a booth and talked aimlessly about nothing, Eggsy could see Harry relaxing despite himself. He’d talk about some mishap in R&D and Harry would laugh until he was wiping at his eyes; and Harry would tell some story about his dog (the fuck kind of name was Mr. Pickle, anyway?) which would prompt him to talk about JB, and inevitably end up in giggles.

Eggsy relished the opportunity to see what Harry was like outside of a mission, and what he acted like with someone he wasn’t strangely obsessed with. Now that he thought about it, Harry probably saw him as a mystery he wanted to solve. He wouldn’t be interested once the mystique was gone, no matter what he said to the contrary.

Even more motivation to make this mask believable. No way for Harry to connect the two.

Harry, on the other hand, was enchanted with the surprisingly eloquent man. He lamented not having met him before, but resolved to get to know him better now. Merlin certainly wouldn’t begrudge him a friendship with one of his minions, would he?

—

‘Lunete! Package for you.’

‘Another one?’

It had been a few months since Eggsy’d taken Harry out to that pub in the guise of Lunete- and for some odd reason Harry had decided that the best way to cultivate a friendship with him was through obnoxious souvenirs. The kind of things Eggsy thought of when Harry threatened to gift him with “the most awful thing” he could find in wherever the fuck he was for a mission. Eggsy wondered if these were Harry’s idea of good souvenirs and, if so, allowed himself a shudder at the possibilities “the most awful thing” suggested.

Today’s mystery package wasn’t very large- which eliminated another taxidermied animal- and it wasn’t very heavy- which eliminated a new creepy looking statue.

If Eggsy hadn’t already known Harry outside of Lunete he’d have run for the hills after the first package. There’s eccentric and then there’s eccentric and while the former was interesting the latter was incredibly creepy. As it was Eggsy worried about his sanity, though he probably shouldn’t, as most of the Knights had something incredibly strange they loved. Gawaine had a collection of cat statues, Bors kept bits of rubble, and Percival collected local animal teeth. He’d resolved to never ask where he got them, no matter how elegant they looked once he’d polished them.

The sight of them with bits of gum still attached made an impression, to say the least.

Steeling himself, Eggsy cut the tape and pulled open the flaps before he could talk himself out of it, one eye closed while the other squinted into the box.

There was a note.

Lunete, I saw this while in Switzerland and was captivated before remembering that I had no one to gift such a thing. But I remembered that you mentioned a sister all that time ago, and picked it up anyway. I’ve no idea how old she is (for all your chatter you’re surprisingly difficult to get information from) but if nothing else you can give it to your mother or something.

Reaching blindly into the packing chips he grasped the first solid object he came into contact with. It was box-like, cool to the touch, and thus far made no noise which eliminated several possibilities- and pulling it out Eggsy gasped.

It was elegant, carved in cherry wood and smooth as silk; the designs were all floral, likely roses or carnations or something. It wasn’t the kind of thing Eggsy would have picked up on a whim, but the kind of timeless beauty he could see being passed down or inherited. Opening the lid, Eggsy was a bit startled to be greeted with music- who made music boxes this gorgeous? The tune was familiar, if a bit sped up, but he couldn’t resist humming along.

And then, giggling to himself, he penned a response.

Well, Galahad, I certainly have no use for something as pretty as this myself, and Daisy’s a bit young for it, but my mother will love it. Thank you for the rarity that is a gift that doesn’t haunt my (or the rest of us Minions’) nightmares. Seriously. They’re haunting. But I’ll certainly be that someone who’ll watch over you.

Gershwin? Really? Could have at least been a typical Mozart or something but you had to go and get something classy and unexpected.

—

Eggsy certainly hadn’t expected his bit of fun to bite him in the arse quite so immediately. Harry’s flirting hadn’t lessened any over the coms, but now it was accompanied by humming. Incessant humming that matched the music box that now lay atop his mother’s dresser.

'Fuuuuuuck.’

'I’m not your agony aunt, Eggsy, take your self-created issues elsewhere.’

'But he’s gonna figure it out, Merls!’

'Again, not my problem. Get back to R&D or research Galahad’s next assignment, I don’t care, but get out of my hair.’

'But you don’t have any-’

'Finish that sentence and I’ll delight in telling him myself. I’ll make a power point with all the evidence, and finish with your address so he can-’

'Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll just go curl up and die at my desk. An’ you’ll have to break the news to Daisy.’

'Far be it for me to interrupt your plans for spontaneous expiration.’

—

'So, Eggsy,’

’Don’ even start, Galahad. Up the stairs and to your right- the painting of some posh knobhead with blue boots is hollow.’

'You don’t even know what I was going to say!’

'Half the shit from your mouth during these missions is either you tryin’ to talk me out of the plans I make to keep your sorry arse alive, or flirtin’ with me despite the fact that we’ve never actually met in person. As you ain’t fightin’ the plan, I assume your next words were gonna be some persuasive argument about the pleasures of the flesh. Again.’ He let a little of his irritation slip through, though mostly he was just nervous about Harry connecting him and Lunete. He knew it would happen eventually, but fuck it didn’t need to be now.

’… Got the file.’ Harry said reluctantly, almost a sigh, and for a moment Eggsy wondered if he’d somehow gone too far despite not changing his reactions to his flirting in the first place. 'On my way to extraction.’ The playful edge that had come to be the highlight of these missions was missing. A Galahad subdued and not in the I-made-a-mistake-and-got-briefly-captured-again way.

It left Eggsy feeling off-kilter. And incredibly worried.

'Job well done, Galahad. Debrief at 1000.’ Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything after all.

—

'Dare I ask what happened to put this kicked puppy look on your face, Harry?’

'I’ve been ridiculous and making unwanted advances on a man I have never seen.’

'You’re always ridiculous.’

'I’ve never even met the man and his voice is the brightest part of my missions.’

'As I’ve already said once of late I am not an agony aunt and I have no desire or true advice to give you. Outside of, oh, I don’t know, perhaps asking to meet in person?’

'He shoots down my advances-’

'Likely because that’s what they are? Advances, obviously geared toward a goal that doesn’t happen to stop at friendship or likely involve it at all.’ Merlin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, 'Why do you care so much, anyway?’

'Eggsy’s never treated me like a superior officer. He’s never acted like he was beneath me for being behind the coms instead of in the field. He’s honest and rude and makes me laugh and somehow I’ve fallen for him despite not knowing the shape of his face or the colour of his eyes- the timbre of his laugh is enough.’

'I was expecting something more like “he’s a shit like me and I don’t want to ruin our working relationship” but leave it to you, Hart, to make it about feelings. What kind of spy are you?’

'A good one, I hope, to have made it this far into my lifespan.’

'Only by the grace of excellent handling.’

'Ah, the great Merlin, so humble.’

'I was referring to Eggsy- you caused me to lose the last of my hair, I have no patience for your showmanship, and your unparalleled ability to destroy my tech means that I tolerate you at best when I’m handling you.’ And there it was, the shame, at reducing a brilliant handler to a seductive voice through no actions but his own.

'I don’t want to lose him.’ It’s whispered, eyes staring at a spot on the wall and completely missing the pitying look Merlin throws his way.

'Then be honest, you great pillock, and talk to him. Not your weird proposition shit, either- I have to go through your mission footage and some of that… You’re not going to get anywhere with some bad pickup lines and innuendo.’ Merlin pushes his glasses up his face and turned away, tapping at his clipboard, 'And that’s all I have for you today. Please vacate the premises or I shall be forced to do something terrible to another one of your fetishistic loo butterflies.’

'Fine, fine, I’m goi- wait, what do you mean another?!’

—

‘Eggsy.’ He’s holed up in a supply closet, as cliche as one can be, but he will be there for an undetermined amount of time and he is just absolutely done with the stilted, awkward, handling of this mission.

‘Dare I ask, Galahad?’

‘I just wanted to thank you for putting up with me.’ He tries to press as much sincerity into the phrase as he can, hoping beyond hope that he can somehow repair what he hadn’t realised he was breaking. ‘I know that I can be a bit much, but I don’t want you to think that I’m this way with the rest of the Lake. I simply have no idea of how to keep your attention.’

‘It is literally my job, Galahad, to keep my attention focused on ou ad get your arse home safely.’ Eggsy was confused, and maybe a little hopeful. He’d felt bereft without Harry’s incessant nattering, but hadn’t known how to fix it- maybe this was it.

‘I was rather hoping to keep your attention while off-mission, as well.’ Eggsy nearly groaned, but took a moment to think on the situation. Harry wasn’t being actively flirty, the tone was all wrong; if Eggsy didn’t know any better he’d say that the great Harry Hart sounded nervous.

‘With more soul-damaging relics from your missions like the ones you send Lunete?’

‘No- well, correction, not only with carefully-chosen pieces. I-’ Harry paused, and Eggsy realised that this was, indeed, an honest conversation that Harry was trying to have with him. ‘I would like for us to meet. Formally, face-to-face, give myself a visual to go with the auditory man who has consumed my attentions for quite some time. I understand that there is no reason for you to believe me, given my previous actions, but I’ll readily admit to having had no other idea of how to express my interest. Merlin can tell you that outside of a mission I’ve never been particularly graceful or smooth when it came to potential romantic partners.

‘I find that I’ve become enchanted with the idea of you, and would greatly appreciate the opportunity to discover if my fantasies even touch upon the reality of you as a person.’

Eggsy literally had no idea of how to progress from here. Despite his own infatuations with the man, he’d dismissed Harry’s words as empty and with this revelation had no idea of how to progress. Forget the conundrum of Eggsy and Lunete being the same person- this was a problem now, and Merlin had probably known all along and that fucker hadn’t even tried to warn him.

'We’ll see Galahad,’ Eggsy fought to keep his voice playful, to not give away his scrambling for a proper answer, 'you’ve got to get your way out of this shit first. An’ maybe, maybe, we’ll see about gettin’ a drink or something.’ And now Eggsy was back to cursing his mouth for running ahead of his brain and making promises he probably couldn’t keep.

Harry continued to pretend that the pounding of his heart was due to his circumstances in the mission and not due to the tantalising possibility of meeting Eggsy proper at long last.

—

Of course, Harry had managed the near impossible and completed the mission both on time and without any grievous injury to himself. Or to his target, which was a positive as he’d been tasked with surveillance and strictly told not to engage which are rules the man usually took as a challenge.

Merlin googled at the record when it was brought to him, and Eggsy took a seat across from the man as he reviewed the contents.

‘He didn’t make an uncouth comment and get chased from the grounds?’ The again went unsaid.

‘No.’

‘And he didn’t continue to press you about going out after you gave him a solid maybe?’ Merlin sounded as incredulous as Eggsy felt.

‘Nope.’ Eggsy was in more than a fair bit of shock. On the one hand, Harry had achieved the objective while Eggsy had been in his ear. So that was a point for both of them, for Eggsy’s success as Handler and Harry’s as Knight; but the hows of it. Harry had done all of it because Eggsy had said they might get to meet if Harry did what needed to be done. The mere idea of getting to meet had given Harry enough cause to have achieved a nearly impossible feat for him.

‘I’m no’ one to butt into personal business-’

‘I fuckin’ know that, Merlin- you practically set this shit up by keepin’ to yourself.’ Eggsy grumbled, crossing his arms and slumping in the chair.

‘But perhaps, lad, Harry’s more than a bit serious about this.’ Merlin continued as if uninterrupted, and Eggsy looked away.

‘D’you really think so?’

‘The only way you’re going to know is if you actually talk to him and stop with this weird double life you’ve made for yourself and no,’ Merlin wagged a finger angrily, ‘I am not going to help you fix this shit. You dug this hole, make your own way out of it.

‘I certainly hope that you continue to inspire this out of him and he doesn’t corrupt you instead.’

Eggsy stayed in that chair long after Merlin had returned to his own tasks, wondering just what he was going to do. He had two obvious options: he could meet Harry in person and come clean- or he could really chav it up and hope Harry wouldn’t be able to see Lunete in Eggsy.

But, to be honest, Eggsy was getting real tired of having to keep track of who he had to be at any given moment. What Lunete knew versus what Eggsy knew and where they could overlap believably with them both being in the Lake. It was getting exhausting, and even with the possibility of losing Harry entirely through this fiasco, Eggsy was just. So. Tired. And maybe that wasn’t the best reason to stop leading a double life but it was the one he had.

So, there, that was one decision made- a pretty big one, too. Now he just had to hold himself to it.

But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for the man; maybe he could get one last bit of fun from this fiasco.

–

Harry’s office at headquarters was very secure. Merlin never let anyone in or out without his say so, even when the door was unlocked he’d lock it just as someone was reaching for the handle just to be a shit.

So the box on his desk was a terrifying surprise. First because he’d had no idea that anyone had been in his office- but mostly because of the contents. The outside was so unassuming that Harry had reached in without a second thought and immediately regretted the action.

‘What the fuck is this shit?’

‘It happens to be a gift, you idiot, if you’d bothered to read the card prior to sticking your hand inside?’ Melin chimed in from the glasses, and Harry flipped him off smoothly with one hand as the other shut the glasses down. So what if he was right, it was the principle of the thing.

Harry pulled out the thing that had stabbed his finger, and was greeted with the most obnoxiously American thing he had ever seen. Intricately carved, it would be a work or artistry if it weren’t for the obnoxious colouring. A bald eagle sitting on a branch, a snake in its grasp, with everything but the bird in natural colours- the eagle was painted as the Americal Flag. It was the end of a wing that had stabbed him, curled upward in a parody of landing from flight. It was atrocious.

‘What. the fuck. Is this shit?’ Harry warily stuck his arm back into the box of packing chips, feeling about for any additional hidden monstrosity, but came up empty. ‘No note?’ Harry began to turn the box about, half tempted to “accidentally” knock the statue from his desk- but he knew that if it had ended up here then the sender would discover the untimely demise. And, heaven forbid, send a replacement. On the end that had been facing his chair there was a small note, taped and half falling off the side of the cardboard.

Let’s play hide and seek, Galahad. You’re it. -Eggsy

Harry pulled the note and examined the writing closely. The ink was partially bled through in some spots, as if he’d hesitated while writing it, and it looked to have been written by one of the Kingsman issued pens- not the ones with the poison, but the ones used for official paperwork, with the combustible ink. Just in case, you see, someone ever managed to get their hands on confidential paperwork. Which eliminated a great many people, as the only people to use them casually were the Minions, who used them for everything by default.

As if sparked by this train of thought, the ink began to eat through the paper. Well, that route of examination was out. Eggsy had mentioned more than once the trinkets Harry would send to Lunete, so it was entirely possible that this gift was poking fun at his habit of choosing memorable items for the man, but to that end it also firmly pointed Harry to a particular collective of Minions: Merlin’s favourites. Unfortunately, codenames meant very little overall within the walls of the place- but real names were rare. It was far more difficult to ask after Richard than Bors, for example, because much like in faerie courts real names held power and were rarely shared.

So asking for Eggsy would get him nowhere, unless he was asking Merlin directly, but the man had been of no help thus far and would likely continue on that trend for a while yet. So he was on his own to solve this mystery. Which meant he had to rely upon his already collected knowledge far more than present clues.

Eggsy was a man with a simple- no, humble- past, who had come to Kingsman from the Army where Merlin had spotted him causing some trouble. Eggsy’d been confronted by his SO and had been quite contrite to admit that he’d been messing with the tech because he was bored and had lost his sense of purpose when those around him didn’t seem to care about the why as much as the when. He’d had a note put into his file, and Merlin had snatched him up immediately. Harry was still unsure of why Merlin had been watching the man in the first place, as there were so many people potential to sort through at any time and only a finite number of places to put them. Harry figured it was like applying to an Ivy League school you didn’t know was considering you. Incredibly selective- so what had pulled Merlin’s attention to him?

But that wasn’t the concern at the moment. With what he knew about Eggsy, could he find him on the grounds? What did he care about, what did he mention liking about Kingsman, where would he have the highest likelihood of spotting the man in time to win this game. Harry wasn’t even entirely sure what he was competing for- but he was a vain man and desired victory for the sake of it just as much as any prize.

Harry had never bothered to learn the things a Handler would- but he could strategise if he could only decide what direction to go in. Top to bottom? One end to the other? From the centre outwards, or vice versa? Simplest would be top to bottom, as the roof provided a finite amount of space he could go- so to the roof it was. He wasn’t so desperate as to climb the sides of the building, and opted instead to take the service stairs to the top level and find a window that overlooked a bit of the roof and meander is way from there.

Which actually ended up being surprisingly difficult, but once he had found an acceptable exit he also stumbled upon another note taped to it.

Let’s play a game, mate- well, another one, waiting in one spot is just so boring y’know? I’m hanging out with the rest of the Minions til ‘bout 3 where you left me my drink way back when. Find me. That little shit had been here, how long ago was anyone’s guess, and instead of following through on whatever his original plot had been had changed the rules. As if Harry had known what they were in the first place, but the point remained that he’d changed the rules without warning or explanation.

But wasn’t that just like Eggsy, to at one moment follow plans to the letter and the next follow Harry’s lead on a whim? The fact that they were always successful could more likely be attributed to luck than any actual skill, but Harry was willing to take what the universe deigned to gift him. So he huffed a laugh and made his way back to his office, checking himself idly in the window as he removed his tie and popped a button or two. Going around to a pub while dressed to the nines, while safe in a Kingsman suit, was making himself a spectacle and if he intended to actually find Eggsy he needed to be able to blend in- at least a little. He removed his glasses, and mussed his hair just enough that it looked purposefully dishevelled as opposed to perfectly organised.

Harry made his way down to the pub, one he frequented and thus was able to pull favours with, and nodded at the barman who smoothly slid his pint down the bartop to his waiting hand as he sat at his regular spot at the bar. No words having to be exchanged, which freed him up to idly glance about the room. There were some outside seats but it was easier to hide in a crowd, and easier still to disappear with staff constantly moving about, if you knew when and how to do so. Which was usually a skill Knights honed and Minions of the Lake dismissed as unnecessary. The likelihood of their being spotted, let alone pursued, was miniscule- so why waste the energy that could be dedicated to other things instead?

There was a group of younger people in the corner booth, only a half dozen or so, about half wearing very familiar glasses. Now to spot his target proper. There was a young woman leaning intimately into the side of one of the men without glasses, with dark brown hair and pale eyes. That was Agravaine and Blanchefleur, then, as they were the topic of many Knights who were critical of relationships from within. And, honestly, how did they expect to achieve any sense of intimacy with someone outside of Kingsman, anyway? But that eliminated two suspects. There was his regular pilot, Houdain, with whom he’d shared many idle conversations of the last couple years. His accent was similar to Eggsy’s, but not so much so that he could ever have confused one for the other.

Three down, three to go.

There was another young woman with short cropped red hair, sans glasses but obviously sporting a pair of Kingsman brogues, bent nearly in double as she laughed- inelegantly snorting. She slapped the glasses off the man sat across from her in her antics, simply by waving her arms about, and Harry was grateful to know that she was not a Knight. If she were in this collective she obviously had immense amounts of talent behind the scenes, but something like that could make or break a mission. Which was entirely off topic, but Harry’s head was running in a million directions as he caught sight of the last two members of the table.

One was a driver that he knew quite well, Ither, who had always been up for a joyride while escaping their pursuants. The other was Lunete.

So Eggsy had lied, then. He wasn’t here after all. He turned back to his drink as a way to distract himself, observing the condensation run down the glass, and pretended that disappointment was not a bitter pill to swallow.

Except, suddenly, he heard a very distinct ‘you’re fucking jokin’, bruv!’ he knew without a doubt that Eggsy was in that group. His head snapped up just in time to see Lunete slap Houdain playfully on the shoulder, the latter covering his mouth with one hand while shaking with laughter.

‘Swear down, Eggs, I couldn’ make that shit up if I tried.’

‘The fuck was Lancelot thinkin’, tryin’ to make a jump like that in that outfit? She gave someone a lucky view, then?’ Ither looked as if Christmas had come early, a very Grinch-like smirk on his face at the thought, but Houdain shook his head.

‘The street was clear, luck with her, so she didn’t flash no one- but lots o’ people complained about the thumpin’ from the roof, next day.’ Lunete shook his head as Houdain finished, but Harry’s mind had stopped a bit before.

Eggs. Eggsy. Harry ran the facts over in his mind as he took another idle gulp of his Guinness; Eggsy spoke often of Lunete’s gifts, he obviously knew Harry quite well after all the time of being in his ear, was well-liked and trusted by Merlin (who else would he trust his oldest friends’ safety to, if not someone he trusted?), and suddenly he couldn’t unlink the two. Lunete was Eggsy.

Lunete was Eggsy.

Lunete was Eggsy and he’d already had a drink with the man and he’d never let it on. He’d not even hinted that he’d been hiding anything; to hide such a thing from a Knight was impressive in and of itself. He’d been sure to keep their interactions regular, had never hinted at- well, hinted at what, exactly? Had Eggsy thought anything of their pint, that day, and what of the gifts? Why had he hidden himself so thoroughly within the walls of Kingsman that it took a ducking scavenger hunt for Harry to figure it out? It was not as if Kingsan was particularly judgemental- well, no, that was a lie. Arthur was a prick.

Ah. Prejudice based around the way one walks. And talks. The things that are the quickest to reveal oneself as “other” in a collective of men from money. Arthur was quick to anger and quicker to insult, if only ever backhandedly, so the ability to blend in was imperative- he guessed- to Eggsy being able to do as he needed. Drivers and Pilots were often silent until prompted and prodded into speaking- a Handler was easily identified and exposed by voice. To affect an accent in the presence of those who would look down on you for being different was entirely understandable.

But had Eggsy truly thought that Harry would judge him in that way? Had he not been clear with his affections through the coms? Short of screaming it from the rooftops he’d done all he could to show Eggsy that he thought the world of him. But… but perhaps that was what had kept him away. If someone is showy, you never take their actions or words at face value. Never. It’s survival one-oh-one, and Harry kicks himself for not connecting the dots sooner.

Every bit of tension in his body began to loosen as Eggsy turned around, just enough for Harry to admire the cut of his jaw and the upturn of his lip as he winked. At him. That cheeky arsehole. Harry didn’t hear the particulars, but Eggsy was excusing himself from the group with a smile and making his way toward Harry- and what was Harry going to say when he finally got there?

‘Hey, Harry.’ Eggsy slid into the seat beside him and nudged one shoulder with his own, sloshing what little was left in Harry’s glass. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

‘You led me here, and yet you’re the one claiming to be surprised?’

‘Weren’t sure you was gonna find that window, guv, but you managed that shit in record time you did.’

‘So you set me up to fail?’ Harry finished his drink before he turned and lifted a brow, and Eggsy had the gall to laugh.

‘Nah, I set you a challenge and you met it. Exceeded expectations and all that shit. So, now, I’m an open book- what d’you want to know?’ He lifted a hand to the barkeep and accepted to proffered drinks with a grin.

‘Why?’

‘Why’d I leave you messages?’

‘Why this double life in the first place? What’s the truth here, Eggsy?’ Harry looked away, tips of his ears pink, and Eggsy paused for a moment before speaking.

‘I was scared- terrified, even- of you connectin’ Lunete an’ Eggsy. You’re a posh man, you got class out your arse and you’re fit and funny and I knew you were leagues away from me in life. You’d flirt with Eggsy, but Lunete was a mystery an’ you treated him like any other bloke while at the pub an’ then started sendin’ gifts and shit.’ Eggsy ran a hand through his hair and looked ruefully at Harry, ‘You was thoughtful and flirty and it made me fall more for you that I had already.’

‘That doesn’t explain-’

‘Gettin’ there, Harry. Promise. When I started at Kingsman, I’d barely walked in and Arthur looked down his nose at me and sneered that he didn’ want to see my face again. I thought I’d been dismissed b’fore I could start, but Merlin drew me aside. Tol’ me to ignore Arthur an’ that he was my boss an’ til he said leave I weren’t to so much as think about the door. But,’ Eggsy shook his head, ‘he gave me the name Lunete, an’ said to make it someone Arthur wouldn’ look twice at.’

‘So you made yourself unremarkable.’ Harry concurred, and tipped his glass in his direction, but Eggsy shrugged.

‘I made myself what he was lookin’ for. Growin’ up at the Estates, after dad died, you learn how to read people an’ make yourself what you gotta be to get by, Jamal and Ryan know all the same shit I do- they just don’t gotta use it as often. But,’ Eggsy grinned, ‘to explain the rest of this shit you get a bit of a story.

‘See, you an’ I’ve met before all this shit. Merlin and I had a bit of a laugh about it once I’d settled in. Y’see, once upon a time,’ Eggsy reached into his collar and began to pull on a chain, ‘you came by my place an’ left this with me for safe keeping.’ He opened his palm, and Harry forgot to breathe.

‘Oh my god. Eggsy.’ Harry breathed, in disbelief at having forgotten the child. It was a memorable name, and yet Harry hadn’t recognised it when they’d crossed paths again. ‘Eggcy Unwin- you’re Lee’s boy.’

‘Yeah, an’ that’s the other thing- I didn’ know if you’d still fancy me, flirty and shit, once you knew that. Still don’t know, actually, but I got tired of pretendin’ at you. The way I figure, this shit goes one of two ways, yeah? Either we get on as mates an’ we move on, or this shit’s blown us to bits and we never speak again.’ Eggsy spoke as if either option was acceptable, but Harry could see the tension in his jaw and fondly thought of him as an idiot. As if there were only ever two choices when it came to life.

‘You’ve left something out, Eggsy.’ Harry spoke blandly, allowing himself a small smirk around the lip of his glass, before setting it down and facing Eggsy fully. He waited for Eggsy to look at him and not the tabletop, but he seemed to be doing everything in his power not to do so.

‘Oh?’ Eggsy didn’t dare look at Harry- he didn’t want a fatherly pat on the shoulder, or apologies for how his life’d turnt out- but when Harry’s hand landed heavily on the wrist clutching his glass his head snapped up.

Harry’s eyes flicked to his lips so quickly Eggsy swore he’d imagined it before there were lips against his own. Insistent yet chaste, Harry pulled Eggsy to him by framing his face with both hands. His fingertips cradling his jaw with what Eggsy could only describe as reverement. His eyes slipped closed, and just as Harry began to pull his hands away Eggsy made a soft noise of protest before leaning inward and pressing his insistently back. One hand held him steady on the countertop as the other wound itself into Harry’s hair as they began to lose time.

They broke apart to jeering from the other Minions, ‘get it, Eggs!’ and the two flipped the group off with a united two finger salute before dissolving into giggles.

‘Do they even recognise me?’ Harry breathed into Eggsy’s ear, and he shook his head in reply. ‘Well, they’re quite enthusiastic about your “getting it” from a man they don’t know.’

‘Like to hope they trust my judgement.’ Eggsy laughed, feeling high from the realisation that his antics hadn’t cost him a chance with the man before him. He pulled back, allowing himself to do a full once-over of Harry’s look- he looked gorgeous like this, ever so slightly undone, and Eggsy hadn’t let himself really realise it before that moment.

‘There’s never only two options, Eggsy. You know that as well as anyone.’ Harry smiled softly, running his thumb along his cheekbone.

‘Yeah, well, forgive me for puttin’ this option from my head after havin’ lied to you for so long. An’ forget the fact that I’m nowhere near your league.’

‘We’re spies, Eggsy- lying is easy as breathing and takes half the thought of the truth. Not saying that I’m not a bit frustrated- but that’s more at my inability to be observant than your Parent Trap-ing me. And,’ Harry firmed the grip upon his face, ‘if I hear you dismiss yourself so easily again you’ll soon regret it. I love you, and if you find your own judgements are faulty then trust my own.’

‘You love me?’ Eggsy breathed, eyes wide like a child seeing art for the first time, and Harry allowed himself to drink his fill of the image before replying.

‘Well, I love what I know of you- both what you told me as Lunete and what I’ve come to know through our missions- and I look forward to loving the rest of you.’

‘Might take a while.’

‘Well, we have a while.’ The two pulled enough apart to finish their drinks, a pair of hands clasped between them as if to separate would break the spell.

#Dagonet Writes #Kingsman fic #shriekingpersonality #I swore I would finish it #and I have #BUT I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT #will crosspost to AO3 eventually

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thegospelofnagisa · 6 years

Text

Chapter 10 summary

1. Magius beat the shit down of megucas.

Touka soloed Yachiyo Kanagi Momoko

Alina played with Tsuruno and Felicia

Nemu played with Kaede and Rena

2. Eve somehow broke the chain by herself (cuz she sensed walpy aka food coming)

3. Touka says yay we won and let the worn out megucas do whatever they want

4. Iroha still tries to make lolis accept that Ui memory was real

5. lolis still say .no but Alina is quite interested in the memory

6. Magius returns to their place (where all the electronic devices are present)

7. Eve is heading toward the city (cuz Walpy is coming from South and Eve is located on North)

8. Mikazuki tries to stop Eve but it’s hard

9. Mitama arrives at the forest and sees the eve got released

10. Amanes call Mitama with telepathy (Amane personal magic allows them to do long range telepathy - just how they did in AS9) to help them dealing with Mifuyu at the adjustor’s

11. Mitama heads toward the adjustor’s EX: in the meantime, Magius is resting at their place. Touka and Nemu are pissed about the memory shit while Alina’s going high for them having such troubled faces and Alina sees some point in Iroha memory wonders if that would explain why she’s with lolis Alina doesn’t even know why she’s with Touka and Nemu 12. in Minagi, Hinano squad and Nanaka squads are fighting with Walpy minions

13. they see Eve sending her minions (the swallows) toward the city 14. Hinanos decided to defend the city by fighting minions 15. Mitama meets Amanes and tells them Mifuyu is kinda alive but in a comatose

16. They cannot do anything but keep protecting the city as Mifuyu wanted 17. They go outside@and sees penguin minions all over the city 18. The minions are making some nests and fighting walpy minions (to collect energy from walpy minions and stock those into the nest) uh.. forgot a thing around 9: Mitama tells Iroha that it’s likely that a magical girl is still inside Eve’s body (thus a soul gem) (Mitama knows this from what she has read from Magius’s memory when she adjusted Magius) and Eve is like a body formed by external energy

So basically Mitama’s saying ‘it’s okay to destroy the external body = eve so you can fight eve’ so mikazuki’s direction is set to stop Eve and save Ui and thus they’re trying to find Eve’s weakness while fighting, Momoko feels Eve’s magical energy is shifting from one place (Eve’s body) to other place (Eve’s arms) quickly and Felicia while fighting finds out Eve’s torso was shining when Eve was trying something so they’re speculating that gimmik must be tied to Eve’s weakness at that time Amanes contact Mikazuki via telepathy

Tells them what they found out about Eve when they were experimenting with Magius Magius and Amanes, before Magius went to nuts (like before Chapter 6), were inspecting Eve to find out the mechanism What they found was that the jewelries on her body are something like a barrier keeping her body stable (since it’s a body formed by external energy, very unstable by nature) and the big gem on her necklace (the square red one) is the core jewel that’s spreading energy across other gems so the big gem is the weakness by breaking this gem, Eve would not be able to keep her body stable and dismiss however, Eve started to move again Mikazuki begins to make a plan to stop her By binding her (kaede’s plant magic, mami’s ribbons, kyouko’s barrier) and then Amane arrives with ~40 feathers at this time, Walpy has arrived at the shore or something that megucas feel the presence of Walpy PMHQ goes to help the other Kamihama megucas fighting Walpy minions and stop Walpy and remaining megucas manages to bind eve to a tall building they put an attack on Eve’s necklace but wasn’t strong enough to destroy it Eve counter attacked and then the PV stuff happened Iroha is the only one standing Shooting an arrow at the necklace once again and 10-2 ends

summary for part 3 of chapter 10:

Iroha made a wish to let the dying Ui recover. Touka on the other hand learn of PMs from a book written by her uncle. The girls get caught up one day in a witch barrier and witness Iroha hunting witches and sees QB as described in her uncle’s book.

QB approached Touka for contract, and the latter tried to hack QB for info, but Earth tech is too weak to understand the complicated QB network and the attempt fails. Touka gets info from QB using the good old Q&A instead.

She shared what she learnt with Ui and Nemu whom are all horrified with what will eventually happen to Iroha. Ui especially since she sees her sister exhausted ever since she recovered back to health. They all wanted to ensure Iroha survives, so Touka shares with them her plan:

They all contract to become PMs and take take away each component of QB’s function, Ui taking away the ability to convert malice, Touka to transform malice to energy and Nemu materialization. They will form the cycle and pass the energy to the universe as well, ensuring no witches, happy PM while keeping the universe alive. At the same time, they can recover from their condition and the 4 can tour Kamihama as they like.

QB is surprised by their wish, but warns them that they might lack the causality to power their wish. The trio decides to gamble for their sister and for themselves, and QB is reduced to an empty shell and took the form of little QB.

Unfortunately, the power is too much for Ui and she gets corrupted really quickly as she absorbs malice from around the world. Touka cannot transform the malice fast enough and is close to corruption, and Nemu is unable to materialize stuff to use the energy. Alina who happens to be lured by the malice (knew Ui and Touka by chance) cast a barrier since she do not know what is happening.

The only way to save Ui is to hide her existence in an empty shell, and this is where little QB comes to play.

While Touka and Nemu fear of the unknown if Ui’s existence is removed, they fear even more of her death and corruption into a witch, so they seal her inside small QB while her original body becomes Eve.

Without Ui, the world starts to fill in the blanks themselves, and the plan to save Iroha and PMs gets perverted by Alina’s desire to create chaos to get more of people’s negative emotions of her art, while losing the Tamaki sisters’ positive influence turned Touka and Nemu into selfish brats and twist their wish into the lines of Alina.

The key to restoring Ui and their memories is to have one who has Ui’s existence carved into her deep into the soul (Iroha) and little QB come into physical contact with Ui, and this is what happen this chapter.

As Yachiyo and the rest are still down though conscious from Eve’s malice beam, Iroha shoots herself to the gem which is trapping Ui. She and Little QB coming into contact with Ui restore Touka and Nemu’s memories, and they three teamed up to free Ui from Eve.

The succeed, and Ui is awoken. She notes that she knows what has happened since it was like a nightmare. While Touka and Nemu apologize, they did not regret of the plan to try save Iroha and PMs, though they regret on how it eventually became as Ui gets comatose and the city and other PMs are also caught in the mess.

The sisters understood they did whatever they could back then, and they all agreed that before pointing fingers, dealing with The Night that is coming is top priority. Eve is down for now since it lost her operator.

Most likely Alina will fuse with Eve for the final showdown since she is the most messed up one.

-------

HOOOLY SHIT

That gor intense really quickly, what can I say? Finally everything got revealed, I wasn’t expecting them to save Ui this quickly, I thought she’d be beyond salvation but hey, it does sound nice, it’s a shame we won’t get to see a bit epic showdown between Walpurgisnacht and Eve, unless Alina fuses with it as you theoriize, well there you go peolpe, Alina is pure unadultered evil, still feel like defending..........What I am sure of course they will, nutjobs.

But hey, really cool chapter honestly, I hope the next one is even more insane.

#submission #magia record

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sweeter-thejuice · 6 years

Text

Bound: I

OC x Erik

Warnings: smut, angst

Word Count: 6.2k

Sweat glistened off of my body while my legs pumped at full speed, half resistance on the elliptical. With music blasting in my ear, I pumped hard trying to drown out the stress and trepidation that resonated through my bones over these past five days. Coming back to my hometown gave me a certain uneasiness that I couldn't ignore. The gym being my main stress outlet, I made it my first priority, the second I got here, to get a weekend pass to work out until I was numb, physically and mentally.

It’s been three years since I left this town, unannounced. Mia, my best friend, being the only person informed of my whereabouts. I made the impulsive decision of moving from New York to California, 2,764 miles away from everyone, the day after my high school graduation. This weekend was the first time we’d seen in each other in years. Over the past years, the act of Mia and I interacting, physically, was forbidden and taboo. I wanted nothing persuading or swaying me to feel guilty of my selfish decision. We communicated through social media and FaceTime, keeping our connection strong. Now that I’m prepared, and my life in California is too established for me to leave, I decided it was time for us to have a reunion.

Minus the constant trouble, negative energy and depression, I did, unfortunately, have a good, oblivious life here in Brooklyn. The universe gave me friends that cared about me, a boyfriend who loved me, and, all-in-all, a family that I chose.

We’re called the fab five. Five of the baddest, black women in our hometown walking around like the world revolved around our satisfaction. Honestly, we’re just a bunch of rude bitches, dividing and starting unnecessary mess within our community. The fab five hosts all of the parties, keeps our grades top of our class, dresses to impress, keeps our hair and nails slayed and only dates men that were above or on our level. You had to be cute, to our standards, or rich to associate yourself with us. We didn't even know the damage we were causing to self-esteems and quite frankly, we didn't care. The group started in the ninth grade and lasted until our senior year, surprisingly.

Tori, a dark-skinned, beautiful demon is the leader of the group. With her being rich, powerful and smart, the name and rules of the group was coined by her. Jade, Tori’s right hand woman, is always cleaning up Tori’s mess and creating some of her own. Her light skin complexion got her in and out of a lot of trouble. Keiosha, another member, followed Tori and Jade. The most calm of the group, Kei made it a priority to stay out of mess and settle any beefs. Although peace is her mantra, she finds herself in a lot of sticky situations, you know, with her head being stuck up Tori’s round ass. Then there’s Mia, a sad, depressed, troubled young woman and my best friend. We are polar opposites from everyone else and try to stay as far away from their mess as possible. The only reason we joined the group is because of the connections and, although we hate to admit, power.

“Bitches, we’re getting dumb lit prom weekend!” Tori announced while stuffing chicken nuggets in her perfect mouth. The rich bitch payed the security guard to allow the fab five to leave campus for food. Her father owned an oil company and her mother was an investment banker. The influence that they had on the school and public officials around them were too real. There was nothing money couldn't get them. “My mom rented out this club in upstate New York and we’re going to have the time of our lives. Free drinks, an unlimited supply of weed, a DJ, food catering, you name it and it’s there! My dad set up the arrangement and he’s working on the flyers. We’ll be passing them out Wednesday.” A squeal came from the girls that sat next to her, Jade to her right and Keiosha to her left, both her little minions. Unimpressed, Mia and I gave each other a look and stood up from the table.

“Uh, sounds good,” I said picking up my bag and putting on my backpack, “we’ll catch up with you all later.”

Tori waved her hand, dismissing us like we asked for her permission. Just a couple of more months and I don't have to look at this tired ho ever again. If it was up to me, I would've beat her ass a long time ago, but my fear of jail and losing all of my life investments spooked me out of the idea. Being her friend wasn’t all that miserable. I got a bomb ass scholarship out of the situation, Bill Gates to be exact. Almost one million dollars for college that I can spend at my own leisure. No debt, all four years paid for and extra spending money is what heaven sounds like to the average college student.

“Is she trying to mess up our opportunities or something? Talking about alcohol and weed. Bitch, we’re barely eighteen!” Mia ranted beside me. We were headed to our sixth period, government class that we shared together.

“Girl, you know how that silly bitch gets, thinking she runs New York and shit. I’m not going to the party. I refuse to associate myself with her after prom.” Mia shook her head in agreement. Inches away from the classroom, Mia took my hand and pulled me backwards.

“Wait!”

I yanked my hand from her firm grasp.

“Girl, what the fuck is wro-” I was about to tear the bitch another asshole when the sound of the orchestra played beautifully behind me.

When you're feeling lost in the night

When you feel your world just ain’t right

Call on me, I will be waiting

Count on me, I will be there

Monica’s, For You I Will was being sung by our school’s choir. They all wore yellow, my favorite color. The smiles on their faces were enough to wipe my anger away and send me into a smiling fit. I turned to Mia to see if she had some information but my eyes immediately fell to the beautiful yellow rose in her hand. Holding it closer to my face, she shook her head and stuck out her tongue.

“Take the flower bitch and go in the classroom!” I took the flower from her hand as she slid my backpack from my shoulders. My legs moved hesitantly towards the classroom where I was instantly blown off my feet at the scenery inside.

Hanging from the ceiling were beautiful yellow lights and the desks were pushed against the back wall. Yellow flowers, dahlias, my favorite, were shaped on the floor in letters that spelt out the words ‘Prom, lil nigga?’. A chuckle escaped my lips as tears rolled down my cheek. Nobody but Erik’s weird ass would do something so thoughtful and romantic, yet so hood. My tears were cut short when I felt a couple of strongs arms wrap around me.

“Prom,” his lips grazed my ear, “lil nigga?”

Turning around to meet his gaze, I pecked his lips. “Sure, big nigga.” With the choir and orchestra still going, we swayed in the middle of the classroom to our favorite song.

I pumped a couple of more times before my music paused and started again.

bestfriend sent you a message:

-Bitch, the kick back starts in 10 minutes.

Honestly, I forgot all about that party. Going to the party was not apart of my agenda. There was going to be too many of my demons there for me to face, unfinished business. If it wasn't for Mia manipulating and threatening me, I would've blocked her number and called her when I got back to Cali.

Forcefully removing myself from the machinery, I shot her a quick text saying that I’d be there in thirty minutes. I walked to the gym’s restroom, wiped my body with a fresh towel then headed to my car.

The girls and I planned on going to NYU together before I broke the group up changing to UCLA at the last minute. The fab five was not true to my character or who I wanted to be as a woman. Being self-absorbed is not a bad thing but when it’s used to divide and single out other women, it reaches a new form of evil. The group was not the best time of my life and if I could erase some of the memories from it, I would and that’s exactly what I wanted to do. If it wasn't for the history, prior to joining the group, that Mia and I shared, I would've cut her off too, but she was my sister and we promised to always be there for each other.

I parked in front of the huge chateau, belonging to the leader of our dismantled group. It was supposed to be a small get together, only the fab five and their plus one, but the cars splattered out of the driveway and on the road said other wise. Glancing at my self in the mirror, I pulled my now frizzy silk press back in a ponytail, adjusted my sports bra and smeared lip gloss on my lips. Maybe, I should’ve brought a change of clothes. Opting out of being completely careless, I pulled my light purple jacket from my gym bag and placed it over my body. My gym outfit was colorful, but not too bad. Why do I even care?

I checked the time that read, 8:03. My plane departed around two o’clock so I had my escape plan ready. Everything was packed back at the hotel but that was going to be my excuse. I plan on gettting out of here by nine o’clock, amen. Before I even arrived to the door, it swung open letting out an aroma of weed and alcohol. It’s about to be a long night.

“BITCHHHHHH! I missed you!” Mia yelled out, fake because we’ve been with each other for the entire weekend. I squealed and pushed her off of me quickly, denying that type of physical contact.

“Leigha!!!” And just like that the other three members of the fab five were embracing my body, kissing, grabbing and tugging all over me. Some touchy bitches they were.

“We missed you so much!” Keiosha practically screamed in my ear while hugging me.

“Okay get off me!” I said pushing them, knowing how I felt about intimacy.

“UGHH, you couldn’t find some better clothes?” Tori asked with a disgusted expression plastered across her gorgeous face. She wore a light blue, fitted, thin spaghetti strap dress with some strappy, nude heels, showcasing all of her womanly curves and kick ass body. Her thick hair was pulled up into a curly ponytail, leaving her shimmery shoulders on full display. A whole meal and I wanted a bite. My mouth watered ready to taste the rich chocolate and if she wasn’t such a bitch, I would have asked, even begged to have a piece.

“You couldn’t find a darker foundation shade?” Her makeup was fine but I wanted to match her tone.

“Tuh, bitch, my makeup is beaT.” her arms found her chest.

“Yea-” my mouth was ready to combat.

“Alright, Leigha, everybody is here and they’re so excited to see you.” Mia took my hand and walked me through the foyer, up the stairs and down to the party room where the rest of the guest were. If it wasn’t for her, Tori and I would have stood there fighting for dominance with our words daring the other to make a move. The tension between us was sexual on my end but volatile on hers, which is not a good combination. She’s still mad I broke up the group. Mad because she can’t control me like she does the rest of these girls.

I greeted all of the guest individually, genuinely happy to see everyone. There were a couple of football players, dance members and ‘popular’ kids along with the boyfriends of the fab five spread out in the dim-lit room. I get sick to my stomach thinking about how much these people love to hang on to their high school glory days. That shit was three whole years ago, it’s time to grow up.

One thing I can give Tori is that, the devil knew how to throw bomb ass parties. The music was banging from the wall speakers and the decor complimented her home well. Rose gold accessories were spread out on the tables and floor with off white flowers creating that bougie feeling. It was a small party, to her standards, so there was no need for catering. She had a food table, with finger foods and a sweets table with cookies and brownies. To the far right of the room, there was a bar with pre-rolled blunts on a rose gold platters. I walked over to the bar and found a bottle of water. Making my way around the room, I stopped at the food table and viewed my options.

“Leigha, when are you going back home?” I was picking through the small selection of finger food when I heard Tori’s irritating voice over the soft talking and speakers. Of course everyone stopped when the queen began.

After filling my plate, I turned to her and stated bluntly, “At two AM.”

“So let me get this straight,” my legs worked their way to an empty chair, “You just got out here from California, today, after three years of no communication and now you’re leaving for California in a few hours?” Her hip swayed to the side and stayed, her hand meeting it.

“No,” I placed the plate on the table and took a bite from my cucumber, “I came here Thursday and I’m leaving tomorrow, which is Tuesday, at two AM.” I plopped my fingers in my mouth and sucked them loud enough for her to turn up her nose at my rude table manners.

“See! This bitch is a whole ass bird.” I chuckled at her choice of words and dug into my tuna sandwich. The chatter picked up again and the four girls pulled up some chairs close to me.

“Lei, why didn’t you tell us you were here?” Keiosha spoke, the mediator of the five. Her hair was in a blunt cut and she wore a silk, red pants, two piece. Her and Tori had on the same shoes. Jade, a light skinned devil, sat next to her with her gorgeous body covered in a cute, orange romper. Mia was trying to contain her laugh while she stared at me with the other set of eyes.

“I didn’t want all of the attention on me. We all know how Tori gets when people aren’t talking about her all time.” Mia lost it.

“Cut the shit. You know exactly why you failed to inform us of your arrival, exactly why you failed to tell us about you going to UCLA. Ex-fucking-zackly why we had to get updates about your life for three fucking years from Mia. You're a coward. You and Mia are two selfish ass bitches who only think about yourselves.” Rolling her long neck, she placed her arms over her breasts pushing them up a bit

“If you don’t get the fu-“ My insult was cut short when the chatter in the room picked up, volume increasingly high. We all stood up in unison, ready to defend each other from a possible threat.

Unfortunately it wasn’t a murderer or a thief, nope, it was much worse, Erik Stevens showed up. The way I left things off with Erik was nothing short of a disaster. He was in the dark like everyone else. Mia promised me that he didn't know about this party. She told me that she made everyone promise not to tell him about it. My stomach knotted and sweat built up on my already scorching skin.

“Why is he here?” fear was laced in my tone.

“I invited him.” Tori announced pulling down her dress and making her way towards him. Jade and Keiosha followed like puppies, waiting for their owner’s command. Me and Mia sat down watching the pettiness exude from their perfect bodies. I wanted to get up and smack fire into them greasy bitches, but my memory of Tori’s power slapped me out of the thought.

“I hate that bitch! She’s always starting some shit. I’m sick of her, man. How do you still hang out with her?” Mia touched my leg as it shook fiercely and looked down at her feet. Against all of my natural reflexes, I left her hand there and rubbed my thumb on her skin trying to ease mine and her nerves.

“They’re all I have, Leigha. You left me, remember?” My body couldn’t have turned quicker.

“That’s not fair. You could have came with me, you didn’t!”

“Tuh, you’re the one who got that Gates Scholarship, Lei, not me! I couldn’t afford a move to Cali and I for damn sure wasn’t getting into UCLA.” Her arms found her chest and her body slouched in the chair. My lack of problem solving skills and empathy made me turn back around in my seat and glance at the wall, all thoughts of Erik’s presence pushed out my head, guilt replacing it. “I missed you, you know? You’re my best friend. The only person who knows everything about me. You ju-“

“You told me this before, Mia. I don’t want to hear this shit.” Standing up, I walked to the door that led to the balcony and slammed it shut behind me.

What did they expect from me? I don’t live my life for them. I’m tired of being the backbone. They need to learn to survive on their own, I’m doing it. Pressuring me to conform to them and cater to their needs is only going to push me away further. Mia will be alright. She don’t need me, man.

My thoughts were cut short when I heard the door open and shut behind me. “Mia, it’s my last night with you. I don’t feel like this, okay?” My legs turned so my eyes could fall on a creature that was the exact opposite of my soft best friend. With his dreads pulled back in two braids that ran to the back of his neck, his firm features were on full display. The gold in his mouth glistened on his pearl, white teeth as his dimples made an appearance. He looked simple with a plain white, fitted shirt, light washed jeans and white Nike’s.

“Do I look like Mia, lil nigga.”

“Fuck no. Mia’s not nearly as ugly.” I turned around to my original spot and placed my arms on the metal gate that circumferenced the balcony. Shortly, he stood next to me, his shoulder touching mine.

“Now you know I’m not ugly.” I felt his eyes burning the side of my face. Naturally, I turned to meet his gaze.

“You may not be ugly but you certainly not cute so what is it?” Gorgeous, an angel, crafted from the finest soil and molded by Jesus himself? Yes.

He showed his grill again and put his hand on my hips pulling me into his chest. My nipple grazed his bumpy upper body and my vagina shuttered at the touch. Aren’t I supposed to be feeling some type of guilt or anxiety? Nope, I’m horny. The same feelings that ran through my bones three years ago resurfaced for this man and my previous nerves vanished at his touch.

“I missed your smart ass.” Surprisingly, I welcomed his embrace and we stood there for a while, silent. It was nice to be held by a strong, confident human again. I haven’t felt this feeling in a while. Hugging was such an intimate thing for me, being an empath and all. Auras and spirits are absorbed through hugging so I try not to do it too often. Emotions were transferred from their body into mine and I felt some of his strength radiating through my blood while his arms pulled me closer. I wonder what emotions he took from me.

“You feel so good in my arms, lil nigga.” His softness surprised me, why isn't he yelling, making a scene? Something big twitched near my lower region and I knew that wasn’t his leg. I pushed him off of me, breaking the contact.

“Alright, that’s enough.” My arms found the rail again.

“You wasn’t trying to come to this party, huh?” Closing my eyes, I prepared to get dragged. At his lack of words, I opened them and found his eyes on me scanning my body. I looked down and remembered my work out attire.

Relieved, I chuckled lightly and did a slow spin while swaying my hips. “You not feeling it? Straight from the clearance rack at Academy.” I stopped and met his expression.

“Oh, I love it. The color contrast is what really speaks to me. A purple sweater, a pink sports bra and green shorts. Girl, what you trying to do, taste the rainbow?” I cackled. He always came prepared with the jokes.

“Anyways,” My legs moved to the lawn chairs displayed against the back of the house, he followed.

“Speaking of rainbows, you still with that gay shit? Mia told me about you dating girls and shit.” I’m killing the bitch. My sexuality wasn’t something that I brought up to just anyone, so I trusted her with that information. I didn’t even explore the thought until I got to California but that’s beside the point. Let’s get into this nigga trying to invalidate my entire existence.

“What you mean ‘still into that gay shit?’ As if it was some kind of phase or act of rebellion? And I’m not gay, I’m bi-or- I don’t know, but boy, you can get the hell on with your dismissive tone.”

He pulled a blunt out his pocket and lit the end with the tip in his mouth. “Mmhm.” He took a drag and then held it out for me to grab. I swatted it and shook my head ‘no’.

“You’re still a square, I see.”

“You’re still annoying, I see.” I layed my head back on the lawn chair and stretched my body across the seat, memories of us in high school playing in my head.

“What if we get caught, Erik?” We walked behind the math building, going to Erik’s infamous smoke spot. It’s where all the rebels like Erik and his bad ass friends went to do God knows what. They smoked over here, had sex, shot dice you name it. No matter what it was, it was trouble and I had a reputation and scholarship to keep, so did Erik.

“We not going to get caught, relax.” His hand was soft in mine, making me swoon at his touch. Whatever he asked me to do, I did. I don’t even know why, honestly. He’s my closest friend besides Mia, but my feelings weren’t as strong for her as they were for him. We finally stopped at a spot hidden by an old raggedy storage unit. He pulled out a neatly rolled blunt and lit the end with the tip in his mouth. Taking a drag, he inhaled and let out the smoke then placed it in my hand.

“I don’t know what to do.” I admitted with no shame. Erik never made me feel insecure, everything was peaceful with him. I experienced a lot of firsts with him, this moment being one of them.

“Just place it between your lips, suck and inhale slowly, then let the smoke out.” He explained, simply. I did what he said but, somehow didn't have the same outcome as him. Instead, I was a coughing mess, cuffing and squeezing my chest. That stuff burned. I guess it was a comedy show to him because he laughed loud ass hell shaking and clapping his hands.

“Nigga, that’s not funny. I could’ve died.” I placed the death stick back in his hand and watched him in disgust. “But, I’m happy you’re amused.”

“Here, do it again.” He moved it to my face and I rejected his offer shaking my head ‘no’.

“I’ve had enough, thank you.” He took another drag and repeated the same action.

“Come on, man. I don’t want to do it on my own.” He made puppy dog eyes and fluttered his long lashes. I refused to succumb to his blatant manipulation and peer pressure.

“I said no, big nigga! Now hurry up before we get caught.” He laughed and finished off the blunt.

“Square.”

I smiled softly recounting that iconic moment in my life. Erik noticed my expression and spoke up gently. “What you smiling at?”

“You and how much shit you dragged me in.” He laughed sitting back in the chair beside me.

“Yeah, but you let me. I did as much as you allowed.” There wasn’t a lie in sight. If Erik asked me to jump, I didn’t even have to ask how high, I already knew. No matter what we did, I always knew that he had my back. I guess that’s why I followed him like a lost puppy, along with the attention he gave me that I so desperately needed.

“Yeah, I was stupid. But all that shit gone change when we turn forty, Craig.” Getting the reference, he laughed and placed his hand on mine squeezing lightly.

“You weren’t stupid, just in love.” Speechless, for the first time in my life, I was speechless because where is the lie? I couldn’t find it. Never have I ever been able to put how I felt about him into words and here he goes, with his all-knowing ass, telling me exactly how I felt about him. Telling me something that I would never admit out loud.

“Nigga, didn’t nobody love your wack ass.” My hand moved trying to lose his grip. He pulled it back effortlessly.

“Don’t lie.” His tone was serious now and I felt the tension from his body enter mine. This is why I hated physical touch. “Because I, unapologetically, loved your ass.” He sat up in his chair swinging his legs to where he was in between our chairs, staring at my body. His eyes were fixed on my frame, dancing over it, admiring my figure.

“You like what you see?” I tried to change the subject.

“Love it.” There he goes with that word again. “Sit up.” I did exactly what he said, my knees meeting his. “You loved me?”

“No.” He placed his hands on my thighs and pulled my legs open.

“Don’t lie, Leigha.” My body was off the chair as he picked me up and placed me on his lap.

“Erik, if- if you already know then why- why you need me to say it?” Pleased with my undoing, his lips turned up into a sinister smirk.

“Because I want to hear you say it with your words.” He kissed my cheek gently and took a puff from his blunt that I was suprised wasn’t finished yet. Keeping the smoke in, his lips met mine as he released the smoke in my mouth. I took it in like he taught me and then blew it out the side of my mouth. His lips met mine again and I instantly submitted to their passionate touch. A moan escaped my mouth while his groin touched my moist center. My body hasn’t been touched this way in years, his touch being the last, and it’s enjoying all of the attention. “Say it.”

Without missing a beat I uttered the three words I dread saying, “I love you.” With that, he pulled me closer to his chest, syncing our bodies together. I threw my arms around his neck deepening the kiss. His strong hands moved to my shoulders sliding the jacket off of my arms. The jacket hit the ground while his soft lips met my salty neck sucking and biting the exposed skin. Whimpers left my mouth and filled the air. One would think that him and my neck had a vendetta the way he smacked and chewed on it. Rocking me back and forth on his hard shaft, his firm hands squeezed my ass. Instantly accepting the stimulation, my hips moved to his pace and soon we were dry humping on the lawn chair. I moaned and whimpered as soft as possible trying not to signal someone inside.

“Erik, please, we can’t. Not out here. T-there’s- our friends are inside.” I sat up trying to escape his movement but he puled me back down deepening the initial contact. We needed this.

“If you be quiet, they won’t hear us, baby.” I shook my head in agreement and continued moving my hips on his covered member. It was rock hard while it grazed my soaked folds over my thin layer of clothes. His lips met mine again, instantly placing his tongue between them. His tongue found every inch of space in my mouth, his lips sucking and sinking on mine.

I broke the kiss, fed up with the teasing. “Erik, please fuck me.” He didn’t have to be asked twice. He stood me up, pulled down my shorts and placed me on his lap again in a matter of seconds. He sat up just enough to unbutton his pants and pull them down. Without hesitation, I settled down on the tip of his hard dick. His eyes met mine and my mouth opened wide. Trapping the moan I was about to let out, his lips crashed into mine. With his hands on my hips, he eased me down onto his long, thick shaft stretching every wall I had. My juices spilled all over his member, making it easier for me to slide down. I twitched and wiggled at the uncomfortable yet satisfying feeling.

“Mmmmmhhmm” I sat there for a while lips still on his adjusting to his length. He moaned into me and placed his hands on my ass. We stayed there for a minute before he got fed up.

“Move or get up!” Like the champ that I was, I pushed the uneasiness aside and moved my hips up and down his length. The man is a monster. His moan was deep and concentrated. After a while, comfort had me attacking his dick, moving to the rhythm of the muffled rap songs coming from inside. At that point, I didn't care if anyone heard us. I swayed on his dick, twerking and bouncing confidently trying to milk all of his love juice from his veiny friend. I wanted it in me. My body moved for him, trying to make up for the lost time and betrayal. My moans were sloppy like my riding, filling the dense air and encouraging my juices to spill all over his lap. My toes curled up and pressure built up in my stomach. He moaned into me neck as I reached my peak, cum shooting down his thighs. I shook at the orgasm that took over my entire body.

Before I could come down from my high, he flipped us in the chair, positioning himself on top of me. He slammed into me like a mad man, digging for lost gold inside of my throbbing center. His thrusts were powerful and strong making my legs, that rested on his hips, allowing him to hit my special spot with each stroke, shake and quiver.

“Say it, Leigha!” His lips found mine again. “Say it.”

“Daddy! Daddy!” I screamed unsure of what he wanted to hear. His lips traveled to my ear where he nibbled and sucked. Slowing down his strokes, his hands snaked around my body pulling me closer.

“No, not that, baby. Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Erik.” He put his forehead on mine and a tear, that wasn't mine, met my cheek.

“Then why’d you leave me, huh?” His pace picked up and now he was attacking my slit. I felt myself getting wetter with each thrust, my orgasm coming on strong. More tears fell from his eyes and I moved to wipe them but he took my hand and pinned them above my head. “Why the fuck you left me, huh?”

“Erik, please? I-I don- OHHH!” My body shook under his fiercely, orgasm taking over. His strokes were sloppy as his warm seed traveled in my hole coating all of me. Still inside of me, he put his weight on me slowing his breaths, trying to gain his composure. My body twitched under him, wanting more. Going against my hunger, my hands moved to touch his back, rubbing up and down trying to help him with his recovery process.

A few minutes passed and he pulled out of me, pulling up and zippening his pants. I layed there, breathless, as he wiped me with my jacket and pulled me up helping me put on my shorts.

“Answer me.” He held me in his arms taking in my scent. “Why did you leave me?”

“Erik, I didn’t just leave you. I left everyone. I wanted to start a new life, I guess.” I closed my eyes and squeezed him gently, his sadness filling my bones.

“You didn’t think twice. We had plans and you just up and left without informing me,” he pushed me off of him gently. “ Do you know how fucking sad I was? My best friend, my girl, my fucking wife left me. That was selfish as fuck Leigha! You hurt all of us. We fucking needed you. I needed you. I love you!” Tears left me violently. I hated how they tried to villainize my decision of bettering my life. Why did they all try to control me? We don’t have to be stuck up each other’s ass our whole life. They can live without me.

“And I know what you’re thinking. No, we can’t fucking live without you. Tori was being a bitch, causing Kei to relapse. Jade went back to that abusive ass nigga that she won’t let me kill and Mia is just a sad, depressed, suicide case. Do you know how many hospital visits I had to make? The therapists, counselors. Nothing is working. You left us! We need you!” Quickly, my sadness turned into anger.

“How fucking dare you blame y’all fucked up life on me? Where the fuck were y’all when I needed help? Where were y’all when I was dealing with my crazy ass parents? Why the fuck am I always held accountable for y’all’s mistakes and life choices? I can’t cure depression or an eating disorder! Tori has always been a bitch and y’all know that! Y’all chose to stay here. Y’all could leave but y’all don’t!” The words left my mouth quicker than a freight train. I was not about to accept his abuse. None of that that was happening to them was my fault. We stood there for awhile staring and crying roughly. He tried to hold me but I rejected the contact. When he said nothing, I stormed through the door and grabbed my phone and keys.

“Leigha where were you?” Mia’s clingy ass asked. She saw my face and instantly softened her tone, “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Fuck you, Mia!” That wasn’t the words that I wanted to say but that’s what came out. I was a mess.

“Bitch, what’s wrong with your dramatic ass?” Although the words were harsh, Tori was genuinely concerned as she ran after me with the other women while I ran to my car. I unlocked the car, opened the door and plopped down in my seat. Putting my key in the ignition I locked my doors, put the car in reverse and backed out. The women screamed words and beat on my car window begging me to stay and talk to them. I looked at the clock that read, 9:45. A few more hours and I would finally be back home. This place fucking sucks.

The ride back to the hotel was annoying and so was the ride to the airport. Surprisingly, Mia didn't show up, with the rest of them, at my hotel. I wanted to sleep away the emotions that Erik forced out of me, but I couldn't. Instead, I laid on the bed crying, for hours, begging the universe to take away the pain. I hated that he brought all of that up. He had no right to make me feel bad about their problems. I wasn't this kind of savior that they made me out to be. They needed professional help, all of them and I was just as fucked up as they were.

They all text me like crazy people. Between the five of them, I had over one hundred notifications: missed Facetime calls, audio calls, messages and even snapchats. These hoes were relentless.

One missed message stood out the most to me. It was a message from Tori, the wicked witch of the West:

-If you leave here without saying goodbye, make it a priority to not come back.

The words sat heavy on my chest. The audacity of her to think that I was going to come back, anyway.

Bound II

tags: @eriknutinthispoosy @theunsweetenedtruth @yourstrulyylauren @yoyolovesbucky

I wanted to keep going but 6k words was enough henny. Idk? lol but please give me some feedback and tell me what I need to work harder at.

144 notes · View notes

setepenre-set · 7 years

Text

@elf-kid2 asked for Old, New, Borrowed, and Blue chapter 4 for the DVD commentary meme!

Megamind stops breathing, pressing himself back into the corner of the couch automatically, thinking for a horrible, sickening half-second that Minion was right after all, that this is a trick, all a trick; Roxanne only asked him here tonight so that Metro Man—her boyfriend; he should have known it was too good to be true, what Roxanne said about her and Metro Man not really being together, should have know that this was a trap, but—

But then he looks over at Roxanne who looks—aghast, actually, at hearing Metro Man’s voice. And then her expression morphs into something furious as she glares at the apartment door.

This is the moment where Megamind begins to allow himself to trust Roxanne.

“Are you serious right now, Wayne?” Roxanne says loudly. “What are you doing here; go away!”

Megamind stays perfectly still, trying to breathe silently, wishing his heart wasn’t beating so loud, and watches Roxanne’s face.

Wow, she’s—really mad; Megamind’s glad she’s not looking at him like that, no matter how gorgeous she is with her eyes snapping and her chin up and her lips and cheeks flushed with anger.

I’ve always loved the concept of “you’re beautiful when you’re angry” as a line, but not the way it’s almost always used in things, with the male love interest being deliberately irritating/insulting to the female main character and then saying “you’re beautiful when you’re angry” in a way that mocks and dismisses her--ignores the force and power of her anger by telling her that she’s ‘pretty’.

It is the force and power of Roxanne’s anger that Megamind finds beautiful.

Roxanne watches Megamind’s face. His expression is one wide-eyed shock, now, but that’s much better than the wide-eyed terror that she saw on his face when he first heard Wayne’s voice, much better than the expression that followed the terror: for a moment, he’d looked—betrayed and disappointed and not surprised at all.

And Roxanne knows exactly what he must have been thinking, knows he must have assumed the worst when Metro Man showed up to their date.

(it catches Roxanne off guard, how much she wants for Megamind to trust her, how much that split-second expression of unsurprised disappointment on his face actually hurts.)

She’s beginning to understand that she really cares about Megamind, that she really cares what he thinks about her and feels about her.

(also, this is. not a date. obviously. obviously not a date.)

ahahahaha yep. there she goes again, thinking about it like a date and only catching herself afterwards.

“But—but I’m here to pick you up for the party,” Wayne says from the other side of the door and this is it, this is the last goddamn straw.

“I am not going to your mother’s party with you, Wayne,” Roxanne says. “I am not going anywhere with you. I’ll tell you where you can go, though—”

“But you said that you would!”

“Wh—no I did not!” Roxanne says. “I hung up on you when you asked! It doesn’t get much more ‘no’ than that!”

“But you didn’t say no,” Wayne says, voice sulky. “I just figured you were mad.”

Wayne wanted the answer to be “yes”, so he went ahead and assumed it was “yes”.

“Mad does not even begin to cover it!” Roxanne says, “You had just told me that you weren’t coming with me to my step-sister’s wedding because you didn’t feel like it; oh my god, Wayne, fuck entirely off! ‘Dating’ you was the worst mistake of my life; seven years of sexual dissatisfaction and this is what I get?”

Roxanne hears Megamind make a choking noise beside her on the couch.

“Roxy!” Wayne says, sounding scandalized. “Your neighbors are listening!”

Wayne is very attached to his Metro Man image of perfection, and to what he sees as the standards of “good behavior”.

“‘Dating’ you was the worst mistake of my life!” Roxanne shouts at full volume, “Seven years of sexual dissatisfaction!”

Megamind makes another choking noise, this one more like smothered laughter. When she looks over at him, he has his free hand over his mouth, but his eyes are dancing with amusement.

Roxanne is really enjoying making Megamind laugh.

“Roxy! Roxy, let me inside; let’s—talk about this—privately—”

“Seven years!” Roxanne shouts, “seven very. long. years!”

Megamind snickers silently.

“Roxy—”

“You never made me come even once!” Roxanne shouts, watching Megamind’s face, wanting to see if she can keep him laughing.

It works; his eyes go wide, his face blushes behind his hand, and his shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. Roxanne grins in spite of the fact that she’s still pretty angry.

(it is, of course, true that Wayne has never made her come, although it’s not true in the way her neighbors will be thinking if they really are listening. Oooh, Roxanne hopes they are; she wants Wayne to squirm.)

Roxanne winks at Megamind, her heartbeat picking up—this is—this is fun, the two of them sharing a secret joke like this.

She winks at him; she is such a flirt and she isn’t even flirting consciously.

“I’m coming around to the balcony,” Wayne says and Roxanne feels her eyes go round with horror, Megamind’s face mirroring the expression.

“What—no!” Roxanne shouts, “Wayne, do not come around to the balcony—”

But he doesn’t answer, and—shitshitshit—Roxanne jumps up from the couch, pulling Megamind to his feet, trying to shove him towards the stairs—

“Bedroom; hide in the bedroom—” Roxanne hisses as Megamind pulls her hand in the other direction.

“No, no, watch!” Megamind says in a frantic undertone.

And Roxanne’s about to snap watch what? when Megamind snatches the wristwatch up from the coffee table and straps it on his wrist and—yeah, that’s probably a better plan—

Roxanne forgot about the disguise watch. She is so into this “pretending to date Megamind” thing--that she kind of isn’t very focused on the fact that he’s supposed to be someone else.

“Megamind,” Wayne says, and Roxanne looks over to her balcony door to see him standing in one of his stupider Heroic Poses.

Roxanne’s critical sarcasm when she’s annoyed is so enjoyable.

Beside Roxanne, Megamind—freezes.

There are several seconds of silent stillness.

And that’s—odd; Megamind tends to respond quickly to actual threats. Roxanne looks over at him in confusion, sees the carefully neutral way he’s holding himself, sees the way he’s watching her—why is he—?

“Should have known you were behind this!” Wayne declares.

heh, Wayne is basically playing this scene alone so far--Roxanne never cooperates and takes her damsel cues, and now Megamind’s not taking his villain cues either.

And Megamind still doesn’t respond right away, doesn’t taunt Wayne about how Roxanne actually invited him, doesn’t gloat or make insinuations, and Roxanne realizes abruptly that—

He’s trying to give her a chance to respond first, to decide which way to play this.

Megamind is starting to think of this as separate and different from any of their damsel/villain interactions. Roxanne yelling at Wayne and making Megamind laugh and winking at him--all that has started to make him see that this is...really very different, and it’s only the damsel/villain thing that he feels he needs to take the lead in. Now that he feels he’s allowed to give Roxanne a choice, he definitely wants to, definitely wants to do this right, to do what she wants.

She realizes it a moment too late, though; Megamind pulls her in front of himself, one arm around her waist and the de-gun, suddenly, in his other hand, pressed to her temple.

When she doesn’t indicate what she wants, he assumes that he should definitely deflect any and all blame from her. So he pretends he’s kidnapping her.

“It looks like Miss Ritchi’s best efforts to break your heart for your own good were all in vain,” Megamind says with an evil laugh that sounds only slightly forced. “You’ve fallen right into my trap!”

Not a bad line, considering he’s improvising all this completely.

Metro Man looks around the apartment suspiciously, searching for the alleged trap—the entirely nonexistent alleged trap, but what Metro Man doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Quite literally won’t hurt him in this case, ha ha ha, ohhh Megamind is so fucked and this is going to be painful—

I was quite pleased at that turn of phrase: What Metro Man doesn’t know won’t hurt him--quite literally won’t hurt him in this case.

(worth it, he thinks, remembering Roxanne’s fingers laced with his, remembering her hand on his wrist, remembers her telling him to stay. definitely entirely worth it.)

He is so very in love with her.

“My trap which—should be springing at any moment,” Megamind says, letting some of his nerves creep into his voice; if he plays this right, Metro Man should just assume that the ‘trap’ had malfunctioned…

Ah, yes, there’s that smug heroic smirk; the idiot’s bought it.

This is really quite a clever move on Megamind’s part--it means that he won’t have to come up with a reason for why there’s no real evil plot. Fake a malfunction!

“Sorry, Megamind,” Metro Man says, “looks like the spring is out of your step.”

(banter! trap should be springing--spring out of your step)

“Nonsense! Hope springs eternal!” Megamind declares, a little distracted by the memory of Roxanne’s hand on his wrist, by the reality of her in his arms now.

Shit, that doesn’t sound evil at all, hope springing eternal.

“Evil! Evil hope!” Megamind says, “Springs eternal! It just. Pops right up out of the ground. Like. Daffodils. Fuck!”

Poor, stressed-out, flustered Megamind, trying so hard to be convincingly evil, and failing at it even more obviously than usual.

To his consternation, Roxanne makes a smothered noise of amusement.

“Daffodils of—of evil! And—and pain! And—springtime allergy season! Stop laughing, Miss Ritchi!”

He’s so cute! And trying so hard! And not convincingly evil at all!

Roxanne chokes down her laughter—daffodils of evil; oh Megamind—and leans her weight back against him.

“It’s okay,” she says, tipping her head back and sideways to look at him, “it’s okay, Megamind; you can stop now.”

All she mostly sees is the line of his jaw; for a very confusing moment, she has the oddest urge to press her lips to it, and then he turns his head to look at her and—wow, he is really close. And. Yes. Very—very close.

Megamind got flustered about holding her, and now we get to see Roxanne getting flustered over that, too.

Then he lets go of her and steps away, sliding the de-gun back into the holster on his thigh.

He immediately does as she wishes. This whole fake dating thing for Megamind is really quite--he thinks of it a bit like knight errantry, actually: Roxanne is the maiden with a problem who he’s being allowed to serve. He’s such a romantic.

Wayne’s eyes dart between the two of them in obvious confusion.

“…are you going to come quietly?” he asks, the manly boom of his voice somewhat spoiled by the note of perplexity.

“Oh, fuck off, Wayne; he’s not going anywhere with you, either,” Roxanne says crossly.

Wayne is trying to keep this scene Dramatic and Heroic, and Roxanne brings it down to earth hard with “oh, fuck off, Wayne.”

Wayne and Megamind both shoot her looks of surprise—Megamind actually looks more shocked than Wayne, which is saying something.

“But—but he was kidnapping you!” Wayne says.

“No,” Roxanne says, “he wasn’t. He—unlike you, might I add—was actually invited here tonight.”

“Invited,” Wayne repeats.

“Yeah,” Roxanne says, “invited.”

“You invited him,” Wayne says.

“Yeah,” Roxanne says flatly, “I did.”

“Have you been feeling confused, lately, Roxy?” Wayne asks, looking at Megamind suspiciously. “Maybe you have a headache—or there’s a funny noise—or you drank something that tasted weird—or something?”

Wayne is not having an easy time accepting that they really aren’t going to play his game any more. And--although he is a huge jerk at this point in the story--he is actually concerned for Roxanne.

Megamind clearly catches the insinuation right away; his eyes narrow and his mouth goes flat.

“Oh fuck you,” he snaps, crossing his arms in front of his body, “I don’t do things like that.”

To Megamind, this is basically the worst possible thing that someone could imply about him. His response isn’t anything like villainous banter, it’s just angry and deeply offended.

“I invited him,” Roxanne says loudly, “because he is going to do me a favor, Wayne. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Wayne scoffs. Roxanne has to suppress the urge to throw something at him.

“You were the one who gave me the idea, actually, Wayne,” Roxanne says with poisonous sweetness. She raises her eyebrows, “Didn’t you suggest I take someone else to my stepsister’s wedding?”

Roxanne is mad about him implying that about Megamind, too. She’s letting Wayne know that he’s very much been replaced by Megamind.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Wayne bursts into laughter. Out of the corner of her gaze, Roxanne sees Megamind flush dully, sees him lift his chin like he’s forcing himself not to drop his eyes in shame and Roxanne’s anger flares again, bright and incandescent, because this is not fucking funny.

Wayne must notice the way she’s glaring at him, because he stops laughing.

“You—aw, come on, Roxy, be real!” he says, “you can’t take him to meet your family. I mean—look at him.”

Roxanne does, makes a point of looking Megamind up and down (his face is turned away from hers; he doesn’t meet her eyes).

“I don’t see anything wrong with him,” Roxanne says.

She means this.

Megamind turns his head sharply, looking at her, a lavender blush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, an expression of utter shock on his face, his eyes round and his lips parted.

This is, quite possibly, the best compliment that Megamind has ever been given. She doesn’t see anything wrong with him. To Megamind, who feels that he’s nothing but wrong, this is--terribly shocking and extremely meaningful. The fact that it’s Roxanne saying it makes it even more shocking and so much more meaningful.

(He looks like he’s just been slapped across the mouth, or kissed when he wasn’t expecting it)

The fact that his reaction to being kissed looks a bit like a reaction to being struck--to be so unused to being treated affectionately that it almost hurts when someone does treat you with affection. And Roxanne’s subconscious is already very interested in what Megamind would look like after he’s been kissed.

“Roxy,” Wayne says, and Roxanne forces herself to look away from Megamind, “he’s a supervillain. You can’t take a supervillain home with you.”

And, okay, maybe that’s a fair point; Roxanne knows that her mother would flip if Roxanne brought Megamind, the supervillain who has kidnapped her for years, to Laura’s wedding—which is why the disguise watch is necessary!

It is very interesting to note that the only thing stopping Roxanne from pretending to date actual Megamind is the thought of her mother’s reaction. Roxanne doesn’t feel like it’s that implausible of an idea, and doesn't see anything wrong with the idea in and of itself.

She opens her mouth to tell Wayne that, and then a thought occurs—

—Megamind probably uses the disguise watch, doesn’t he, for—supervillainy things. And maybe that should make Roxanne want to tell Wayne about the watch, but—

(that split-second look of resigned disappointment on Megamind’s face when he thought she led him into a trap—Roxanne never wants him to look at her like that again)

And really, like Wayne needs any more advantages against Megamind. Please. Wayne has invulnerability, eye lasers, superspeed, and he can fly. Roxanne can let Megamind keep a secret holographic watch.

“Lucky for you, Wayne,” Roxanne says, “you don’t need to worry about my family. Megamind and I will manage this just fine. Thanks.”

Roxanne is proving again that Megamind can trust her.

Megamind is still staring at her, looking shocked.

“…are you doing this because you want me to say I’ll come to the wedding with you?” Wayne asks.

Megamind’s expression goes shuttered at that, like he might actually believe that, like he—

“No,” Roxanne says forcefully. “I am not doing this to get you to do anything, Wayne. Because this is not about you at all. Shockingly, Wayne, not everything is about you.”

A fact that Wayne really needs to realize.

“So that’s it, then,” Wayne says, “Megamind is—what, your new fake boyfriend?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Roxanne says, swearing to herself that after this is over with, she is going to go on a real, actual, not-fake date like a reasonable and totally non-crazy adult person who is in no way going to die alone and get eaten by her nonexistent cats.

Just—she just has to get through this wedding.

Again, Roxanne hasn’t really had very fun experiences with dating. Her swearing to herself that she’ll go on a real date after this is about feeling like she needs to appear “normal” rather than anything that will actually make her happy.

“And you’re really not coming to the party tonight,” Wayne says, as if this is some sort of terrible betrayal on her part.

“No, Wayne,” Roxanne says, “I’m not.”

Wayne clears his throat and nods stiffly, clenching his jaw—the clear image of a Strong Man Stoic in the Face of Rampant Female Treachery.

I do so love that description; Roxanne is so wonderfully caustic.

And then he shifts his stance to Metro Man’s Stupid Heroic Pose Number Three.

“Well,” he says, “I hate to crash your party, Roxy—but I’m going to have to take your boyfriend here in all the same.”

Megamind twitches slightly at that, hearing Metro Man say your boyfriend to Roxanne about him in that mocking tone.

(as if the very idea is ridiculous, and it is ridiculous, but that doesn’t mean he wants it thrown in his face)

Megamind might still feel like that idea is ridiculous, but we’ve already seen that Roxanne definitely doesn’t.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Roxanne snaps. “Stop being such an asshole; he isn’t doing anything wrong!”

“He’s a supervillain, Roxy,” Metro Man points out in a virtuous tone. “It’s my duty to take him to prison. Of course,” he adds, “I probably wouldn’t have time to capture him if we were busy going to the party.”

“You—hypocrite!” Megamind gasps, actually shocked, pointing an accusing finger.

Megamind is so--oddly innocent. He knows Wayne is a jerk, but Metro Man is supposed to be a hero--heroes aren’t supposed to blackmail people!

“Extreme hypocrite,” Roxanne says, “double hypocrite. Blackmail, Wayne? That’s what you’re going with?”

“All right, then!” Metro Man says, advancing into the room, “I’ll just arrest him!”

“It’ll be fine,” Megamind says quickly to Roxanne, as she opens her mouth to argue.

(Metro Man looks annoyed; Megamind doesn’t think he would hurt her, but most of his assumptions about that have been based on an erroneous view of Metro Man and Roxanne’s relationship, which—yeah, not worth the risk.)

“It is not fine,” Roxanne says stubbornly. “I asked you for a favor and now you’re getting arrested. It’s not fair.”

(of course, of course she’s not worried about him—personally, specifically. but it’s—nice, anyway, that she’s concerned about unfairness even when he’s the one being affected by it.)

She is, in fact, worried about him specifically and personally.

“You can just—owe me twice,” Megamind says lightly, “I’ll be fine. It’s me—in and out before you know it!”

Roxanne shakes her head, lips pressed together, unsmiling.

“Oh, come on,” Metro Man whines, “you guys are making me feel like the bad guy!”

“Yeah, and it sucks, doesn’t it,” Megamind mutters under his breath.

Roxanne gives him an odd look.

Megamind and Roxanne are both aware, and discuss, quite early on in this story, that he doesn’t actually want to be a supervillain, that he feels constrained by circumstances to do it--much like Roxanne feels constrained by circumstances to appear “normal”. Both of them eventually freeing themselves from these constraints is an important part of the story.

“I just need a date to the party!” Metro Man says. “I can’t go by myself; they’re expecting a date; there’ll be questions if I show up by myself! Man, I hate questions!”

Roxanne looks over at him, then glances at Megamind again.

“Fine,” she says, voice tight. “You—fine. I’ll go get dressed.”

Metro Man gives a relieved whoop.

Wayne is really very like a spoiled child. Not actually evil, just--terribly selfish.

“You—you don’t have to—” Megamind says, honestly feeling a little bit dizzy at—she’s going to—do this, even though she doesn’t want to? Just to—just so—just for him? Nobody ever worries about—

“Stay here,” Roxanne says to him, and turns to go upstairs.

Megamind nods, bewildered, and stays.

Roxanne! Is rescuing him!!! Roxanne is rescuing him! And Megamind very much views it as a rescue, and is so shocked and grateful.

Roxanne slams her bedroom door and yanks open her closet, shoving clothing aside. She pulls down a black dress and tosses it on her bed, then gets out a pair of heels: the nicest of the outfits she tried earlier on when she was attempting to decide what to wear to her not-a-date with Megamind.

She wishes she had worn it for him; he’s definitely more worthy of it than stupid Wayne and his mother’s stupid party.

Roxanne dresses rapidly, then quickly applies makeup: dark eyeshadow, darker eyeliner, and crimson lipstick.

Megamind and Roxanne both have a tendency to become Dramatic in defiance. Angry and stuck doing something they don’t want to do, they both dress up in some shocking clothing, apply some makeup, and prepare to go into battle.

“So,” Metro Man says, in the awkward silence that follows Roxanne’s departure up the stairs, “you and Roxy, huh?”

“She doesn’t like to be called that,” Megamind says, folding his arms protectively across his chest.

Metro Man blinks.

“She never told me that,” he says defensively.

Megamind shrugs.

“Well, she told me,” he says. “I asked. Did you ask? Maybe you have to ask.”

(He’s not really sure why that causes Metro Man to flush with annoyance; for once that wasn’t really the reaction Megamind was going for.)

Megamind has very effectively drawn Wayne’s attention to how much of an ass he is--and he hasn’t even had to insult Wayne to do it. He did it simply by demonstrating what decent and thoughtful behavior actually looks like.

“Maybe she just doesn’t want you to call her that,” Metro Man says.

Megamind glares at him.

Like I said, Wayne is kind of like a spoiled kid.

Metro Man sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Listen, little buddy,” he says, failing to notice when this makes Megamind glare at him even harder, “I gotta warn you—Roxy’s mother is kiiiiinda a lot to handle. I met her once, for lunch, and—whew, questions; talk about questions. Like. I was sweating by the end of it.”

“Is this you trying to scare me off?” Megamind asks, narrowing his eyes. “If you wanted to go with Roxanne to this wedding yourself, then you should have agreed in the first place.”

(this is mine, he doesn’t say; you can’t have it)

“Whoa, buddy!” Metro Man says, holding up his hands, “No; that’s a big no. Better you than me, as far as this wedding gig goes. I just didn’t feel right letting you walk into this thing blind, you know? Nemesis to nemesis, it’s gonna be rough.”

“Thanks,” Megamind says sarcastically.

(he honestly can’t tell if Metro Man is messing with him or not; best to assume this is some elaborate form of mockery.)

Wayne wasn’t messing with him; he actually really was trying to warn Megamind. And to be friendly, kind of. Wayne sort of sees the nemesis thing as a game, because it’s never occurred to him that it’s much more dangerous to Megamind than to him.

Metro Man frowns and opens his mouth, but luckily at that moment, Roxanne comes down the stairs and Megamind is saved from having to continue the conversation.

(Evil heaven help him, but she is beautiful. Somehow it always seems to catch him off-guard, how very beautiful she is.)

Roxanne stalks towards Megamind, ignoring Wayne entirely.

(Megamind is looking at her; she can’t read his expression, can’t tell if he’s impressed with the dress or not)

He’s impressed with her.

“You sure you want to wear that lipstick?” Wayne asks. “It’s a little bright, don’t you think?”

And here you have the extreme contrast of how Wayne thinks of Roxanne, and how Megamind, who loves her, thinks of her. Wayne looks at Roxanne and thinks her lipstick is too bright. All Megamind sees is how beautiful she is.

Distantly, Roxanne notes that she is extremely angry, the kind of angry that makes her reckless and stupid and that this is probably Not a Good Thing.

Again, this is definitely a trait that she and Megamind share, the way that strong emotion makes them reckless.

She doesn’t know what she’s going to do until she’s already doing it: she stops in front of Megamind, reaches out to put one hand on his chest and one on the side of his face, and then leans forward to kiss him.

It says a lot that what she automatically goes for here, when she’s not thinking, is kissing Megamind.

Sanity intervenes at the last moment; Roxanne turns her head slightly so that her lips catch his cheek and just the corner of his mouth.

The contact lasts less than a second, but the jolt of sensation that goes through her is like electricity, like grabbing hold of a live wire, a shock that steals her breath, makes her heart seem to stop for a moment in her chest before slamming against her ribcage.

Ohhhh she cares about him so much; she is so very attracted to him.

Roxanne pulls away, looks at Megamind—fuck, he really does look like that after he’s been kissed when he wasn’t expecting it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart,” she tells him.

The ‘sweetheart’ is partially intended as a fuck you to Wayne, but it’s also partially automatic, since her mind is a little scrambled from that kiss, still.

“—ah?” Megamind says blankly.

“Tomorrow,” she says, “remember? Meet me here at ten?”

Megamind blinks at her, looking dazed.

“…tomorrow,” he says, “I—yes, tomorrow; ten; I will—I will see you tomorrow, Roxanne.”

Megamind is so shocked--she kissed him!--that it’s hard for him to string words together.

Roxanne steps away and sweeps out of the apartment, not waiting for Wayne to catch up. He does, of course, but it’s—the point still stands.

Dramatic Evil Queen Exit.

“Why did you do that?” Wayne asks, when they’re in the back of his limousine, pulling away from the curb of her apartment.

“Do what?” Roxanne says, opening her compact and looking at her own reflection.

“You kissed him,” Wayne says.

(fuck. she did, didn’t she. she definitely kissed Megamind oh god)

Internally panicking!

“Practice,” Roxanne says, uncapping her lipstick and rolling it up. “I am supposed to be ‘dating’ him, Wayne.”

But she quickly and cleverly covers with an excuse!

“You never did that when we were fake-dating,” Wayne says.

“Yeah, well,” Roxanne snaps, not really wanting to examine why she feels so defensive, “I like him a lot more than I like you.”

She does, of course. As she told Megamind, earlier. Also stop asking questions Wayne, Roxanne doesn’t want to discuss her perfectly sound and reasonable reasons for kissing the supervillain, okay?!

(Wayne doesn’t say anything after that, and Roxanne is too busy pointedly ignoring him and re-applying her lipstick to notice the thoughtful glance that he gives her.)

Even Wayne the Oblivious is starting to wonder about Roxanne and Megamind.

#megamind #megamind/roxanne #old new borrowed and blue #dvd commentary meme #long post #since read mores don't work on mobile

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snarktheater · 6 years

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Shadowhunters — Episode 2x17

Today on Shadowhunters…let's just get down to it, so I can quickly get to the end of this episode and have a rant about a sensitive topic with Shadowhunter culture that the books definitely had trouble handing and that the show is now fumbling on as well.

Since I'm liking the "put Simon's garbage subplot at the beginning of the post so it's out of the way first" method, I'll stick to it for the time being. Because yes, once again, Simon has a subplot that might as well be a different story that just happens to involve the same characters as the main story.

In today's episode: Simon's back in the friendzone, but with Maia this time! Yeah, remember how she helped him make it through Yom Kippur without eating any family members by posing as his girlfriend? I guess she fooled him too, and so, of course, he asks Maia out. At her workplace, because of course he does. Also, Luke sees Simon entering the bar an immediately guesses what's up, which is just…weird.

Anyway. Maia's not interested.

"That's really sweet of you, but…I can't. Busy." "I didn't give you a date yet."

Wait, no, I forgot, this is Shadowhunters, where no one's allowed to be honest about…anything. So instead she's actually interested but afraid to put herself out there in case Simon breaks her heart or some shit like that. Which we find out when Isabelle's having Max train with Simon (as a friendly but real vampire), because Isabelle, who has literally never met Maia, can somehow sense these things.

"I know Simon. And he's smart, sweet, caring…"

Questionable. Also questionable? Isabelle's argument when Maia says she's afraid to lose control around Simon. Specifically, how she makes that relate to her addiction, and then says this.

"[Losing control]'s a hell of a lot better than not taking a chance at all."

Actually, that's not even questionable. Let's go with a hard "no" on that one and call it a day.

But it works, and so Maia gives Simon a speech about being afraid to put herself out there, but she's ready to take a chance, as long as they take things slow. So…not only did Simon get what he wanted, he also had to put in zero work to get it? I get that the point was that he respected her choice and didn't want to go after another girl who wanted to just be friends, but still. It's a little bit weird to have Isabelle, out of the blue, go "you should totally date him" at a total stranger.

At the very least have Maia change her mind on her own based on something Simon does that proves he's worth taking a chance over (or that he's a safe choice, whichever fits his character more).

Well that was pleasantly short. Let's go over to the main plot, then. I'll skip over Clary's convenient meaningful dream and Jace waking her up while shirtless, because of course he does and of course he's shirtless. The point is, this conflict arises in their conversation.

"[Jonathan] was a child." "With demon blood. Don't forget that." "And no one but Valentine to teach him the difference between right and wrong."

Point being: nature versus nurture, Clary doesn't believe (or want to believe) that her brother is beyond redemption just for having demon blood, while Jace does. Strangely enough, Clary doesn't remind Jace that he used to think he had demon blood not that long ago, even though she did just that a few episodes ago. Maybe they only get to have that conversation once, even though Jace keeps using demon blood as an excuse to be belligerent all over the place?

More interestingly, I wonder if setting this up now will lead to any changes regarding the Endarkened when the story gets to them (assuming the show does, anyway). Will they still be treated as disposable mindless minions that you can kill with no ethical repercussions because they're "already dead"? Or…you know, will they do something more interesting?

Clary thinks to use Jocelyn's box of keepsakes to track down Jonathan, but it turns out that someone beat them to the chase.

And because this show thinks any lingering question will turn its audience away, we immediately see Jonathan holding his baby shoe, just in case you thought it might be something less obvious.

Also, he seems pretty distraught by the existence of those keepsakes.

"You said my mother didn't care about me."

Valentine dismisses it as Jocelyn caring for the son she never had, while she actively wanted to kill the demon-blooded Jonathan. I think this is meant to be perceived as Valentine manipulating him, but…it's also 100% true, you know. In the show continuity, Jocelyn tried to kill Jace, thinking he was her son.

That's good enough of an argument for Jonathan, who burns the shoe for symbolism, before they go back to vaguely alluding to their evil plan to be regarded as heroes by the Nephilim…somehow.

Meanwhile at the Institute, Max is apparently ready for his first mission on the field, even though he's like…ten, twelve, at the most. This is setup for another subplot in this episode, which I'll come back to at the end, but it's important here, because it means Max is present when Jace and Clary report to Alec that they couldn't find anything in the box of keepsakes they could use to track down Jonathan.

Luckily, it's fine, because if they can't find him, they can find what he wants instead! Specifically, the Mortal Mirror, now that Alec knows the Soul-Sword is in Jonathan's possession but that Clary deactivated it with her special runes, so Valentine's last recourse to wipe out all Downworlders is to summon Raziel instead.

"I thought that was just a legend." "All legends are true. […] The Angel will grant him one wish. Anything he wants." "The end of the Downworld as we know it."

I mean, that sounds like a lot of wild assumptions, but since they have no other real options, why not go for the lost third mystical object, right? Conveniently, we also see Valentine, who holds Sister Cleophas captive and wants her to reactivate the Soul-Sword. She can't, because Clary's runes are that overpowered, so he reaches the same conclusion as the protagonists did and sets out to find the Mirror.

Also, I should mention that this scene features Cleophas being injected with "min control serum", which Valentine…has, now? Was this established and I somehow forgot?

So he and Jonathan go to a bookshop held by a warlock, Elliot Nourse. He's an original character to the show, and I'm pretty sure he's a nod to book-Luke, because he pretty much matches his description (aside from, you know, being a warlock and not a werewolf). Not that that matters much, because he gets tortured and uses a spell to kill himself before Valentine can get anything out of him.

"I don't care what you do, I promised Jocelyn."

Yeah, he was safeguarding the mirror for Jocelyn's sake (because…she had it?). When Elliot dies, a sigil on his arm disappears, and Valentine somehow knows that that was a map to the Mirror and that it was passed down to another warlock? This episode is just full of people conveniently knowing stuff with no established reasons.

Speaking of which: Dot shows up at the Institute, and she has the mark on her arm now, and either she fills in Clary off-screen or Clary knew all about this somehow, because Clary then exposits to the others (and us) that indeed, the sigil is a map to the Mirror, and Elliot was a good friend of her mom and Clary knew him well.

Hey, guess what, show: maybe you'd have more time to establish these things if you didn't waste a bunch of your screen time on Simon's subplots.

Clary and Jace go investigate Elliot's shop first, and Sebastian shows up as well, which is totally not suspicious or anything. Clary and Jace quickly figure out that it was Jonathan's work, and start arguing again because Jace wants to kill him on sight.

"Remember what valentine made you do?" "I don't have demon blood."

That's not hypocritical or anything. Why are they making Jace take so many steps backwards in likability? First his pseudo-fascist bout, then being pushy with Clary as soon as she broke up with Simon, now this?

And yes, the irony that Jonathan is actually right there is not lost on me. Ha ha. So clever, show.

Meanwhile, Dot deciphers the map on her arm by comparing it to the ley lines in New York, and she and Alec argue about what will happen to the Mirror if they find it. Dot will help them, but she'll only trust Clary with the Mirror. And I like the sentiment, but will it really be her decision to make when it comes down to it? This is a genuine question.

At least Alec's smart enough not to let that get in the way of retrieving the Mirror at all. Even better, he sends Sebastian away when he tries to weasel his way into being part of Dot's escort, because he's the only person who didn't just instantly accept Sebastian.

Dot eventually narrows down to three possible locations, and Clary recognizes one of them as a park she used to go with Jocelyn to as a child.

"She hid it somewhere I remember, just in case. It's gotta be there."

I mean, at this point, why not more Mary Sue Guessing Powers, right?

Before they set out, Sebastian shows up in Clary's room to be a creep, which somehow gets Clary to open up about all her angst related to losing people she cares about and leads to Sebastian kissing her. For some reason, Clary mostly acts awkward about it, and not, you know, like he's a creep who showed up in her room to kiss her without her showing any sign of interest.

"I'll always be there for you, Clary. Whatever you need."

I mean, even without knowing that he's literal demon spawn (and her brother), how does that not sound like he's a stalker in the making?

He also steals a hair tie from her, but that's obviously to track her, so, you know. I'm not counting that. Besides it's kind of irrelevant by comparison.

So we get to our climax, in that Dot finds some kind of pocket dimension that holds the mirror (…possibly?) and retrieves it. But before they can leave, Jonathan shows up, in his true form. He takes out Jace immediately, while Dot does manage to get a spell in before he tosses her aside too. He won't hurt Clary, obviously, but he does threaten Jonathan's life in order to prevent her from running away with the Mirror.

But Clary, as we've mentioned, truly believes she can save him.

"Come with us. We can help you. Whatever Valentine told you, it's lies. Whatever happened in the past, whatever you've done, it doesn't matter. You're my family."

This makes Jonathan hesitate, long enough for Dot to open a Portal and Jace to force Clary through it, while Dot…stays behind to slow Jonathan down? I don't really get why she can't just take the Portal too. The show doesn't even act like she might die.

"She survived Valentine. She'll survive this."

Will she? How? You seem very confident about this.

Anyway. The Mirror (?) is a pocket mirror, and it shows Clary a vision of Lake Lyn, with two swords in it. I don't know if it means they'll steal reveal that Lake Lyn is the true mirror, or something else. I guess we'll just see eventually. Probably in the season finale.

Oh, and from that, Clary "deduces" that her dreams of Lake Lyn…aren't dreams.

"They're visions. I think they're some kind of message."

Considering everything that happened until now…sure, why not. This is as likely as anything else.

Before we part, there are two more subplots to talk about. First is Alec, who has very little to do since becoming head of the Institute. Well, remember how the Downworlder cabinet met without him at the Seelie Court? Well they're back, and the Seelie Queen wants war against the Clave, while Luke and Magnus are acting as moderate voices.

Well, that's not going to last. Remember how I mentioned that Cleophas is in this episode? Yeah, she also almost manages to break out of Valentine's…wherever he's holding her. She gets caught by Circle members, who are still around, I guess, but not before managing to steal a stele and send Luke a message about her situation. Including the fact that Valentine still has the Soul-Sword.

Which he shares with Magnus. Magnus, needless to say, is not happy that Alec kept that from him.

"From the day I met you, the one thing I knew I could count on was honesty."

And, you know, Alec does confess without even being prompted, but it's too little, too late.

"The Seelie Queen was right. We can't trust the Clave. […] We need to tell her."

Yeah…that doesn't strike me as such a great idea. On the other hand, I will commend the show for working the Seelie Queen more gradually as a villain, and setting up her joining forces with Sebastian better than the books did?

The other subplot is one I briefly mentioned already: Max being cleared for field operations. Well, mostly this subplot revolves around Isabelle, who really doesn't want him to go on the field, because it's dangerous enough on a regular basis, but with Valentine stirring up trouble, it's even worse, and she's just protective of her little brother. Reasonable enough, right?

And yet…everyone tries to convince her that it's okay. Which I can understand from, say, Alec, who's grown up in that same culture. But why is, say, Simon okay with this? Max is basically being turned into a child soldier here, and the show just wants me to nod along and go "Hmm, how unreasonable of Isabelle to be worried for his safety!" I'm pretty sure the correct stance on child soldiers is "don't do it", regardless of the surrounding culture or the existence of demons. I wasn't aware this was an ethical issue we were still debating?

You could make a case that the show is trying to argue that a well, if you squint a little, due to the episode cliffhanger. See, the episode ends with Max, who's been repeatedly telling everyone how good he is at everything, especially tracking people, revealing that he found one of Jonathan/Sebastian's hair on the box of Jocelyn's keepsakes. And he uses it to track it down to Sebastian. And he goes to confront him. Alone.

"You're him. You're Jonathan."

And…like…do Shadowhunters not learn about protocol? Asking for backup when dealing with an enemy who clearly outmatches you? Because if not, then why the fuck are you considered elite in the first place? And if so, then why is Max considered such a gret Shadowhunter?

But more importantly, I don't think this conclusion (which, again, is a cliffhanger, so maybe he's fine, regardless of his fate in the books) really shows a clear framing that Max shouldn't be a Shadowhunter. Every argument Isabelle has during the episode about Max is framed so that she appears wrong and overemotional, and ends on the note that he'll be fine. If it was just one scene, and then something bad does happen to Max in the same episode, and we dealt with the fallout in that episode, I could maybe let it slide. But multiple scenes, including from complete outsider to Nephilim culture Simon Lewis? No, I'm pretty sure the framing is slanted one way, and it's not the way that says child soldiers is wrong.

I know, I know. I've been abusing the phrase "child soldier" over the past few paragraphs. But it's because I cannot state enough how wrong this is and how appalled I am that not only is there just one character who has an issue with it, but that issue isn't even one of principles. As I said: I wasn't aware "child soldiers are wrong" was still a debate.

#A Dark Reflection #Hollie Overton #Jeffrey Hunt #shadowhunters #Todd Slavkin #Darren Swimmer #mcg #series #TV series #review #reviews #series review #series reviews #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare #st: shadowhunters s2

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thewebcomicsreview · 7 years

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So, me and my roommates all watched Netflix Note together, and uh. <_< >_> I kind of like it.

As an adaption, it’s wildly inaccurate to the point where it’s just a cheesy B movie set in the Death Note universe. But once you just accept that White Yagami is a lovestruck quasisentient moron who couldn’t keikaku his way out of a paper bag and screams like an 8-year-old girl getting stung by a bee, it’s pretty enjoyable on that front. I wouldn’t call it “good’, as it had way too much slow-mo to pop music and Adam West dutch angles, but it’s fun in a dumb way. Spoilers below the cut

In no particular order

* FWIW I liked the most of the first half of the OG death note, and thought Light Yagami giving himself amnesia and manipulating himself just as keikaku was when the series crossed into stupidville. * The movie is really short! It’s only about 90 minutes, most which is in pointless slow-mo, but then it skips over plot details at warp speed. * I thought Willem DaFoe would be the best part of the movie, but it’s actually Lakeith Stanfield, who plays L. L is also the least changed from the anime as a character, though he’s still changed quite a bit. * Ryuk is fine, but he’s almost entirely superfluous and could be cut without losing anything. The effects for him were also really bad. * There’s a LOT of unnecessary gore in this movie. A dude gets hit by a ladder moving at 20 MPH and his fucking head a splode. That is not the only literal head explosion in the movie. * I find it bullshit that “Watari” counts as a name for the Death Note but “L” doesn’t, and it makes L look like a fucking asshole for not having Watari wear a mask (Not that it would’ve helped, since Light never even fucking saw Watari’s face that entire subplot was dumb dumb dumb), makes Light look like a moron for having Watari call his fucking cell phone, and makes L look like a moron again for not tapping his own phones.

* “It sort of means killer in Japanese” was offensively stupid, and stupidly offensive. We had to take a break to really digest that line. * Likewise, the idea that Kira was trying to trick people into thinking he was Japanese was....meta. * It still baffles me that a white kid in Seattle is named Light and no one finds that odd, but I guess no one finds it odd in the Japanese version either. So much else is changed, and the character is almost literally the opposite of the Japanese version, that they should have just called him Lenny or something. Would make it less confusing to compare them. * Light saying “Rye-uck” and having it be corrected a minute later seems like it was there just to troll fans of the anime. * I like that the movie made a bigger deal of the “mind control” aspect than the anime did. Light having Mia throw his page into a fire while falling out of the ferris wheel seems a little convenient, but we were told the limit of the Note was that “it had to be physically possible”, so I’ll guess I’ll allow it. * I also liked Light Turner/Mia Stutton’s relationship more than I liked Light Yagami/Misa Amane’s Joker/Harley setup where she was madly in love with him and he thought she was an incompetent minion. I always wanted Japanese Light’s dismissal of Misa to get him in more trouble, so I’m glad to see it happen here. Mia is simply more interesting than Misa was, in part because she stole most of Light’s intelligence on the way to Netflix. * Although that intelligence disappears while trying to blackmail Light with the Death Note while he has it and could have just burned the page himself and killed her without the whole ferris wheel rigamarole. * When the “you can only burn one name per book” rule was introduced, I immediately assumed Light would have to choose between saving himself or Watari, so props to the movie for not going the obvious direction * L chasing Light through 400 different buildings got increasingly hilarious with every minute it lasted.

* The film gains 200 intelligence points in the literal last minute, though, as White Yagami suddenly turns into the anime version and explains a convoluted keikaku that was still something he could have reasonably come up with in a pinch. I also liked that the movie was subtle enough to not call attention to Light actually forcing Mia to take the book by writing it that way despite what he said at the time about it being conditional. It’s a great way to get at anime pedants who point out that you explicitly couldn’t use the Death Note on someone like that in the anime. He didn’t! * I also like that the movie doesn’t feel the need to explain why Light randomly decides to confess everything, just showing us that L got the book and letting us realize ourselves what Ryuk was laughing about. * And I really liked that Light Turner finally turns a into Light Yagami-like intelligence right at the end, and is immediately defeated because of something Mia did that he forgot about. Cross-adaption karma!

All in all, this is a 6/10 movie that I surely wouldn’t have liked if I hadn’t seen it with friends, but it might be worth it just for seeing the american Light meeting Ryuk holy shit that was hilarious.

#Death Note #Netflix Note #White Yagami

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mianite-season-3 · 7 years

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Unofficial Mianite Season 3 - Chapter 9

Chapter 9 - A World Not Unlike Their Own

“Sonj!” She heard her boyfriend shout in terror, and an explosion echoed out of where he disappeared.

Her feet tore up clumps of wet clay as she bolted towards the mountain.

“Tucker!” Sonja cried, heart racing out of her chest. Her body ignored the warning bells in her mind that were ringing and rushed to the point where Tucker had disappeared into the cliffside.

As she came closer, she heard the moans of several zombies echoing from further in and her eyes finally recognized a two by one tunnel entrance that her boyfriend had somehow spotted from the bottom of the hill.

“Tucker?” she called into the mountain, with no response. Tears of relief sprung into her eyes when she heard shuffling footsteps coming from the interior of the tunnel. "Tucker! You're alright!" She took a step into the tunnel, intending to grab her boyfriend and pull him into the light to make sure he wasn't hurt. She reached out and took hold of his arm, pulling him forward. He was strangely resistant to it, though, and when Sonja had searing pain pierce her forearm, she pulled away in terror.

The zombie that was responsible came with her, and she screamed more in surprise than fear or pain. Sonja lashed out and punched the zombie in the face, knocking it loose from her arm which hung loosely at her side. It stumbled back, but thoughtlessly ventured towards her into the sunlight. Its skin lit on fire, the smell of burning flesh stinging her nostrils. Faintly she heard footsteps running up behind her and the dull glint of a stone sword swinging through the air as Wag decapitated the monster with one clean swipe. The corpse exploded into dust and experience orbs, which crept towards Sonja and reinvigorated her with their little burst of energy.

A hand appeared on Sonja’s shoulder. “Are you alright?” Martha asked her. She nodded, taking a moment to catch her breath. Wag ventured into the tunnel cautiously, disappearing from their view for too many heart pounding moments before he reemerged. He had a hand wrapped around Tucker’s wrist.

Sonja rushed up to Tucker, gently easing him out of the tunnel and pulling him away from Wag. His head hung low, the brim of his hat hiding his eyes. His chest rose and fell with frightening speed and he was unsuccessfully trying to hide it. She positioned herself between Tucker and the curious probing eyes of her other companions

“Tucker?” Sonja whispered, grabbing him under the arms when her boyfriend’s legs collapsed from underneath him. “Tucker, you’re alright. It’s alright. You’re safe.”

“What happened?” Martha had come up from behind, her eyes shining with worry. Sonja waved her away dismissively, not taking her eyes off of Tucker.

“He’s fine. Can you go with Wag and grab some coal and wood and light up that tunnel? Tucker, can she have your pick?”

Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the half used wooden pickaxe he’d made the day before. Sonja eased it out of his tight grip and held it out behind her. The tool was taken and she heard footsteps retreating. She didn't know if Martha was going to actually mine what she had been told to; the woman had a habit of avoiding hard work sometimes, especially physical work. But she didn’t care; all that mattered was the man in front of her.

"Tucker, please, just breathe, alright? You're fine. Nothing is going to hurt you. Deep breaths." Sonja soothed, taking his hand when he reached out to her. After a near continuous stream of comforting words, his chest finally started to gain a stronger, more controlled rhythm and he wiped at his eyes before looking up thankfully at his girlfriend.

"Thank you, Sonj."

She smiled. "Of course. Do you mind telling me what happened?" She asked cautiously. Tucker bit his lip and took in a shaky breath.

“I thought that the mountain looked really familiar, so when I saw that tunnel, I just ran in. But... it was dark, so I didn’t see, but... a-a creeper was right in the room past the door, and I hit the wall and passed out and, oh god,” Tucker trailed off as he started tearing up again. He ducked his head again and wiped at his eyes with the backs of his gloves but Sonja took his arm and made him meet her eyes.

“Tucker. You are safe. Ok?”

“I know, I know, I just... Gods, why am I crying?!” His voice cracked and he buried his face completely in his knees. Sonja rubbed his leg, shushing him.

“It’s alright. You have every right to be scared. I understand. Do you want to leave here? I’ll get Wag and Martha and we can leave.” When Tucker nodded, she stood up and brushed the dirt off her knees, shuffling to the entrance to the mountain tunnel.

“Wag! Martha! Come on out! We’re leaving!” Her voice echoed back to her in an uncanny way, sending a chill down her spine.

“Sonja, come in here!”

“Yeah, and bring Tucker! This is something you two’ll wanna see!”

Sonja rolled her eyes. Of course nobody listened to her the first time. “Tucker is not going back in there! Now come on! We’re leaving you guys behind!”

Her friends didn’t respond, and she shook her head. Sonja turned to look at Tucker sitting against the cliffside. He didn’t look good, but he did have a grin on his face, which made this whole thing slightly more worth it. The woman turned on her heel and started back towards him, but Wag’s voice rang out from the exit again.

“Sonja, help us carry this stuff! There’s tons of great shit in here!”

“Diamonds and bows and arrows and potions!” Martha added, excited.

Tucker looked up at that, and the glint in his eyes clearly outweighed any fear he had been harboring. He got unsteadily to his feet and, grabbing her hand on the way past, pulled them both back into the now well lit tunnel.

Sonja wasn’t normally claustrophobic, but being in a one by two tunnel with another person pulling her along wasn’t what she’d consider comfortable. They took a tight turn and saw their friends strapping on various pieces of armor in a room at the end of the tunnel.

As they entered and descended the blocky stairs, Wag kicked over a near new iron chestplate to Sonja’s feet. She picked it up and examined it as Tucker seemingly completely forgot his fear and started picking through the chests and cold furnaces along the wall. He threw each item behind him as he decided its usefulness so that the good pile stagnated, and the bad pile grew to his height.

Sonja grabbed more iron armor pieces and suited up, allowing the others to sort out what they would take with them and what junk they could leave, and scanned the room. The torch in the center of the room cast elongated, flickering shadows of her friends on the walls, and the outline of arched doorways on both the left and right.

She swiped a couple of torches and began lighting up the room that was to the left of the foyer.

There wasn’t anything special in the room. It was nearly empty, just a box inside the dusty base with one corner slightly raised with a pillar in the middle. The pillar split halfway up, flowing from red wool on the ceiling to fence posts to stone slabs on the ground.

The sight suddenly reminded her again of her and Tucker’s old base, and she felt a surge of longing for the times in Mianite, a carefree and happy point in their lives. They had gone on picnics and walks along the beach and actually felt like a couple. She had felt like she was in love. Even when they’d been fighting to the death against Dianite, Furia and his other minions, they had been done together.

And now...

Sonja sighed and shook those thoughts out of her head. No need to dwell on the past when they could and would have that again. The woman scouted the perimeter of the room, finding a break in the wall that lead to a steep drop that Sonja couldn’t see the bottom of.

She was in the middle of considering a method to rappel down when Martha’s voice behind her nearly startled her off the edge.

“Sonja? We’re ready now, come take some stuff and we can get going like you wanted.”

The woman agreed, steadying her heartbeat as she joined them back in the first room. Her eyes widened at the sheer amount of stuff the other three had managed to find. Tucker was happily swinging around an enchanted diamond sword that, while it had a little wear and tear, was clearly still very deadly to one on the receiving end.

The task of sorting items - which Sonja accepted as they were passed to her - seemed to have done well in calming Tucker down, and he looked to have completely forgotten his panic. The grin on his face as he jokingly wielded his weapon against Wag both calmed her and irritated her. She found it very hard to believe he bounced back that quickly considering previous attacks had taken him hours or even half a day to recover his breathing.

Then he looked over at her and smiled, and her heart melted. She sauntered over to him and captured his smug smirk in a kiss, effectively igniting a small fire in both their chests. She broke it after a moment, smirking at his slightly dazed eyes.

“I, uh... Ready to go?” He asked, sheathing his sword with a dopey grin on his face.

Sonja nodded, but on a glance back at Wag and Martha, she noticed a small entrance to another room that she had missed earlier, obscured by the strange shadows the torches cast.

“Actually, maybe we should just explore this base, and camp here for the night. If there’s this kind of stuff in the main room, who knows what might be hiding further in, right?”

“Did you find anything that way?” Wag questioned, pointing to the lit room Sonja had stood in. She shook her head.

“No, but think about it. We never keep our good stuff just out in the open. There’s gotta be something in here.” She said with conviction, and Tucker nodded, albeit uneasily.

Wag shrugged and the group split in two. Martha and the wizard went through the larger tunnel to their right, while Sonja went to examine the tunnel she’d found, which turned out to be a short set of stairs. She moved to enter but paused, glancing back at Tucker who had a tight grip on his new weapon.

“You gonna be alright?” His eyes darted around, not meeting hers. He took a breath and steeled his nerves, nodding his assent. As she forged upward, she dispelled as many shadows as she could with what was probably an excess of torches.

Sonja reached the top of the staircase and placed a torch on the ground. Her eyes flicked over the small room in front of her, and opened her mouth to invite Tucker forward, lowering her iron sword.

She heard a telltale twang and pain bloomed in her shoulder. She cried out and dropped her weapon, stumbling against the wall as her legs gave out on her.

“Sonja!” the woman heard her boyfriend call, his footsteps pounding on the block stairs as he raced to her rescue.

----

Tucker had lingered a distance behind Sonja, enough where she would be able to completely light the way for him while still being close to give support if necessary.

Which is exactly what he did when he heard his girlfriend cry out in pain, forgetting his fears for a moment and pounding up the stairs into the dark room above.

He ran headfirst into a wall of darkness, blinking to try and rapidly adjust to the sudden lack of light. All Tucker heard was his heartbeat, the blood rushing around in his head and Sonja’s whimpers as she tried and failed to get up and remove the arrow in her shoulder.

“I’ve got you, Sonj, just chill for a second.” He bluffed, his voice much steadier than his heart. By now his eyes had made out a monster’s form in the darkness, and he pressed forward, diving into a clunky roll as it pulled its arm back and let another arrow loose, slamming into the wall behind him.

His roll took him further than he expected, and he slammed into the wall behind the skeleton. He awkwardly untangled his limbs and swiped at the mob blindly. A satisfying chink rewarded him, and the monster crumpled to dust as its torso separated from its legs.

Tucker sucked in a breath, adrenaline making his limbs feel like jelly. He wobbled over to Sonja, who was pressing her palm against the wound in her shoulder now that the arrow had burst into a cloud of smoke with the death of the skeleton.

“Are you ok?” he asked, kneeling beside her both to comfort her and to not let her know how badly he was shaking. Sonja nodded, hissing as she lifted her hand from the wound, oozing drops of blood but otherwise starting to heal. She grabbed a torch from the pile she’d dropped during the attack and handed it to him, telling him to place it and light up the room.

He does, and they sighed in relief as the light bounced off the walls of the relatively small room. No more monsters hiding in the shadows. Tucker helped Sonja to her feet, careful not to pull too hard in case he irritated her shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to stay the night here?” He questioned, eyes flicking back and forth over the walls, and more specifically the paintings covering all three walls.

Sonja nodded, keeping her hand over her hurt shoulder. “Yeah, I’m sure.” She smiled at him. “Tucker, I know you’re scared, but this is the safest place we’re going to find before the sun goes down. And I don’t really want to camp out in a tiny hole if I don’t have to.”

“I’m not scared!” Tucker insisted. Sonja rolled her eyes.

“Ok, sure.” She ventured towards one of the paintings, a detailed image of a white winged angel standing at the edge of a dark pit with fire deep below.

Tucker stood back to back with her, examining the painting on the opposite wall.

It was much bigger than either of the others, and the majority of the canvas was taken up by a bright white skull surrounded in flames. The vibrancy of the painting that must have been there for years stunned him. It looked like it had just been painted yesterday.

“You think the guy who lived here was an art fan?”

Sonja ran her fingers along the edge of the canvas. “Maybe. Or he was the artist. These are all so beautiful...”

They turned to get a look at the final painting. It depicted a set of scales, huge scales sitting against a backdrop of black star-speckled sky. On each plate of the scale stood a person: one was clad in all white with golden tendrils swirling around them, while the other was dressed in all black, with a dark red aura.

Tucker shuddered. Something about the painting, with its vivid details and uncanny resemblance to memories of Mianite sent a bolt of lightning racing through him, and without warning he spun on his heel and put his back to the art, pulling Sonja out of the room and back down the stairs.

“Oww! Tucker, what the hell?” his girlfriend screeched, slapping his arm away when they stumbled into the foyer.

“That room was giving me the creeps. Sonj, that painting looks like the Scales!”

“So the painter had a really lucky guess on what that would look like. That is no reason to yank my arm off! Ow!” she cried, holding said shoulder to punctuate her point.

“Sorry!”

They glared at each other for a tense moment, then a dainty cough alerted them both to the other half of their group standing to the side.

“Did we interrupt something?” Wag asked.

“No!” the couple told him simultaneously.

They raised a collective eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “We heard someone scream, are you two ok? Did you find something?” Martha eyed Sonja’s shoulder, and the other woman shrugged carefully.

“Just a skeleton, and a tiny room with some paintings.” Tucker hefted his diamond sword and examined it, trying to appear nonchalant. Sonja glared at him like he was crazy, then turned the question back at them.

Wag stayed quiet as Martha described the side room, which was actually a horse stable. At least, that’s what she assumed since the horses themselves were long gone. Her clue was the chest in the room, full of saddles and various armor. “I can’t imagine the poor things got out much, though. The room is so small, not much more than a tunnel really, it's unlikely they even had room to breathe! Poor horse ownership, really.”

Tucker opened his mouth to make some quip, how would Martha know anything about proper horse care or what the old owners of this base’s life was actually like, but closed it as a thought occurred to him. Back in Mianite, his and Sonja’s horses didn’t exactly have all the room in the world, and they had hardly taken them out of the base for a ride.

He decided not to say anything, and just let Martha talk.

“I’d like to give them a piece of my mind, cooping up free-spirited animals like that. Steve’s farm was bad enough, but at least he spent his time with them...” She trailed off and her eyes grew misty.

The rest of the group awkwardly avoided looking directly at the mystic as she bit her lip and tried desperately to hold back her sadness and tears.

It was a loud yawn that broke the silence that had fallen, as Wag stretched his arms high above his head, his right one landing nicely on Martha’s shoulders and pulling her in for a one-armed hug.

“If we’re gonna stay the night here, let’s actually make the beds and sleep, yeah? I’m exhausted from plundering.”

Tension dispersed, Sonja smiled and pointed over her shoulder. “There’s some wool in there.

Half an hour and four beds later, the two couples were cuddled up and the men started snoring as soon as their heads hit the pillow. The girls laid awake for a while in the dimly lit room, breathing deep and hovering just on the edge of consciousness.

Sonja didn’t think she would be able to sleep, half-wanting to stay up to make sure nothing else would come for her and her boyfriend, that he could actually get a good sleep here when he was clearly not happy to stay.

But the other half of her disagreed, and her eyes slid shut without her permission and she slipped closer to sleep.

Sonja wasn’t sure how close she was when Martha spoke, but she did know that she wasn’t happy to not be sleeping now.

“Sonja? Are you awake?”

She simply groaned as a response.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll be quiet.”

Her heartfelt apology made it hard to stay mad. Sonja sighed.

“I’m awake now. What is it?”

Shuffling noises, and Martha’s voice was clearer.

“Are you comfortable here?”

Sonja considered the soft pillow under her head and her warm boyfriend pressed against her back, with an arm slung protectively over her waist. Even though she was still kinda angry at him for hurting her shoulder more, she hummed blissfully. “This bed is pretty damn comfortable, yeah.” Her eyes slid closed.

Martha huffed through her nose. “That’s not quite what I meant. I mean, are you comfortable in this world?”

Sonja opened her eyes to the dim room again, slightly annoyed at being kept from sleep. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Do you feel... safe? Secure?”

“We stayed the night with a girl who turned out to be ok with murdering people for their loyalty to a god. I think that speaks to the relative safety of this world.”

Martha sighed in frustration. “I mean... oh, forget it. Nevermind.”

“...Alright. Night, Martha.”

“Goodnight, Sonja.”

#saphira writes s3 #mianite #mianite season 3 #mianite s3 #iijerichoii #omgitsfirefoxx #synhd #captainsparklez #syndisparklez #marthathemystic #waglington

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dragonsaphirareads · 7 years