#i caught a plot hole in the first/second chapter though

[the-way-astray]

can i get a woo hoo for she/he lovise

[ohboyhowdybuckaroo]

As a way to celebrate the end to the first arc of the ASL Gem AU, here's a couple of headcanons and things I put in the story that I was proud of. Also, some shitty memes I doodled and thought were funny. I put all the headcanons and neat things under the read more because there are spoilers for Keep It Simple, Stupid in there.

Luffy actually got poofed four times throughout the events of the first chapter. Two of them were depicted on screen, but the other two were when Ace got him caught in a landslide in their first meeting and when he came back to the bandit hut on the wolf and broke a hole in the wall getting tossed off of Kebab. Ace could've sword that landslide would have poofed Luffy and, I mean, he's not wrong.

Whery told me BTS that Sodalite's hair remains suspended in air as if it's flowing through water at all times. He's got mermaid hair, everyone. Love this guy.

The reason Sodalite struggles to unfuse is because... 🥁 🥁 🥁 He has a hard time unfusing when his components feel unsafe. That doesn't stop anyone strong enough from poofing him (A la Garp) or Sabo and Ace having such a strong disagreement that they come undone (a la the argument before the final fight with the wolves or when Ace post-getting-Luffy'd has conflicted feelings about ditching Luffy with Amethyst and co.).

In the process of plotting this, I wasn't sure how to translate the money-saving-schemes into this AU for the boys. The general layout of the plot is similar to canon, but I wanted to mix things up a little. That led to the parts scrounging aspect, which led to Ace and Sabo having their own waterfall cave instead of having a tree that they keep things in because I didn't think a tree could properly hide most of their junk from sight that close to the Kindergarten.

Sodalite never actually introduced himself to Luffy. (Cursed with Ace's tendency to never make a good first impression.) He learned Sodalite's name when a few gems and people were yelling in panic at their first meeting.

There's another nod to Sodalite inheriting Ace's bad first impressions when he first "meets" the bandits when literally dropping Luffy off after saving him and also when he meets Woop Slap and Makino.

Also continuing Ace's penchant for bad first impressions, he really did get put through the ringer with Makino when he first reformed. I gave him hell this whole arc, didn't I? Poor guy.

Herc and Agna are my contributions to the Dadan Family. I wanted to flesh their numbers out a little bit since we only ever know the names of Dadan, Magra, Dogra, and Pochi. I hope you like them... They're silly. (And probably in love tbh.)

Speaking of them, they made a bet on whether Luffy killed Ace in the beginning of the third chapter and you can see them exchanging money in the sixth chapter when it's revealed that Ace isn't actually dead.

I also added Woop Slap's baker brother, a Beryl to the Azurite crew who stood around while Luffy got his ass electrocuted, and a couple of random characters here and there with no canon version just for the hell of it. Got the chance to flesh this out a little bit thanks to focusing on a small sequence of events compared to the Odyssey that is One Piece canon.

In the second chapter, there are a few things that Sodalite and Luffy say in a couple of the conversations post-saving Luffy from the Azurite Pirates that get called back to.

Sodalite: You can’t be brave unless you’re scared. And if the first hint of danger has you sniffling and running away like a chicken, you’ll never be brave.

This one is a little more obvious. It gets reflected back in chapter 5 when Luffy is in the process of trying to help Kebab out from where he's trapped. Luffy is a bit of a coward and a crybaby when he's younger in canon and in this story. He builds up confidence with being rubber (Though I replaced his rubber body helping to protect him with him being able to reform quickly), having two older brothers to protect him, and eventually his own fighting skills in canon, but I wanted to add a little more oomph to it.

Luffy: I'm not crying, you're crying!

Sodalite: That's not how tears work, squirt.

This one reflects the flashback to when Ace and Sabo fused for the first time. I figured it would help soften Sodalite up to Luffy with the little nod.

Ace: I'm not crying, you're crying, stupid.

Sabo: That's not how tears work, idiot.

There's another point that gets called back to in a conversation between Luffy and Sodalite, but this is the conversation when Sodalite starts to refer to Luffy as "Luffy" mentally and not just Spinel.

Sodalite: Free and kind, huh? Free how?

Luffy: Free to go where I wanna go. Do what I wanna do. Be who I wanna be.

Sabo thinks back to this when he's poofed and trying to figure out what he wants to look like. Freedom is hard to get used to when you're used to a regimented lifestyle. I think it's called choice anxiety, but even though he wants freedom, he still has to learn how to be free, if that makes sense.

Speaking of that conversation between Sodalite and Luffy, I tried to switch up what he was called in the narrative based on whose POV I'm talking through. In the beginning, when Sabo, Ace, or Sodalite are thinking about Luffy, they consistently refer to him as "Spinel." When it's Luffy's POV, Luffy only referred to himself as "Luffy." Eventually, after the heart-to-heart they have in chapter 3, Sodalite, Ace, and Sabo also only refer to Luffy as "Luffy."

Prior to the narrative, Sodalite didn't have a lot of room to grow or a lot of interaction with people outside of battle or when he's alone when Ace and Sabo needed comforting. Being around Luffy and the circumstances of which they can't unfuse gave Sodalite the opportunity to become more of his own person.

I used he/they pronouns for a lot of the story to reflect the Sodalite-not-being-completely-his-own-person as even Sodalite still saw himself as Ace and Sabo and not just Sodalite. He's aware he's a fusion, but he's only now settling into the idea that he is a new person as well.

Ace thinks that Dadan and the bandits don't care about him for most of the story and they don't help things by pretending not to care that he's "gone" when Sodalite's around. However, at the beginning of the fourth chapter, I tried to give a little nod to Dadan being worried about Ace with her sometimes smoking late at night on the porch and staring into the forest. She was looking for Ace and worried about him, but Sodalite can't tell because Ace is blind to kindness. Dadan was losing sleep over you, you dummy.

True to canon fashion, I tried to limit how much I used Luffy's POV as in canon he doesn't really have a lot of internally kept thoughts as much as he doesn't have a filter between mental reaction and physical reaction. Thus, when I did have to use Luffy's POV, I tried to switch it to another character as soon as I could.

Whery once posted an animatic wherein they used the Ben 10 clip of Kevin saying, "You have to treat a car like you treat a woman," and I pretty much used that to shape Sodalite amd Makino's dynamic in my head which led to the way Sodalite and, by extention, Ace feel nervous around Makino, but the nerves just make it harder for them to say the "right" things.

These four posts gave me psychic damage and were the kick in the ass that got me to write K.I.S.S. to begin with. Literally got so wrapped up in them that I wrote a whole fanfic. I was originally going to just write the Luffy and Sabo reunion in Dressrosa. A couple hundred words in, I realized I should probably just start in the beginning to fluff it up with some history. Then I fell in love with Sodalite and underestimated how much I would get into the AU, so now we're here.

Y'all can take Ace being nervous around Makino however you want, but my intention was that kind people throw him off his game. This was meant to reflect how he's a mama's boy in canon and the pedestal-ing he did with his mother. (Rouge is a goddess, though, so like... he's not wrong.)

I tried to write it so Ace Literally Does Not Know how to be anything but a scruffy and snappy little kid since he was raised by bandits and Garp isn't the picture of healthy communication. With the Makino interaction post-reforming in chapter 5, I wanted her to nudge him into realizing that there's another way to handle disagreements and not every time he fucks up will lead to violence or yelling. Easing his toes into the water.

I went back and forth for a while on the scene in chapter 6 where Ace is about to run away. I was very iffy on if it was in-character for him to leave behind his only friends and everything he ever knew. But I also remembered how he acted in canon when people were putting themselves in danger for him and, yeah, pushing people away when people might get hurt """"because of"""" him fit well.

Is it weird that my favorite scene to write was in the 6th chapter when Sabo and Luffy knock a gem into a barrel and run away? I just felt my heart get full being able to write them getting closer and being chaotic together... Can't wait to write these three being chaotic together more.

It was very cathartic for me personally to write the scene where Sodalite first plays guitar for Luffy in chapter 2 and the scene in chapter 6 where Ace bursts out laughing when they fall over.

Sabo and Ace met when they both stumbled upon their cave and started having a turf war over who it really belonged to. They eventually became friends, but naturally, it took a minute and some fighting before then.

Most of the people and gems around don't care one way or another about fusion. Garp, as a gem higher up, cares based on principle and because he's old as dirt and was around when the "No Fusing" rule was more radically reinforced.

Fire Agates were "made" to be demolition gems (AKA why they have the fire going on and are typically very strong). Due to this, Ace can keep more items within his gem that can vary in size. Sabo can keep some things in his gem, but they typically have to be small to medium. Luffy could theoretically keep a lot in his gem, but I genuinely don't think he thinks about it unless he's storing food.

Luffy eats and sleeps because he first formed around the mixed population of humans and gems in Foosha Village and just thought it was neat. Now, he has sort of programmed his gem so he sleeps at night like people do, but he doesn't need to. He just likes it. Silly lil guy.

Ace was initially put off by Luffy wanting to use a different name than his gem type because he struggles with his own identity as a Fire Agate. Using a different name feels like running away from the realities of your gem type. Ace is plagued by his own gem type and feels like he can't run away, so Luffy so casually giving himself a name was foreign to Ace and made him a little bit jealous tbh.

Sabo similarly wasn't willing to call Luffy by his name because he felt cursed by his gem type. He's less touchy about it than Ace, though because he understands Luffy's desire to want to be his own person-- whoever that may be.

I changed Sabo's gem type from Labradorite to Moonstone because he has had some really neat fanart made of him that was Moon themed, and I thought that was really cute. There's some more to learn about Sabo that I've been hinting at, but y'all will find out sometime later.

Shanks was the person who made Luffy realize that he could have whatever name he wanted. I might write it out someday, but it basically went, "woah, I wish I had a cool name," "You can call yourself whatever you want. What, did you think Makino's name is her gem?" "... So what if I did?!" *whole crew laughs at Luffy* "Well, what do you want us to call you?" and the rest was history.

Ace and Sabo will eventually be able to bubble things. Ace can make bigger ones, but Sabo's are less likely to burst when messed with. Luffy could theoretically create bubbles, but I don't really think Luffy's the type to want to capture things in bubbles outside of beetles, and that's easy enough to make Sabo or Ace do.

I took some very vague inspiration from Zuko from ATLA and Ruby from Steven Universe when thinking about Ace's fire abilities. I wanted him to have pyrokinetic abilities, but struggle to use them thanks to some internal turmoil. Thus, his powers come from strong bursts of negative emotions and typically just sprout out around his body. (Yes, he has caused a forest fire before.)

Sabo can create light constructs similar to how Pearl does in Steven Universe. Thinking about Sodalite getting a little more showboat-y with his music and doing light shows? Eventually, fire blasting out of places like some bands do at concerts. That would be metal as fuck.

Sodalite literally always radiates warmth wherever he's at. He's a space heater. You can see a little bit of this in the 3rd chapter when he sits near Woop Slap to keep the old man warm.

Luffy still has the stretchy abilities of a Spinel, but he's still new to using them. In the first chapter when he's got an arm wrapped around Kebab the wolf, it only happened because he got his hand stuck on a spike and Kebab the wolf rolled around trying to get him off. He also has a lil toon force action going on. I tried to show this with a couple of scenes here and there. (When he falls into the ravine, when he runs into a tree in one chapter, the Luffy shaped hole in the bandit hut when he gets flung off Kebab into it, etc.)

I don't even know where the nickname idea of "Squirt" came from. I just thought it would be a funny nickname (derogatory) and it kept reoccurring in my brain and in the writing until it became squirt (affectionate). Who doesn't get called dumb names by your older siblings?

That eventually expanded into Sodalite handing out derogatory nicknames. You mostly see that with Garp. (Bootlicker, marble muncher, etc.) Sodalite is teaching Luffy how to be an even bigger little shit and I love to see it.

I didn't originally plan for the wolves to show up outside of the couple of times they appeared in the first chapter. Then, when I was writing the third chapter I needed a reason to have Garp escort Makino and Woop Slap to the bandits and then I wanted a reason to get Luffy and Co. to go to Foosha Village, so tada.

I especially didn't plan for Kebab to become Kebab. However, I wanted each of the brothers to take out a wolf in their own ways and Luffy just isn't prepared to fight creatures 1v1 right now, so I cooked up the idea of him becoming a pet thereafter.

Damn, that was a lot. Thanks for reading! Go check out @where-does-the-heart-lie for all the cool art they did for this AU, but please don't bother them for more art. I'm pretty sure they're not all that into the AU anymore, but they do have a lot of other cool posts and a comic they're working on for the boys if you need more ASL bros content. They also made a post with several drawings they wanted to do after reading that correspond with several events in the story if you wanna check that out.

That's it for now! Good luck, y'all. I'll be back with some kinda writing soon-ish.

[sualocin]

"I wasn't lying when I said that I loved you." Ch. 2 - Untold Feelings

Emp!Commodus x reader

summary: commodus needs to know what was said earlier, so he goes to the one person who would willingly tell him.

content warning: angst, hurt / comfort, commodus being angry and intimidating

word count: 2.6k

a/n: i have too much time in my hands so i legit just wrote away because i could. Your name finally gets used this chapter ahhh! also forgive me for i have been going back and forth for years editing this chapter so ignore plot holes lmao

no beta reader we die like [insert reference here]

blog dividers by @cafekitsune!

masterlist . . . read it on ao3 . . .

Watching you leave in such a hurry with confusion, Commodus returned to cooling down and re-dressing. After he was fully dressed in his clean white tunic, he strapped on his dark brown leather armor with his matching white cape above it. He also sheathed his personal sword and his spare dagger that hides in his leather greaves. Finally, he places his crown of laurels back atop his head, the bronze leaves shining in the light of the sun. Standing in the courtyard, he steeled himself for whatever supposed royal annoyances were going to come his way soon now that he was done. Surprisingly, not one skittish scribe nor irritating member of senate rushed towards him as he made his way inside, they all avoided him and his gaze. Maybe it was the fierce glare he had plastered on his face from possibly letting a few hits get through his block, or maybe it was the conversation between you and Lucilla that he couldn’t quite make out that was bothering him. After all, at least from the corner of his view, you appeared to be concentrated on him, and only him, for the longest while. Until Lucilla showed up and stole your attention that is. He didn’t even register it within his mind that part of his attention was derived towards you and not towards the fight he was in. He reasoned that maybe today was just going to be one of those days, but the lack of people scampering toward him with arms full of scrolls indicated that it was in fact not one of those days. 

Commodus walked by the open doors to his sister’s chambers, hands folded behind his back., and caught sight of Lucilla conversing with Lucius. Desiring to ask her about what was said in that unheard conversation that took place just a short time ago, he slowly waltzed into the room with his jaw set and eyes focused. He wanted to know everything.

“-on’t want to be married?” was the first thing Commodus heard coming from his nephew’s mouth. As he approached the back of Lucilla’s chair, Lucius immediately shot up to greet his uncle. 

“D-” Lucilla started to say, but was interrupted by Lucius’ sudden movement and Commodus, who had placed his left hand on her right shoulder.

“It is a duty that must be done my dearest nephew, whether you want it or not, whether you are in love or not,” Lucilla glanced up towards her brother at his words, who glanced down at her in return as he took a breath.

“As the Emperor of Rome, it is my responsibility to marry and produce heirs so that our family’s bloodline can continue to reign,” Commodus said, looking straight at Lucius when he finished. Lucius just nodded his head at his uncle's words and ran over to give him a hug. Commodus accepted the hug with open arms, kneeling down to be closer to Lucius’ height. Even though his own father neglected to hug or praise him, Commodus was not going to let the same mistake happen to his nephew. No, he would at least make sure the boy grew up knowing he was loved and cherished always.

“But didn’t mother love father? Wasn’t their marriage arranged?” Lucius mumbles  quietly into Commodus’ leather chest plate. Commodus, not knowing how to reply to his nephew, just holds him closer and tighter for a second more before releasing him. Lucilla is the first to speak up after that.

“I did grow to love your father over time, even though it was arranged,” She says, eyes taking on a distant gaze as she thinks back to the past and everything she went through during those formative years. Lucius, caring deeply for his mother, moves to be by her side in order to comfort her with a hand on her leg and his head resting on her shoulder.

“Thank you my sweet Lucius,” She says as she runs her fingers through his long blonde hair and kisses the crown of his forehead softly.

“Now run along, I’m sure your uncle wanted to speak to me about something,” Lucilla pats his back and sends him on his merry way, most likely he was going to cause trouble among his tutors if anything. She then gets up from her chair and turns to face Commodus, seeing his jaw set back into that oh so familiar ‘Tell me all you know’ look.

“What is so important that you just had to disturb my time with Lucius? I was telling him about our family,” She almost scolds Commodus, eyes searching his face to try and find what this is all about. She finds nothing telling. Perhaps her ability to read through his mask is fading.

“What were you talking to Y/N about?” There is a slight desperation in Commodus’ voice, a clear telling that whatever was discussed between them had a tight hold on his mind.

It took Lucilla a couple seconds to respond, as she was deciding how she should go about this line of questioning. Commodus in the meanwhile was growing steadily more anxious while she collected her thoughts, his hands moving to twist and turn his rings.

“Why are you asking?” Is the only thing Lucilla could say at first. She herself did not know if he had overheard anything, and was concerned at his need to know about what you most likely considered a private conversation. 

Commodus took an immediate dislike to the tone he had perceived in his sister’s voice. Stepping closer into her personal space in an effort to almost intimidate her, he gazed down and furrowed his brows.

“Is that a tone of disrespect I hear dearest sister? Do you need me as the Emperor to command you to tell me? Or will you spill to your brother willingly?” He remarked, anxiety slipping from his form and rage replacing it as he was denied what he asked for so far. 

Unsettled with his fast change in being, Lucilla did what she does best. Calming her brother and spinning a story that will appease him. Taking a deep breath, she began her slightly modified, slightly true retelling of what happened.

“I noticed she was observing your little sparring session, and went over to engage her in conversation,” She said, eyes drilling into Commodus’, wanting him to fully understand her every word.

“She confessed to me that she is worried that you dislike her,” Commodus huffed at the words, unknowing that what she said so far is true (even if it is a tad bit under-exaggerated).  

“And she also confided in me that she is falling for you,” It was at these words that Commodus’ lips pulled back into a sneer.

“Do not lie to me sister,” He growled out, refusing to believe that you would say that after everything he has done to alienate and distance himself from you. Lucilla simply laughed before she continued on.

“I do not lie about this dear brother!” She exclaims before gazing upon Commodus with slanted eyes.

“If only you had seen the way she gazed upon your being. She looked at you as if you were a God,” She said, pausing to let him hear her words fully, hoping and praying to get him to understand that you aren’t so bad. That you aren’t so untrustworthy. That you look at him in a different light than he thinks.

“She is more caring and interested in you then she lets on,” Lucilla finished, inhaling sharply when Commodus’ eyes narrowed at her. Hopefully he had believed her, as what she said was in no part a whole lie, but simply based on observations she made.

Hearing the confession that you do indeed care for him had thrown him off guard. No one in his life had cared for him fully. Certainly not his father, who sought only to scold him, lecture him, and ignore him. Nor his sister, who was married off at a young age and had focused on other more important (to her) things. His mother, even though she had died when he was young, seemed somehow even less loving than his father, more placated to hand him off to various servants and tutors, than have anything to do with him. Truly, no one in his life had desired to care for him. Until you did. 

It was Lucilla’s words that hung around screaming in his skull. Commodus’ face fell as the realization finally hit him. His mind reeling at the notion that someone else cares about him. Him! The child no one had desired and left loveless. It was overwhelming almost to know your feelings of him, yet he had characteristically driven you away with his actions. He’d rather distance himself before the hurt could ever come. Feeling his eyes mist over, he sharply turned and started to walk out of the room. Only to be stopped by Lucilla’s voice.

“If you also truly care about her feelings, why do you push her away? I can see the affection for her in your eyes brother. Even if you try to hide it.”

Commodus took in a shuddering breath, forcing himself to remain composed. His fists clenched and unclenched in the process of willing the tears to go away. 

“I do not deserve someone like her,” Is all he said before he continued on.

Lucilla’s mouth dropped open in shock. To hear such words come from her own brother’s mouth? Unthinkable. No, impossible. He would never admit to a thought like that out loud. Not even in her presence. Closing her mouth, Lucilla thanked the Gods that you had not come when she asked, for now she had gotten to gather such amazing information to share with you.

Even though Lucilla asked you to come by after you were finished up in the courtyard, your embarrassed state chained you to your chambers. It was the fear of making a fool of yourself in front of everyone, which would have been even more embarrassing than earlier, that confined you from leaving for dinner. Gods, you don’t think you could even look at Commodus now without seeing him tunic-less, sweaty, and radiating like a god. If you had to sit near him at dinner? You’d simply spontaneously combust, which you personally did not enjoy the thought of doing. Even now, trying to not think about how divine Commodus looked earlier was failing. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire from thinking about it so often. At least you weren’t bothered while you passed the time by being lost in your thoughts. 

The moon was shining its light through the open windows when you had enough of sitting around thinking. Finally you had begun to shuffle out to go talk with Lucilla, greeting the soldiers standing guard outside your door as you did. (You were the betrothed of the Emperor after all, why shouldn't you have guards outside your door?) 

The halls were empty at this time of night, thank the Gods, since most people would be in their own rooms winding down from the day. The journey to her chambers was silent for the most part, just the sounds of your sandals on the polished floor and the occasional muted sounds behind closed doors. Stopping in front of the doors to her chambers, you nodded towards the guards, who in return, opened up a door for you.

In Lucilla’s chambers, moonlight was stretched across the floor below the windows and balcony. Dancing flames were doing their best to light up the rest of the room, only dimming slightly when a gentle breeze swept its way through the room. The coolness of the breeze caused you to pull your jade (picked out by Lucius this time, as it was his favorite color at the moment) palla closer around your shoulders to conserve some of your warmth. Lucilla, having heard the door open, turned around and greeted you with a gentle smile as you walked in. 

“Good evening Y/N, Lucius missed your presence at dinner,” She spoke softly, wanting you to know that your absence was noticed and that you had an eager future nephew to see tomorrow.

You gave her a small smile at her words, and walked toward her to give her a hug. Which she accepted readily, seeing as you were going to be considered sisters in a short time.

“Good evening Lucilla. I’ll tell Lucius I’m sorry the next time I see him, I just needed some time to myself is all,” You say still wrapped up in the hug.

Lucilla pulls back to have a good look at your face, eyes searching for something that she seemingly does not find. She closes her eyes and sighs, then motions for you to sit down somewhere. You sat in the chair closest to you, while Lucilla sat in one directly across from it. She seems to have something she needs to say, as she fidgets with the skirt of her beautiful turquoise stola. You exhale and then shut your eyes.

“You seem to have something to say to me, you have never fidgeted in front of me,”  You say, opening your eyes and observing her face as you finish.

She takes a deep breath before speaking, wanting to find the right words in her head for what she had learned from the conversation with Commodus earlier.

“Commodus came to speak with me after he was done. He wanted to know what we were speaking about,” Lucilla says slowly, hoping that you don’t immediately freak out. She thanks the Gods when you seem to still be calm. She didn’t know just how badly you were freaking out internally.

“Wha-? Why… Why did he want to know?” You question, not liking where this conversation is heading one bit. Out of habit, you begin to bounce your leg up and down to maintain your aura of calm. It doesn’t work at this point, you’re too anxious at what Lucilla has to say, but you can feel your heart racing. You feel like you could scream, but you will yourself to remain seated. You had to hear what she told him.

“I cannot honestly say why he did my dear, but I was at the very least truthful with him,” She confessed, eyes clenching shut at the memory of being almost threatened by her brother earlier. It is her admission that she was truthful that sends you spiraling. He knows now that you think he hates you. Maybe he celebrated at the revelation. Or maybe he thinks that you’re too sensitive. Your thoughts continue to circle down into a deep hole of worry and anxiety in the mere seconds it takes for Lucilla to breathe. She continues on, unaware of your declining thoughts.

“He seemed surprised that you would care for someone like him. So surprised in fact, that he sounded close to tears when he left. He even told me that he didn’t feel like he deserved someone like you,” She exposed that information like it was just some common knowledge. Her words didn’t hit you until midway through your own response.

“Lucilla! Why would you be truth-Oh… Oh Gods,” You stuttered, head falling into your hands and eyes getting misty. Your mind was racing to digest what she had just spoken to you. He knows you care for him now, she told him that. You caring for him, the great Emperor of Rome, brought him close to tears. And he felt like he didn’t deserve you? This has to be a lie, it has to be some funny made-up story. Whatever it is, it is not reality. 

heheheheh slight cliffhanger lmao

let me know if you want to be tagged on future chapters! and as always, thank you for reading :)

[physalian]

Plot Holes and How to Fill Them (Or, The Hidden Potential in Your Mistakes)

“But why didn’t they just do that earlier!”

“You can time travel – so time travel!”

“Doesn’t X have Y spell? Why aren’t they using it to escape?”

“You. Have. Telekinesis! How are you this stupid?”

Plot holes! The bane of every writer’s existence. You think you’ve polished your beautiful manuscript, you have it all sent out for the masses to consume and praise and shower with compliments and adoration… and then they start tugging at a thread that may or may not begin to unravel your entire story. You’ve read this thing top to bottom, forwards and backwards and upside down, so many times the letters are burned into your brain. You mumble your monologues in your sleep — how did you not see this? How do you fix this?

See this post about beginning the writing process that might help you avoid opening a plot hole entirely with a solid enough script and outline.

Types of Plot Holes

Your magic system’s established rules have just been broken for TeNSioN

Your Deus Ex Machina really did come out of nowhere and is quite out of character

Why doesn't Character just run away from a fight they can't win?

Characters forgetting they have superpowers, extreme intelligence, handy tools or weapons, survival skills, common sense, or crucial information to escape and/or solve a situation

Characters dying for the above mistakes when said death could have been avoided

The entire story could have been avoided had Character A just told Character B the truth

Character X should have known ___ all along given their profession/backstory/friend circle/education/personality

And variations of the above, I’m sure I’m missing a couple. Fixing plot holes generally come in two camps: Those you can fix by rewriting the existing manuscript that contains the hole, or those you have to work around from a previous manuscript that’s already been published.

Why Plot Holes Happen

Plot holes happen in reality. Expecting your first, second, or 15th draft to be completely foolproof is utter nonsense. Real people forget stuff they’re supposed to know all the time, tools that would be useful are left behind, GroupThink makes very bad decisions.

The difference is: You are writing fiction. Your goal is to be entertaining, not necessarily realistic. A character simply *forgetting* Macguffin X at the climax of the story does not make for an entertaining read, no matter how likely it might be to happen in the real world.

You’re making this entire world up as you go and that alone is an impressive feat millions of others can only dream about – cut yourself some slack, okay? Everything is fixable.

Plot holes also happen because we’re so engrossed in our own story that we forget it’s all made up. You’re 22 chapters into a 24 chapter novel and you’ve just realized your psychic hero would never have been caught unawares like this. “But that’s just how he is!”

No. Stop. That’s not just how he is. That’s just how you wrote him – and you can go back and un-write him. Any excuse you can dream up you can un-write, and unfortunately, you’ll likely have to do a fair bit of it if you still have the opportunity.

Plot holes generally open long after the inciting incident that causes them. If you’re going to fix it, duct-taping together a solution in that very same scene isn’t the way to do it. You have to figure out why it’s a hole at all, then go back and fix its foundations.

Finding Your Own Plot Holes

Sometimes you’re lucky enough to stumble upon them before it’s too late. A fair bit of the time, though, your audience has to tell you. Finding your own plot holes requires stepping back from your work and looking at it like you’re just a reader, not the author.

Read your plot out loud to yourself and keep asking questions like:

Does this make sense for the scene?

Does this only exist to look cool at the cost of logic?

Are these rules I wrote too easy to break or contradictory in any way?

Is there any other way for this character to escape this situation?

Is the only solution here too contrived?

That, and having an army of beta readers who should show you flaws you’ve overlooked. Even then, some things just aren’t obvious at all until someone too smart for their own good points out something no one else considered before.

It’s okay. It’s not the end of the world.

Filling Plot Holes

Fix your broken magic system

A “magic system” broadly describes any type of powers/abilities/supernatural entities that function in your world. They can be in high fantasy, urban fantasy, sci-fi, or any genre really. The Force is a magic system, as much as is bending in Last Airbender even if no one calls it “magic”.

For example: Force users are telekinetic… and yet don’t simply repeatedly spam the “chuck my enemies into a wall/off a cliff/anywhere that is away from me” button. It’s what you’d call a “soft” magic system, it doesn’t have explicit rules on how and when it can and should be used. It just *is*.

Fixing holes in your magic system first demands examining why you wrote it the way you did, why you gave it these specific rules, or why you didn’t, and all the ways characters should otherwise be able to use it when your story demands they get creative.

For soft magic systems — never let the magic system win the day. It invites far too much scrutiny. Gandalf from Lord of the Rings is a Wizard. He can do an undefined number of spells and has an unclear number of abilities and limit to his reach. Gandalf’s magic is never the saving grace of the Fellowship. So asking “why didn’t Gandalf just do X” isn’t ever a question people have because success never depends on Gandalf doing X.

Everyone hates on the time turner in Harry Potter, as they should. Time travel is essential to the plot of Prisoner of Azkaban, without it the heroes fail. And yet, because it is time travel, why it never existed earlier and why they never use it again to solve more massive plot problems is a valid question. As goes with many spells and abilities in the series.

For hard magic systems — remember that you wrote the rules, you can go back and change them at any time before it’s published. Bending in Last Airbender is rarely the focus of any conflict. Yes, two benders will fight each other, but it’s not “who’s the stronger bender,” it’s “who’s smarter with their element”. Who better uses their environment? Which one is racing against a clock before reinforcements arrive and overwhelm them? Which one runs the risk of exposing themselves if they start bending? Whose mental state is crippling their bending today?

These are all character-driven explanations for why certain abilities do or don’t manifest in a given scene… until the finale when it really is just a clash of red and blue aura lasers.

There is never a scene where a character is trapped when they shouldn’t be. Never a “why didn’t you just X” moment, because it’s never about the bending, it’s about the bender.

Turn plot-reasons into character-reasons

This means taking a “why don’t they just do X” and making the reason because one of the protagonists is morally against doing it, not because the hand of the author demands it.

In Last Airbender, Aang is vocally against simply killing the Fire Lord. It would be easier, it would risk far less casualties and carnage, it’s fastest. And yet. Aang doesn’t do it simply because he’s not strong enough or he doesn’t have some magical super weapon, or the stars have aligned and now he’s lost a very convenient ability – Aang doesn’t want to take the easy road because that’s who he is as a person.

He’s been raised as a monk to value the preservation of life above all else (ignoring any accidental casualties over the course of the series). Him being desperate to not simply kill Ozai is central to his character and even when he has the chance in the climax of the fight, he still doesn’t take it.

Now “why didn’t you do that earlier” does, still, concern the “energy bending” established out of nowhere just for the finale so Aang doesn’t have to compromise his morals to win… but the show is so damn good and Ozai’s just desserts so damn sweet it doesn’t really matter.

Making these plot decisions character decisions, so long as they are in-character, gives some juicy potential for schisms within Team Protagonist as fan favorites clash over ideals and morals and whether or not the greater good is worth them sacrificing something so central to their being.

This also applies to characters not sharing crucial information with each other. Make them distrustful of the others, or let them attempt it anyway and have some other consequence for the effort. Anything is better than a character sitting on valuable info simply to maintain the mystery.

Avoid Deus Ex Machinas

The “surprise reinforcement cavalry charge” is one of my favorite deus ex machinas in fantasy. Everybody cheers, it looks amazing, the music is swelling, our heroes on the battlefield realize they haven’t been forsaken by their friends, etc. In Lord of the Rings, yes, Theoden could have arrived 30 minutes earlier and saved even more lives, but we already knew he was on his way moving as fast as he could without exhausting his horses. Theoden’s army also took care of the bulk of the battle so when Aragorn arrives with the second surprise reinforcements, it’s less a decisive blow that comes out of nowhere and more the victory lap.

In “Battle of the Bastards,” Game of Thrones has its third surprise cavalry charge of the series, only this one much more explicitly comes to save the day. The difference between this scene and Theoden’s charge is: Audiences had no idea Littlefinger was on his way, and neither did Jon Snow. Had Sansa told him she had a plan, Jon could have waited. He wasn’t backed against a wall and forced to fight right then and there, he could have stalled an extra hour by just not showing up to the battlefield to wait for his cavalry. With Sansa inexplicably not telling him, she risked his life and the lives of his entire army because the hand of the writers wanted to keep it a surprise. Worst of all, when the battle is over, he compliments her decision, despite all the blood on her hands.

Surprise reinforcements, saviors, powers, and abilities always run the risk of “why didn’t they do that earlier” and you should be asking yourself the same question. If you can’t come up with an explanation other than “because it’ll look cool” go back to the drawing board.

Or, have your very own characters pissed that the savior didn’t just do that earlier. Have your characters ask where this special power was, have it mean something to them and the story at large. Had Jon been angry with Sansa, given their incredibly pyrrhic victory and the potentially avoidable death of their youngest brother, it might’ve made for some interesting character drama.

Give your saving graces deadly costs

“Why didn’t they just do X earlier?”

“Because doing X would have killed Character D, dummy.”

Giving your super special magic, mutant, super, or supernatural powers costs, drawbacks, and limitations forces the characters who use them to not resort to them every single chance they get. Their magic drains their physical stamina, or the demon they made a deal with camping in their brain threatens to overtake their psyche, or the sword is cursed and every time the hero raises it in battle, they lose a little piece of themselves. Or, using this creepy power strains their relationship with their friends or community.

Without risk and consequences, you cannot avoid “why didn’t they do that earlier,” because the only answer you have to give is “because I, the author, said so.” The only time a character is allowed to have selective amnesia about their superpowers is if it’s been established beforehand as a potential problem. Then it’s not “this came out of nowhere.” Then your audience is dreading the entire time waiting for that chekhov’s gun to fire.

Don’t compromise your story for sensationalism

I can complain about ~subverting expectations~ in another post, but what I mean here is this: Are you writing this scene purely for shock value, for the sake of a twist, because a story this grim demands at least one character death, or because it’s going to look epic?

In this post about pacing and this post about how to write tone, I talked about making your scenes pull double duty. You can write a scene for shock and awe, but if it’s at the expense of a character’s integrity or intelligence, come up with another way to make it spectacular.

You want the villain to monologue to give the heroes time to save the world? Then write a villain with an ego and personality that would monologue. You want the hero to be a one-man-army? Then write their personality as the lone wolf type and have it be a flaw of theirs that they keep striking out alone, consequences be damned.

You absolutely need the hero to not take the easy road and fight the bad guy without using their most effective weapon? Give them a reason to stall this fight. Maybe they really do need to simply run out a clock, or they don’t actually want to kill/subdue their opponent, or in doing so, the villain’s death is what causes the Bad Thing to happen.

If I write a character that can kill with just a look, every time I put them in a dangerous situation I need to then justify why they don’t do that over and over again, unless it’s by their own stubborn integrity that they choose not to.

If I write a villainous plan so devious and well thought out, the only thing standing in the way is living protagonists? I need a reason the villain doesn’t just murder the heroes every chance they get. Maybe they’re internally struggling over actually going through with it, or their ego demands the hero doesn’t get a quick or honorless death, or they do actually need a living hero for the plan to work.

Fixing Plot Holes in Sequels

All of the above is advice for issues within the same manuscript. What happens if you’ve already published and have the chance to address a known plot hole in the sequel?

About the worst thing you can do is slap in a throwaway line or hasty explanation to cover your ass. Everyone reading and watching will notice. Saying nothing is better than saying that.

See the duct-tape in Rise of Skywalker when the heroes explained that they couldn't just hypersspace-jump another ship into the enemy fleet because it worked so horribly effectively last time. Doesn't matter that they could have put it on autopilot or sacrificed a droid, or that, at any point in the history of Star Wars, someone else could have and should have done this desperate maneuver. For the sake of "looking cool" it opened an entire sinkhole.

Less a “hole” and more an inconsistency — the pegasus Blackjack in Percy Jackson is explicitly a mare, a female horse, in one book, and then inexplicably male in later books. Why? Well the author made a mistake, simple as that. He did *not* attempt to explain this error away or dig the hole deeper. It just is. Though I’m not sure why Blackjack couldn’t just stay a mare and how he didn’t reference the previous book when writing the sequel is a bit baffling.

If your heroes can no longer use the Deus Ex Machina they used before – have them attempt to use it, and then come up with a solid reason why it’s not possible. Maybe it was one-time use, or the savior simply doesn’t want to, or the cost/risk is too high to attempt it again, or it simply can’t be found and it’s very frustrating.

Have the heroes be morally opposed to doing what they did before, or overconfident, or skeptical that it will even work again only for that choice to bite them in the ass later. Have the magic item all used up, the recipe to recreate it lost to history. There’s a hundred better excuses than the hand of the author simply saying so.

—

If you aren’t going to write a sequel and you accept living with the plot hole unfilled… chances are people are going to love the story despite its flaws. Harry Potter is the poster child of “why didn’t they use X spell to solve the problem” or “they have a spell for X, yet they don’t have a spell for Y?” and how many people love that story?

In the end, a plot hole can be tiny or massive and chances are the story you told is entertaining enough to make up for it. It’s just a story, it’s just fiction. Learn from your mistakes so the next piece you create is even better.

[rorja]

Hiiiii! We've been absent for a while (rja the only one keeping this blog alive) because we are working on a very long fanfic.  It's a rewritten jjk plot to fill all the plot holes (but also adding new stories..) from Gojo and Geto's high school to their adult days.  There will be two readers, and ofc to avoid confusion they will have names so.. yeah. They're the so hated ocs that we fanfic writers are afraid to put out.  This story has been in our drafts since november of the last year and after so many "let's keep going", "let's rewrite everything" and "okay enough I need a break" we thought it's been time that we need to be brave.  So we wanted to share with you the two ocs and a teaser of the first chapter will come out in a few days.  ⸻YURIKO IORI

First year along with Nanami, Haibara and Marja. She's from the Iori clan and is Utahime's cousin. Her mother had been involved in a scandal about binding vows with curses that brought the elders to condamn her to the death penalty. Yaga, and old friend, pleaded them to spare her daughter and to give her custody to him, promising to take care of her and assuring she would not take the same path as her mother. Yaga took care of her, to the point he sees her as his own daughter. 

Personality: 

After so many years of being criticized because of her mother, she's a natural introvert that hides a lot her feelings. She's an open book only to Yaga and her friend Marja… and later also Gojo: her aloof attitude firstly irritated him, then appealed him and then it will be the fake walls he knew so well she liked to put up to avoid confrontation and dealing with her problems by herself.  When teased, she has the ability to think of very mean clapbacks in few seconds and that is the main object of Geto and Gojo's fun towards her. But in reality, she is very kind and loving to her friends, often taking the role of the one taking care of others however only Shoko sees her as a little cat that hisses but instead wants cuddles (and wants to be spoiled).  She's very smart, being one of the best first year student along with Nanami, her only weakness being math. Like Utahime, she loves music and plays the guitar alone in her dorm room and can be always heard humming songs. 

Relationships:

Marja's best friend. Her friendship with Nanami was born thanks to their time spent studying together. Haibara admires her ability to be so organized and smart, often preaching she's born a natural leader which frustrates her because she never received compliments like that. (He's find her also scary when she's angry). 

Her relationship with Gojo at first is only based on bickering, due to his arrogant personality that teases her to get a reaction and attention that he wants so badly but doesn't understand why. After the star plasma vessel arc, they get even more awkward. Even if both of them focus more on mission to avoid the school ground and process what they had been through, Gojo will manifest his dislike and worry of her career by calling her weak or diminishing her achievements causing many fights and long period of silence between the two. Everything will change after Geto's betrayal, Gojo's pain will finally show his true colors that will make friends that spend the nights together talking and reflecting about everything to the point of finally admitting their feelings for each other. 

Fun facts: 

She's an october libra as she was born October 16th. Though she's not fond of astronomy, she likes to indulge Marja. 

Yuriko would often be caught by Yaga trying to help both Marja and Haibara cheating midst their exams, throwing at them paper balls with the correct answers (which are useless because she has a terrible chicken writing)

Marja is responsible for her most used nickname: Riko-chan. Then later used by the whole group as an inside joke to make fun of her.

She is the only one that knows how to manipulate (fully on the term!) Marja. 

Yuriko is a bit of a perfectionist; something that is very well-known among the group, making her get along well Nanami. Indeed, he was the first one she befriended at school and the two of them would be often spotted on campus studying together. ⸻MARJA SATOU

First year along with Haibara, Nanami and Yuriko. She comes from the Satou clan and is the only heir, though she's not that well accepted in the family because her father is a foreigner, making her only half japanese. Regardless, she does not get along with her father, often scared of him to a fault because of the insane pressure due to her unusual cused tcursed technique and his tight connection with an italian cult. Her past is the reason behind the binding vow limiting her own technique.

Personality:

Marja is a very energetic girl, but her energy is mainly focused on having fun with her friends or pulling Yaga's last strings of patience. The group first hang together because of her: indeed, it all started when Marja and Shoko got paired up in the morgue and they started to work together. On her part, Marja is an ambivert girl that at first glance could pass up for an introvert, but it's when she gains confidence that her real personality takes an unexpected turn and it gets revealed her playful, laid-back and lazy true persona. Naturally this side comes out mostly with Yuriko. She shares some personality traits with Haibara, which is the main reason they get along so well to be called by the others 'twins'. Marja is quick to adapt to every situation she's in, without as much as to blink. It comes natural to her. But underneath her carefree personality, she hides a more mature side which is not often on display, not even with her best friend Yuriko and that is something that finds its root in her troubling past. Marja doesn't seem to take her job as jujutsu sorcerer seriously, but her words often tend to contradicts what she really feels or thinks. Her complexity lies in the fact that her morals are not defined nor she has firm beliefs, which is something that she carries from her childhood and could end up clouding her judgment.

Relationships:

Yuriko's best friend. She loves hanging out with Haibara, often preaching they are platonic soulmates or twin siblings in another life. Marja also gets really along with Shoko, as the two of them would spend most of their time closed inside the morgue either to tend to their researches or learning bits of medicine with the same professor. The only person Marja doesn't get along with is Gojo Satoru, for their personalities would often clash and crash. Nonetheless, their bickering could be considered as that of a siblings relationship, as none of the two gets taken seriously by the group.

Her relationship with Geto begins one-sided, for Marja develops a crush on the boy the months that followed the school's start. Their relationship begin very subtly but steadily, and somewhere along the road Suguru starts to feel the same way about the girl. Back in high school, Geto is seen to care for and spoil the girl a lot, even in something small as sharing their meal. Even so, Marja tends to be a bit clueless to Suguru's own way of showing his affection, believing that the boy treats her the same way as the other members of the group. After the blood vessel incident, both of them start to drift apart but after Geto's defection things only seem to worsen: on the very night Suguru massacred a whole village, he ended up hurting Marja as well which is something he would feel guilty about his whole life. On the days that followed his betrayl, it becomes painfully aware to everyone how much Suguru loved Marja, as he kept some polaroids of her between his poetry books. They of course don't see each other for a long time, and even though they share the same feelings, they will never have the chance to confess to each other. 

Fun facts: 

she absolutely despises Gojo Satoru and when she noticed that Yuriko had crush for the very same guy, she almost killed herself. For this very reason Marja is responsible for most of Satoru's nicknames: from snowflake to mess of limbs. She gets very creative when it comes to badmouth the guy.

She was born on June 27th, making of her a cancer. She likes to indulge in western astronomy and likes to make it everyone's problem (mostly Yuriko, who is always the victim no.1 of Marja's interests!)

She uses a family's heirloom that controls the wind to fight, for her cursed technique is quite useless in combat.

Marja is known to have a weird interest for the human's brain, whether it is in dissecting bodies together with Shoko in the lab or having a small figure of a brain on her desk.

Yuriko is responsible for her most used nickname: Ricchan. Then later used by the whole group as an inside joke to make fun of her.

If you have any kind of questions, please ask us because we want to talk (yap!!) about this project so badly and a post isn't enough!

[hey-august]

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 3

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, check out the story tag)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: This chapter is SFW (again). The story will eventually be NSFW. Some profanity. Buggy x afab!reader.

A/N: The plot building got out of hand with this entire story - sorry to those waiting for this to get hotter! I started writing the first spicy section, which should happen in Chapter 5. Thanks for your patience and I hope you're still enjoying this story!

Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Buggy wasn’t sure if you would actually be interested in reading another book with him. He had a story in mind - a coming-of-age, but to Buggy, it was a mystery. The book was about two boys who became friends one humid summer.

The memory of where it came from disappeared long ago and all that remained were the reasons why Buggy kept the book through the different stages of his life. He wanted to know how the story ended. How that story ended. But ignorance was easier than reading, and fear was stronger than curiosity.

Your agreement to read with him was freeing. He felt lighter, as though his body would disconnect at each junction and his limbs would float apart without any effort. But there was a tether that kept him together - a string that had him connected to you, through the pages of a book. The outward pressure was what he needed to finally see that story to the end, whatever it may be.

The second book, titled “Rocks on the River,” was good. Really good. Buggy was pleased to read a note in the second chapter full of excitement and praise for how well-written the story was. He even circled your comment and added a checkmark, as if it was any other passage in the book that he approved of.

The author captured the carefree levity and gracelessness of childhood. The fictional duo - Harrison and Writt - would sneak out at night to swim in the watering hole, share stolen beer, and talk about a world bigger than they knew. During the day, they navigated the challenges of growing up in a small town full of strict expectations, unnecessary interpersonal conflicts, and demands to leave adolescence behind. 

As the story unfolded, so did Buggy’s past. Memories unfurled slowly, aching as they stretched out the creases from being stored for so long. They woke up quietly, almost as though they were always awake and waiting to speak. The need to be shared pushed the once organized queue, jostling the order until the long forsaken memories were clamoring for control of the pen. A chance to escape arrived with one chapter detailing a frustrating fight between the boys. An argument began with two different versions of the same truth and ended with a scuffle where Writt broke Harrison’s nose.

“I had a friend like this growing up... He was a total shithead.”

That was all Buggy planned to share. It was more than enough.

One night, with river rocks at their backs and the stars overhead, Harrison asked Writt if they would be friends in another lifetime. The sandy haired boy tossed a rock towards the sky and caught the smooth stone with an outstretched hand. “No…I think we’d be brothers.”

Buggy had finished the chapter before going back to that section. The words stuck to him uncomfortably. They were irritating but nostalgic, like sand clinging to damp skin. As much as he tried to brush away the past, he couldn’t let it go. And maybe a small part of him didn’t want to let it go. The pirate told himself that it wasn’t hope or remorse, but a reminder about the pain of betrayal. The same reasoning applied when he saw the question you penned after reading that chapter.

“Were you and your friend close like these two?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“He wasn’t who I thought he was.”

You could see the lingering hurt in how the words were nearly carved into the paper. Even in the dim light, shadows settled into the deep grooves. Running a finger over the indents, a sense of guilt washed over you. This was the first time you asked questions unrelated to the story, but maybe you had crossed a line. The secrecy of sharing books made you feel closer to a stranger who might not reciprocate the fondness. 

The answer also unlocked an adjacent fear - that you might also be a disappointment. Just as you hadn’t expected to move onto a second book, you also weren’t sure if you would ever have an opportunity to put a name and a face to the other reader. Storing the second thought away for another version of you that could withstand preemptive rejection, you thought about how to respond to the reader’s pain. With a few swipes of your pen, you left a short acknowledgement and appreciation that they shared this piece of themselves with you.

Unlike the first book, there weren’t as many moments that required in-depth commentary or questions to untangle intent because this was a cohesive and well-thought story. The space that remained was used to share anecdotes and moments where the highs and lows of friendship were captured too well. With each unprompted recollection, you realized there wasn’t a boundary that you cut apart with an invasive question. 

Comforted that the connection was still intact, you also exchanged moments from growing up that stung decades later. One brutish story pushed you around and threatened a headache if you held onto it any long. Aware that the memory would force you to stay awake and stare at the ceiling of your small cabin while you scrutinized every mistake your past-self committed, you decided it would be less damaging to let it go free. Before you could change your mind, you began penning your own personal history.

Childhood friends had lied to you about meeting up in a nearby park. You waited by the east entrance where a crowd began to gather. Your friends weren’t present and the collection of people turned out to be participants in a footrace. For over an hour you waited and when faced with having to admit you were stood-up, you chose a different path. You pretended to be a racer. Even though you were dressed for an afternoon out, you  huffed and puffed your way through the course and your strappy sandals carried you to the finish line.

“OBVIOUSLY they didn’t think you were there to race if you were wearing a goddamn sundress.” The loopy handwriting was loose and each curve struggled to stay on course due to the writer laughing with their whole body while transcribing the note.

“Yeah well where the hell were you that day? Logic and anxiety don’t always go hand in hand.” You added a frowny face, knowing it would only add to the humor of an otherwise humiliating moment.

Unfortunately, the joy captured in the pages of the book didn’t last. As the story came to an end, so did Harrison and Writt’s friendship. 

Buggy was the first to read the final chapter. He finished long after the sun rose. Normally, a long night of reading would leave him with dry eyes, but not this time. The bright beams stung his eyes, which were already sore from crying and ached from reading without glasses. When the tears began falling, they came fast and spilled onto the lenses. Frustrated with having to frequently wipe his eyes and the glasses separately, Buggy tossed them aside and hunched over the tormenting book. 

Years later, Writt thought back to a crisp morning, one only found at the edge of summer. One morning he spent waiting at the river for a friend who would never appear. For a friend who disappeared without a goodbye and without a trace. When school started that autumn, none of the teachers knew where Harrison was, just that his enrollment was pulled unexpectedly. After searching through the changing seasons, Writt eventually gave up on learning where Harrison and his family moved to. Sometimes, he felt the memories of the summer months slipping away. Whenever Writt felt lonely, he’d find himself laying in the shallow river water and tossing a stone to the sky. Coming back to the present, Writt was surprised to see a familiar face in another town. A face that was older, having grown a few wrinkles, and carrying the weight of life. Harrison nearly looked past Writt before recognition dawned on his face. A familiar smile grew, sitting crookedly under a nose that was broken long ago. Writt returned the smile. The boys - now men - were strangers. Time had passed, wearing them away, like rocks in a river. 

---

You were just finishing breakfast when word came around that today was a “nothing” day. Every few months at sea, the captain would announce a day where nothing except necessary tasks were completed. If anything could be postponed or skipped, it was. The extra time became free for the crew to use as they desired. Most would use it to catch up on sleep, while others would take advantage of extra practice sessions, and others would corral their friends into playing games and drinking the day away.

You had one required duty for the day and would have almost an entire day free after restocking the infirmary. Before getting started, you stopped by the bench to see if you were lucky enough to have something to fill your day.

Struggling to carry the boxes and containers you stacked far too high, you kicked open the infirmary door and startled the sole occupant. The captain cussed loudly as he slammed a draw shut on his hand. The thick fabric of his glove and the slow moving, sticky drawer prevented any actual digit pinching, but adding to the superficial injury were a few boxes that slipped off your teetering pile and fell onto his feet. They weren’t heavy, but still unwelcome.

“Sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be in here!” you cried out while shuffling through the obstacles on the floor until you reached the table and could release the rest of the inventory.

“It’s a pirate ship, of course people are going to be in the infirmary,” Buggy grumbled. A floating hand dropped off the boxes of bandages and gauze that fell to the floor before returning to its search of the drawers. “You got anything for headaches in that mess?”

“Mmm, I should. Give me a second, Captain.”

Buggy watched as you rummaged through the mess. After a moment, you sighed and started searching by organizing the different supplies. Tossing similar items into piles, you uncovered the book you used as a base for carrying the ungainly amount of items. A book that Buggy had slipped under a bench less than an hour ago. Barely using his throbbing brain, he turned towards the door. Before he could make a hasty exit, a hold on his coat sleeve stopped him.

“Wait, I found ‘em. You should take some extras, in case the first dose doesn’t take care of it all.” You pressed two packets into his hand. Looking up, you were greeted by a wash of red. Aside from his usual nose, the captain’s eyes were deeply bloodshot. The crimson color eclipsed the usual cool tones of his eyes and were a stark contrast against skin that was paler than usual. His mouth was tight and his Adam's apple bobbed with a nervous swallow. 

“Is it just a headache, Captain? You don’t look good…” You reached up to see if he had a fever burning under the facepaint, but a hand on your wrist stopped your movement.

“I’m fine. It’s just a headache,” Buggy said with a clipped voice that indicated the end of that topic. “Looks like you have something to spend your ‘nothing’ day on.” He tilted his head towards the table with the book. “No need to worry about me, just take care of whatever you’re doing.” He turned and left, pursued by the guilt of knowledge. Guilt from taking away your anonymity and leaving you to deal with the sad ending alone.

But you weren’t alone. The still damp spots from tears that were poured into the book were company enough.

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

So, after spending a few weeks recovering from a mild-ish concussion and some whiplash from the waffle maker hitting me in the head, one of my coworkers brought strep throat to school with them and I caught a mild strain of it. I recovered the week before my birthday, thankfully. Two days after my birthday, however, I got sick from one of my relatives, and I'm almost entirely back to feeling normal again. My drive to write is pretty high now, which is nice after suffering the worst bout of writer's block I've ever had.

Also, I got the chance to read the new Sunrise on the Reaping book while I was down for the count, and I just feel like screaming and crying and throwing myself down the rabbit hole of yet another Hunger Games AU.

Not happening... yet.

However, I do know when, who, and what it would cover when I choose to do so, which is great. If you care to join me in the rabbit hole at least a little bit, I'll put a bit of what I've got for it so far down below, but for now, here's a not-so-short update on my current stories.

Same Trailer, Different Park:

I am currently on page 29 of the next part of STDP. I've been working on it off and on, but seem to have found a sticking point, so that's an issue I'll get around to once my drive to write the next segment of The End Is Near has come and gone. I will say, though, that there are quite a few things I'm excited about in this chapter. I won't say too much because then I'd spoil the whole thing, but some keywords will be entertaining for you to try to deep dive on, I suppose.

Populer... lar.

Osborne.

Mercedes.

That last one is one that I've been working on for quite some time and probably will only make sense if you go way back in my posts to—I don't know—July 22, 2022. There is one thing that hints at it—only one. 😉

The End Is Near:

I keep going back to this one because of how the last season ended, but I'm only on page 22. I will say, I have a lot planned because, from the second chapter onward, I go almost completely off the rails from the original source material because I have different characters and plot points than the show. The first chapter followed pretty closely, but from here on, there are only occasional mentions of events from the show because my characters and their families are vastly different from the ones in the show. However, I'll give you a brief character comparison and maybe a blurb or two.

Riven = Maddie. The main character who somehow ends up in the afterlife with no recollection of their death. They're trying to remember how they died, but all they get are small flashbacks of the day they reportedly went missing.

Kona = Charley. Both nineties kids who are very sweet and kind to those they care about, but aren't afraid to speak their mind. Their deaths are different - Charley died of anaphylaxis and Kona of drowning. Kona died in December of 1994 at only 14.

Juliet = Wally. Our fabulous 80s babes! Wally died during a football game and Juliet died from a falling stage light, but both give off the same jock-ish vibes with their neon Spandex (Juliet) and letterman jacket (Wally). They both were known at the time to be a bit mean to others for their reputation's sake, but Juliet was more a Heather MacNamara than a Heather Chandler, if you get what I mean. Juliet died in March of 1989 at 18.

Makana = Rhonda. Rhonda is much more on the dark academia side of the sixties than Mick is. Though Mick loves her music and poetry, she is less dark than Rhonda is, though her humor can, at times, be on the darker side. Rhonda was strangled by her guidance counselor in Spring of 1963, whereas Mick was strangled by her boyfriend in January of 1968. Both were killed for the same reason - leaving their hometown to attend college. Mick had been accepted to Berklee College of Music in Boston.

Ethan = Dawn. Dawn and Ethan are from 1972 and 1973, respectively. Everyone assumes Ethan died because of drugs because of the decade (like they did to Dawn in the show), but his actual cause of death was something innocent. He was at the school, helping his band set up for a fundraising concert over the summer. Someone came through while he was setting up speakers and knocked his drink over, spilling it onto a plug without him knowing. The speaker started glitching and the volume started spazzing out, so he tried to change the frequency, only to electrocute himself. He doesn't care what the others say about his death as he knows the truth about what happened and doesn't like blaming his death on others. He just enjoys the fact that he has an endless supply of blunts in the afterlife.

Butchy = Janet. Butchy died on April 14, 1956. Fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck. They're not totally similar, but close. I will say, though, Butchy definitely had a thing going on between himself and Mick. That's all you get for now.

Mr. Fletcher = Mr. Martin. Mr. Fletcher died on May 4, 1956, in an explosion in the automotive wing of the vocational building. Only one character of mine fits this role, and it'll be fun to explore.

-----

Blurb 1 - The Teacher's Lounge:

Feeling a foot nudge his thigh, Riven twisted onto his back to find Makana sitting on the back of the couch with a book in her hand, watching as teachers filled the room. “Wake up, Tootsie Roll. This is the best time of the day.”

Groaning as he stretched, sat up, and looked around at the teachers, Riven asked, “What’s happening?”

Dog-earing her book - an action Vivien would’ve had her head for - Makana said, “This is the lounge - the one place in this hell-hole where these underpaid sad sacks let their guards down and say whatever they want about whoever they want. We get to hear the drama, the gossip, who they think is dating or cheating, and most importantly, who in this room is boning who.”

Riven made a face of clear disgust as Makana bounced off of the couch and he muttered, “Gross. Why on earth would I want to know that? They’re all in their forties or close to it. That would be like asking my dad.”

“It’s like a soap opera, actually. It’s sort of entertaining,” Makana said. As she sauntered over to Vivien’s dad and leaned close, she muttered, “Kona thinks I’m insane, but there’s no way this guy is half as nice as he seems outside of school hours.”

“He is,” Riven argued quickly. “That’s my second dad. He’s a genuinely nice man.”

Glancing between Riven and one of the female teachers, Makana said, “Some of the other teachers thought he was banging Ms. Dodds two years ago. If he’s cheating on your dad-”

Riven quickly shook his head, then winced at the way the movement made his head spin. “Not like that,” he said. “He’s my best friend’s dad. He’s not dating my dad, he’s just… he’s like another dad to me.”

“Oh, boo,” Makana sighed, almost sounding disappointed by the lack of drama in Riven’s statement. Turning back to Mr. O’Brian, she said, “Anyway, there’s no way he didn’t get a hair transplant or something. His forehead was three inches higher last year.”

Sending the brunette a look, Riven asked, “You measured his forehead?”

Makana chortled, “Hun, I followed him to the lavatory, that’s not all I’ve measured.”

“I can’t believe you’d actually do that,” Riven muttered, shuddering at the thought.

Stepping away from the teacher, Makana shrugged, “Not the worst thing I’ve seen or done in my afterlife. Besides, Ms. Dodds said he was packing, and she wasn’t wrong.” Making her way past Riven, she glanced down at him and smirked, “Don’t be discouraged, though. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Instinctively covering his lap with a pillow as Makana headed toward the coffee machine, Riven tried to pretend his face wasn’t flushed with embarrassment as Makana grabbed a cinnamon roll from the counter and began eating it, perching herself on the edge of the counter and listening to the teachers chatter. Were the other ghosts so… snoopy? He sure hoped not. One was bad enough.

-----

Blurb 2 - Movie Night:

Grabbing a handful of what little popcorn remained in the bowl and tossing it at his twin, Oliver groaned, “Boo!”

Tossing a few kernels back at her brother, Abby scoffed, “I’ll castrate you in your sleep.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Oliver retorted, tossing a mini peanut butter cup at Abby.

“Good,” Abby smirked, reeling back a handful of gummy sharks.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Vivien laughed, stopping the food fight as she latched onto her siblings’ wrists. “First of all, you guys are going to make my bed look like the floor of the Pizzaplex movie theater after a new Marvel movie release. Second, don’t throw the gummy sharks; that’s animal abuse.”

Oliver, the human vacuum, began picking up pieces of popcorn from the bed and tossing them into his mouth as he muttered, “Sorry.”

Watching her brother pick up shreds of popcorn, Abby sat back against the headboard beside Vivien, toying with the gummy sharks in her hand as she asked, “Is it still considered animal abuse if I’m hitting another animal?”

“Abs,” Vivien said with an amused yet still slightly reprimanding tone in her voice. “Be nice.”

“Look at him,” Abby said, gesturing to their brother as he shoveled the remaining popcorn into his mouth. “He’s practically a raccoon. Scouring for any morsel of food in every room.”

Letting out a soft snort, Vivien elbowed Abby and whispered, “Just be grateful he didn’t eat you in the womb.”

Choking on one of her snacks as she barked out a laugh, Abby covered her mouth with her hand and sent Vivien an accusatory look. Vivien merely smirked as Abby eventually grinned and said, “Maybe he’s like Kirby. He gains HP every time he eats something.”

Snagging one of the gummy sharks from Abby’s hand, Vivien took a bite of its tail and sighed, “At least I won’t have to worry about creepy crawlies in my bed. He never misses a crumb.”

Shrugging, Abby placed the rest of her gummies in the bag they came in, rolling it up tightly and setting it on the nightstand as Oliver put away the laptop and remarked, “I’ll have you know, I think being compared to Kirby is a compliment.”

“You would,” Abby teased as she pulled back the blankets and settled under the covers.

-----

Now, if you've hung around this long, I thank you for your dedication and interest! I got distracted by a bag of Doritos while writing this, so honestly, you're better than I am! As I mentioned at the start of this long-winded post, I have a bit of a Glory and Gore/Scattered Screams prequel idea.

In one of the two stories (I believe I was more detailed in Scattered Screams), I mention that Mack and Brady were victors and what their arenas had been like. I've decided to expand that to also include Lela and Butchy's stories. My original outline was pretty... simplistic. It was a basic, bullet-point note on my phone that had little to no hearty information. Revising this wasn't difficult, but figuring out their timeline further on was, for some reason.

Just a quick note before we jump in:

The 25th Hunger Games (the first quarter quell) was made so that those reaped were voted on by district members. There were (presumably) no volunteers allowed. President Snow said in Catching Fire, "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes that who would represent it."

Anyway, by my calculations of their birthdays and ages, Brady and Mack would have been born the years of the 23rd and 24th Hunger Games, respectively. Brady was born the 30th of September, putting him at 12 almost 13 for his first reaping, and 18 nearly 19 for his last eligible year. Mack, however was born the 19th of March, making her in the same age bracket as Brady due to their birthdays.

Keeping true to the storyline of Mack being raised by her grandpa, Mack's mom, at 18, is reaped for the 25th Hunger Games. She begs for someone to volunteer because she needs to take care of her baby, but nobody does. She is still sent into the arena and ends up second overall, dying after an hours-long fight with the only other tribute remaining, a seventeen-year-old Career from 2.

Fifteen years later, Mack is a young programmer at a factory that makes programs that eventually become the tools the Gamemakers use to control the arena. Being younger than everyone else in her unit, she works alongside some of the people who grew up with her mother, something she takes great pride in. They tell her stories of her mother and how excited she was to be a mother.

When the reaping comes, Mack is relatively unbothered. She has very few slips in the bowl, nobody she cares enough for to volunteer, and has always followed the rules per her grandpa's instructions. However, as we all know, she is reaped. Despite her family's legacy, as her mother's death looms over her family's name, Mack is not volunteered for.

Two years later, one of the boys on her team of programmers, a guy she vaguely remembers from school - Brady - volunteers to take the place of his younger brother (I swear I wrote that he has siblings, but I can't remember their names anymore lmao). Although Brady seems to know more about Mack than she does about him, her way of mentoring him actually seems to work.

When he's thrust into the arena, she sends him reassurances alongside his sponsor gifts. Naturally, when he wins, she advocates for him to be left unchanged by the Capitol surgeons, and they gradually end up falling in love and having Mick.

Along the way, during their trips to deliver supplies to District 6, Mick meets a boy a year older than her who happens to be Butchy, her future husband.

Now, I do have a lot more to go with, especially with Butchy and Lela's games, but I won't go too off the rails right now as I kind of want to get back to writing STDP.

Butchy had volunteered to save Miles when Miles was fifteen and Butchy was sixteen. Mick, knowing this, freaked the fuck out and asked her parents to help protect him in the arena (a casino). Butchy doesn't know this, but the pair saved him at the cost of their own tribute.

Lela, on the other hand, won at 14. Like her brother, she volunteered for a friend. After scoring only a four, she went to the arena (an abandoned castle) and managed to hide out until she was one of the last two tributes. Given her appearance in my AUs, she clearly won.

So, yeah, I have a bit of a thing planned, and it will tie them all together in the end, but for now, this idea will remain on the back burner until I have some more of my current stories done. I'm stuck between this and a WandaVision/Agatha All Along AU for Halloween, but we'll see if either of those ends up happening.

Anyway, this has been a longwinded post and I hope you enjoyed this little sliver of me getting back into writing again after taking such an extended break!

[oneshotnewbie]

Hii hope you're doing ok?! Just wondering if you're gonna write a new chapter of the Rabbit Hole story? I've been dying to know the end 😁 your stories are amazing by the way ☺️

Authors note: You've waited too long for the next step in the story and here it is. It doesn't seem to be as exciting as the last chapters, but the storm is brewing. (Thanks for the compliments ♥)

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of life-threathing wouds and trauma. The plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

„Life-threathening knife wounds in the right kidney and stomach. That bastard almost killed you,“ Olivia mumbled quietly and with a broken voice to herself while sitting at your hospital bed. A dim light filtered through the curtains, gently illuminating the bare room. She sits there restlessly, with a book on her lap that she had long since forgotten. Her eyes are only focused on your pale body, smeared with tears as she held your hand tightly in hers and gently stroked your fingers. You laid there motionless with bandages and medical equipment all around you, your gentle breathing the only sign of life that came from you as your chest was moving up and down.

The normally tough detective breathed in and out slowly, trying to stay calm even though the room was filled with a tense atmosphere. "I wish I could go back in time, put a bullet between his eyes and prevent this nightmare," she whispered and felt sick instantly, her chest like there were a ton of rocks sitting on it to prevent her from breathing. You had barely survived, and she swallowed hard at the thought of losing you while gently stroking your arm, feeling the cold of your skin through the fabric of the hospital blanket.

Her fingers gently grasped your hand as she loses a quiet tear that slowly rolls down her cheek. "It feels like everything exploded in a second and I was not able to offer you any protection,“ her expression reflected concern and desperation as she listened to the beeping of the monitors in the background, the quiet whirring of the equipment filling the room with a calming rhythm. The brunette lowered her head as she tried to control her emotions, her thoughts seem caught in a jumble as she struggled to stay strong.

But her brain took her back to the previous day, where Olivia stormed into your apartment with the help of Elliot and the SWAT. As soon as her boots landed with a cracking sound on one of your carpets, soaked with shattered glass and blood, she felt the heaviness of her stomach press against her heart. The blood had stained the fibers of the once cream colored carpet and as she gradually pushed her way further into your apartment before your bound and motionless body appeared in front of the couch.

These images seared themselves into her mind, leaving wounds too large to bear. A small sob escaped Olivia and she removed her hand from yours to touch your forehead, as if she wanted to feel your temperature, hoping for some sign of improvement. But everything remains unchanged. "Please wake up. I miss your laughter. Your voice. Your presence. It is like a part of me is here in the hospital. I keep wondering if you can hear me. If you know I am here and that I fight for you because I love you" she straightened herself in her uncomfortable chair, sitting up straight and looking at you with a mixture of hope and despair as she confesses her love for you to your unconscious body for the very first time.

Olivia pressed her lips together to suppress another surge of emotions. The head of the Special Victims Unit looked exhausted, but her eyes showed determination and deep concern for you. She gently kissed the back of your hand to show you closeness. "I am scared, y/n. I am scared for you. I do not want to lose you. I can not stand the thought of a future without you so please fight. Fight for your life, for us." Leaning back once again, she wiped the tears from her face as she continues to hold your hand and stare into space, lost in thought. The brunettes gaze fell on the surroundings of the hospital room and lingered in the quiet calm.

The minutes passed slowly, with Olivia's gaze often returning to your facial features before she had to let go of you. Work called, she still had a lot to do to complete your case. After all, your ex-boyfriend escaped through a back door and got away. „I will be back tonight, sweetheart. Do not fool around while I am gone,“ she spoke softly with a slight smile on her lips and just as she was about to lean in and give you a gentle kiss on the forehead, a twitch stirred in her hand and she jumped back into the chair.

Pale and purple bruised skin touched her tentatively and her heart started to skip a few beats. Olivia´s heat lifted itself carefully along your arm, her sight landed on your open, red tainted eyes. With a gulp, she felt relief well up in her as a look of hope and joy crossed her face. „Liv,“ you mouthed with a gnarly voice, your vocal cords feeling like rusty chains struggling to get going. You were audibly under the influence of painkillers and heavy drugs. But what Olivia heard as flat in your voice was not medication. That was the sound of a person who had experienced so much suffering, that along with all the bones and organs in their body, the soul was broken at the core. In a thousand separate pieces. „I am here, y/n.“

„Is it over?“ you asked quietly, weakened and tired from the unspeakable pain you had to endure. The addressed lowered her gaze back to the covers, barely able to meet your begging eyes. Olivia could almost feel the storm brewing in our head when she did not answer that question firmly and clear within seconds. You seemed stunned to her and she was sure that it was a sign of the overwhelm that this unexpected news must have triggered. She shook her head almost visibly and silently.

„He tricked us. Henry got away from me,“ she shook her head almost invisibly to express her remorse. You turned pale, your right hand gripping your hospital gown nervously and your boss was afraid, you were disappointed in her. After all, she had made a promise that she could not hold. You blinked as if something had caught in your eye, but instead you tried to lure the tears, that were forming, back to their source. „Every cop in Manhattan is looking for him, he will not get far. We set up roadblocks and his face is on every news channel.“

„Henry always finds a way,“ there were wounds, which could never be seen on the body. They were deep inside, hurting harder than anything that could break or bleed. Olivia knew very well that these wounds were racing through your soul like a train at this given moment. "Next time our paths cross, I will be dead."

Before the older one could encourage you that she would not allow something like that to happen again and would protect you with all her potential, a gentle knock on your door tore you out of your conversation, followed by the sudden creak of a plastic chair, on which Olivia quickly turned around. Her hand already on the holster of her gun out of reflex and protection. You both glanced across the room in surprise, looking like caught lovers.

Elliot had carefully pushed open the door to the room, his steps slow on the shiny linoleum floor. There was a hint of fear on his face, mixed with the faint hope of improvement. "Hey, can I come in?" He asked, smiling happily when he saw you awake. He waited respectfully for an answer from you and slowly pulled a bouquet of flowers in front of his body, which he had recently kept secret behind the door. "Of course."

The bald-headed man hesitantly approached, his heart pounding violently in his chest. He had just come from your apartment, where the forensics were securing any evidence relevant to Henry's arrest, and immediately made his way to you after the team had left. "Are the flowers for me?" Olivia asked, trying to lighten the mood in the room, knowing your mind was still stuck on the past crime that was done to you. You tried to smile, trying to pull the blanket tighter to your body as a cold rush of air passed through the room. "No," he commented, looking at the visitor at the edge of the bed who had been his best friend for several years.

Olivia smiled, and she did it even more unsurely than you, which was probably because she did not know how to act. You could tell she wanted to get up and hug him. After all, he helped her save you, but she did not want to let go of the human's hand for which she had stood up in fear of death. "The flowers are for the lovely lady in this bed,"

He stayed close to you, talking to you about whatever stuff to distract you from your thoughts. Time seemed to stand still before the door opened once again and your doctor entered the room, followed by a nurse carrying a tray full of medication. "I am sorry, but you have to say goodbye now. There are still a few tests and follow-ups to be done," the doctor said calmly and in a familiar voice. Olivia wanted to resist leaving you, but Elliot took her hand and pulled her from her seat without saying a word. "We will take care of her, she can receive visitors later that day."

The brunette nodded in understanding, reluctantly leaving your presence. One last loving look was exchanged between her and you before she left the room, with a heart heavy with worry but with happiness for the return of your familiar soul.

[lizard-ratt]

Again? Pt. 2

Chapter One

Content Warning: References to child abuse (though nothing is described), nightmare (poorly described), panic attack (probably also poorly described, suicide (he gets better), death (he will get better), vomiting

I'm posting the first draft, then it'll be edited and posted to AO3. Take it all with a few grains of salt, and as always if you see any typos or plot holes, no you didn't <3

WC: 2,172

The contentment of the night before didn’t stick. The nightmares came back. The gun, the pain. He woke up disoriented, but he wasn’t alone. Benny knelt by the bed, speaking in calm, quiet tones. Steve couldn’t get his breath back under control. Something blocked his throat, it pressed on his chest, and he couldn’t breathe.

Benny was still talking, but the words blurred before they reached Steve’s ears, and the world was fuzzy, and the panic built up around him, layering on his skin like sweat. 

Benny slowly reached out, the motion dragging on for a while, and gently grabbed Steve’s hand and brought it to his chest. Through Benny’s sternum, Steve could feel him take large, measured breaths. In, out, in out. It took Steve a second to realize that he was subconsciously following along. In, out, in out. 

The panic eased away, dripping through invisible cracks. It became less all consuming and more manageable. After a while, he could pick up on what Benny was saying. He was counting his breaths, peppering encouragements every other sentence. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve got out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorry…” 

“None of that, now. You had a nightmare, it happens. Nothin’ to be sorry for.”

Steve choked down his tears, and frowned at his free hand. “But I woke you up,” Steve said. 

“I’m glad you woke me up. I wanna help you,” Benny responded. “C’mon, let’s get you some water.” 

They sat in the kitchen, music playing softly from the radio, sipping at water. The sun cast the horizon in red and orange, and Steve silently hoped that this time would stick. It was the day that he always went back. The day Al and Randy would break into the house and Al would shoot Steve. He changed it, though. He’d be safe

He’d be safe, he’d be safe, he’d be safe.

Benny made breakfast for them, and promised Steve that they’d figure things out. He told Steve that they needed to go back to the police station, and promised that when they were done, they would come back to the house above the Diner, and they’d get some more rest.

At the police station, they were greeted by a nice lady in a button up and slacks. It looked like something his dad’s secretary would wear. They all three walked into a small room with a table and a few chairs. Steve sat down, and the other two followed suit.

“Hello Steve, my name is Marjorie, I am going to be the one working on your case, okay?” 

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” Steve said, because he had good manners. “But, uhm, what case? I thought they caught the bad guy.” 

Marjorie smiled, but it looked a little pained, like Steve said the wrong thing again. “I just want to ask you a few questions about your parents, okay? We have some concerns about your home.”

“Oh. Is someone else going to try to rob it or something?” He asked.

“No, no, nothing like that. I just need you to answer honestly, and we’ll help you however we can.”

Steve looked over to Benny, who nodded encouragingly, so he agreed. “Okay.”

“You stated to Officers Andrews and Callahan that your parents are on a work trip and did not give you a way to contact them directly, is that true?” 

“They gave me their secretary’s number, in case of emergencies,” Steve said. “They said it had to be an actual emergency since they’re so busy, so their secretary is there to make sure I don’t waste their time.”

Majorie’s smile tightened. She nodded and jotted something down. “Okay. Now, you told Mr. Hammond that you didn’t have a babysitter or someone hired to check in on you, is that correct?” 

“I’m old enough to take care of myself. I’m too old for a babysitter,” he argued. 

Benny and Marjorie shared a look, and Steve got the feeling that he was failing the test.

“When was the last time that your parents were home?” Marjorie asked.

“Sunday,” Steve said. What felt like a lifetime ago. It felt like a big and immeasurable Before. Like reaching the peak of a giant hill, and slowly going down. Things were fundamentally different in a way that Steve couldn’t describe; in a way Steve didn’t have the words to describe. 

Marjorie wrote something down. “Do you ever get scared when your dad or mom are upset?” 

Steve didn’t answer for a long time. That felt like a dangerous question. The way she phrased it, the edge in her voice, the way she was looking at him. He rifled through his memories to pull out his mom’s people lessons. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.” It makes people rethink their question. If they press, they’ll have to rephrase it in a way that’s more clear, so you can gather their intention. Then, you know whether or not to answer. 

That look again. Benny and Marjorie gave each other a look that Steve couldn’t figure out.

“Steve, do your parents ever hit you?” 

Steve didn’t answer. What was he supposed to say? There was an edge to her tone that made him think if he answered incorrectly, he’d be in big trouble. No. No, right? He was supposed to say no? Or maybe she was making sure they disciplined him correctly. Was he supposed to say yes, then? To show that his parents were doing their job? 

The silence stretched on for a little bit longer.

“Steve, you’re safe. You can answer honestly.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Steve said.

“The truth,” Marjorie answered. Steve thought it over, but before he could answer, someone knocked on the door.

“We have the Harringtons on the phone,” someone called through the door.

Marjorie sighed. “One moment,” she said. She stood and walked to the door, lowering her voice in what was probably supposed to be unheard to Steve. “In a minute, we’re in the middle of something.”

“They want to talk to their son, and unless he explicitly states that he doesn’t want to talk to them, we can’t restrict their communication,” the person at the door said.

Marjorie sighed again, heavier. “Okay. I’ll let him know.” She turned to him and gave him a tight smile. “Your parents are on the line for you, right now. Do you want to talk to them? Know that you don’t have to.”

Steve nodded. “I want to talk to them.” 

Marjorie's face fell. “Okay. Come with me, then.”

They brought him over to the phone and handed it to him. “Mom? Dad?” 

“Steven, what have you been telling these people?” his mom’s shrill voice came over the phone. “They think that we’re neglecting you.” She was upset. Really upset. 

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Clearly you did, Steven. They’re investigating us for child endangerment,” his dad’s voice cut in. “Don’t say anything else. We’ll deal with this when we get home. You’re lucky we were done with our work, here.” The call disconnected, and Steve was left with the dial tone ringing in his ear. Slowly, he reached out to put the phone back on the hook. He gave the lady there a weak smile, and walked back to the little room.

“Steve? Is everything okay?” Benny asked. 

“I’m not supposed to tell you anything.”

Marjorie and Benny’s faces fell, but they didn’t look mad. Just resigned. 

“Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to tell us?” Marjorie asked.

Steve nodded. He was already in trouble, he refused to make it worse on himself.

“Okay, that’s all, then. Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll be talking to you soon.” She turned to Benny. “You’re free to go.”

Benny nodded and guided Steve out of the station. They went back to the Diner, and Steve went into the guest room for a while. He didn’t nap, but he laid there and tried not to think about any of it. Not the weird cycle, not the way his parents sounded, none of it. He failed.

When he “woke up” from his nap, Benny swooped in to keep Steve distracted. It wasn’t hard to tell. He asked about school and friends, and what Steve liked to do. For lunch, he asked Steve to help. When Steve agreed, Benny carefully walked him through each step, patiently answering every question Steve asked. 

Steve made a mental note of a new recipe that he could try to make by himself, for the next time his parents went on a work trip. 

It felt nice to eat food that he helped make, even if it was mainly Benny. The food was more than edible, it was good. He ran through the process in his mind a few times to cement it. He watched tv for a while, and then messed with his toys that he packed. He helped make dinner, too. He stayed the night again. 

The next day looked the same. It was nice. Benny was really, really nice. He asked Steve how he was and actually wanted an answer. He showed Steve how to cook. He was patient and he cared. He hoped that he’d be able to stay with Benny for a while. He wanted to push off the confrontation with his parents for as long as possible, but he knew they were on their way back.

During their time together, Benny kept the Diner closed. He said he could afford a few days off, and he wouldn’t listen to Steve’s protests. He said he wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and that he wanted to spend time with Steve.

It was on the third night that he was at the Diner with Benny that his parents showed up, looking smug. It was the look they both got when they made a “deal”. They never explained what the deals were, but it always made their moods improve. Marjorie, who showed up with them, looked devastated. 

She approached Steve and knelt in front of him, lowering herself enough that she was looking up at him.

“You’re going to be going back to your parents,” she told him, like it was bad news. Like she lost something. “But you need to know that Mr. Hammond, here, has my number. If you need help with anything, you can ask me, and you can ask Mr. Hammond, okay?” 

Steve agreed, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he would need her help with. She looked a little relieved and patted his arms before standing back up. 

“Steve, I hope you get everything you deserve, okay?” She said, like that was supposed to mean something. “You deserve good things,” she added.

He left with his parents, and he was in trouble. They went off about how that could have left a black mark on their record, and how he made his family look bad. He apologized, and apologized, and apologized some more. 

He didn’t like thinking about what his punishment was, but he promised himself he’d never do anything to deserve it ever again. After thinking about it for a little bit longer, though, he decided it was better he went home with his parents rather than staying with Benny. He didn’t like the idea of Benny punishing him like that. If he stayed with Benny for any longer, he knew the man would stop being so nice.

Despite everything, he preferred leaving it the way it was.

Steve’s parents stayed home for a while after that. He turned thirteen with little fanfare, and he kept his head down. He didn’t know what exactly he had said that made his parents so mad, so he swore to himself that he wouldn’t talk about any of it, just to be on the safe side. August came, and so did the first day of school. His parents went on another work trip with firm instructions to “be good”. 

Steve went back to the diner the second he had the chance. Benny was there, serving food. He welcomed Steve into the back and asked him a whole bunch of questions about school, even though it had just started, and about how Steve had been. He had that tone, when he asked it. The dangerous one. Steve told him he’d been good, and hoped Benny would leave it that.

Steve was a little disappointed when he did.

Benny gave him a free slice of pie. He said that Steve was welcome to stay over whenever, and then they moved on. Life continued. Steve made friends with Tommy H and Carol Perkins. He saw that boy, Eddie, around, but he always looked busy. He smiled so much, and Steve didn’t want to make it worse, so he stayed away. 

He visited Benny often, and he ignored any reminders of the Week That Wasn’t, and he didn’t think about it. 

He started High School, and Tommy and Carol changed. They got meaner. Steve wasn’t proud of it, but he got meaner, too. He didn’t even see it happen. It was such a slow change that it just hit him, one day in his Junior Year. He said something, he couldn’t even remember what he said, because his mind suddenly got clouded with the thought that it was something he knew his dad would have said. 

He went to Benny’s Diner, where he had a key, where he was always welcome, and let himself in. He figured at worst, Benny would be busy. He just needed to be somewhere that wasn’t his house. Somewhere warm, welcoming. He needed to curl up on Benny’s couch and listen to the little radio that was always too quiet. 

“Benny?” He called, chucking his backpack on the dining table. “Benny, you there?” Nothing. Weird, he decided. “Benny?” He called. Ice poured down his spine, panic overtaking his thoughts. “Benny?” Still, nothing. He checked each of the rooms, but there was nothing.

Next, the diner. He was probably just working inventory or something. Nevermind the fact that he did the dishes throughout the day and he never worked past a certain time. Nevermind that that threshold hit over an hour prior.

“Benny?” Steve called again. He stepped into the kitchen, then the pantry, the walk in fridge, still nothing. He found Benny in the dining room, sat at one of the tables head pillowed on the top. Relief slammed into Steve’s chest prematurely “Benny, c’mon get up. You’re gonna ruin your back like that.” 

Steve stepped further into the dining room than the doorway and froze. Red. It pooled under Benny’s head and splattered out from his head. 

“Oh god.” 

There, gripped loosely in Benny’s hand was a small revolver. 

Before Steve even realized it, he was heaving over the nearest garbage can. Tears pricked up in his eyes as his stomach emptied itself. Then, he was crying; full sobbing. Benny, he was- he- 

Steve heaved again, nothing but bile and spit coming up. It burned his throat, coating his tongue in the foul taste of wrong, like his brain couldn’t process it beyond the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be tasting it. 

“Oh god,” Steve repeated, voice rough. Benny was gone. Steve stumbled to the phone in an almost pathetic display, and quickly dialed 911. 

For a brief moment he was twelve again, scared, and so, so small. Then, the lady picked up and it broke. He was sixteen again, standing in Benny’s Diner trying desperately not to think about the Diner’s namesake and what he looked like in the dining room. 

“911, what’s your emergency?” 

“I, uhm, I’m at Benny’s Diner, he’s, oh god, he- he’s not moving. I think he-” he stopped himself. “I just, I need an ambulance. Can you send an ambulance to Benny’s Diner?”

“Of course, sir. Can you tell me who I’m speaking to?” She asked.

“Steve Harrington. Benny gave me a key, so that I could visit, I swear I didn’t break in,” he rushed to tell the lady. It looked bad, he knew. Benny’s being closed and Steve being the only one there. 

“Okay, Steve. Can you take a deep breath for me?” 

Steve took a breath like he forgot how, deep from his chest. The oxygen slammed into him and it hit him that he was hyperventilating a little bit. Tears built up in his eyes, again. Blurring his vision. 

“I think he’s dead.” Dead, dead, dead. The word rang through his head. “He shot himself.”

Without his permission, his mind dragged him back to that summer when he was twelve. Shot in the head, in the back, in the chest. Bullets, he knew, hurt. What could be so bad that Benny would- that he’d do something like that? 

The lady was speaking, probably trying to reassure him or something, but his mind fuzzed it out as the idea popped up. Benny was dead, but he didn’t have to be, right? It couldn’t have been a coincidence, that when Steve died that week, he woke up the Monday before. Maybe, just maybe, he could fix it. He could do… something and fix it. Anything, really. 

“I think I hear the ambulance,” Steve said, cutting the lady off. His voice was flat. “I’m going to go… stand out front and greet them.” 

“Steve,” she started, voice cautious, “The EMTs won’t be at your location for another-” 

He hung up. He walked over, pace steady and stilted. He was barely in control of himself as his legs carried him to Benny’s- to Benny. He gently pried the gun from Benny’s hand and pressed it to his temple. 

“This better work,” he muttered, desperate and he squeezed the trigger. The bullet exploded from the barrel, piercing through Steve’s temple. 

He woke up in bed, alarm blaring beside his head and agony pounding at his skull. When he pulled his consciousness together through the haze of pain, he swore that he would save Benny.

[shylyobscene]

Quick message for the people who are following my fics about updates, what i’m working on next, etc ❤️

just so u guys know updates from me are gonna be slowing down a bit! i have plans/trips over the next couple months that are gonna be splitting my time :) i don’t have a strict uploading schedule anyway and i will still be updating my works over this period, i just can’t promise it’ll be every couple weeks like i had been doing lol

On butterfly caught:

next update from me will likely be a butterfly caught chapter. hoping to have it up and running soon! part of the reason it’s taking so long is because i actually ended up scrapping almost the entire outline i had for the second chapter lol. it wasn’t BAD, but it was mostly just set up for porn…except i ended up deciding that i actually wanted quite a bit of plot too. unfortunately my previous outline didn’t leave me a lot of wiggle room for character development or conflict 😭 needless to say, it took some time for me to figure out an entirely new direction for the fic while trying to write myself out of the hole i put myself in lol.

the very, VERY good news is that i think i succeeded!the outline for the next chapter of butterfly caught is, imo, 10x more engaging and 10x more sexy and 10x more true to the tone of the first chapter. and i am very excited about it!!

the other news is that i don’t know that it’ll necessary be done in just two chapters anymore lmao. i’m probably going to have to split it up. won’t be as long as ioft and i can’t say exactly how many more chapters it’ll be (maybe 3 or 4 total?? no clue), but uh….she’s gonna be a little longer than either of us anticipated, because i’m incapable of keeping things succinct.

planning to read through ch1 and edit it a bit (shouldn’t be anything that warrants a reread but i’ll lyk if that changes) then on to the next chapter ✨✨ sooo excited to get that out into the world!

On If Only for Tonight:

i just hit 100 kudos for this fic on ao3 🥹❤️ THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!! that is such a huge number considering how niche my subject of choice is (lol) and the fact that it has only been 2 months since i started uploading for that fic.

when i started posting a couple months ago i thought no one would be interesting in any of my stuff. i’ve been reading fics for so long and this is my first serious go at writing anything. all the kindness and support i’ve received means the world 🥹

don’t know when i’ll have the next chapter for ioft ready since i’m working on my other fic a little BUT we’re starting to get to the chapters i am really really excited about hehe.

hoping to be able to upload at least monthly for ioft, if not more often because i just personally love this fic lol.

final thoughts:

just so you guys know, i’ve got like a million different ideas knocking around in my head. so so excited to reveal all of the juicy little morsels i’ve got cooking up in my head 😈 im trying to get butterfly caught finished (or close to finished) before i start working on anything else though, since i anticipate it’ll be the shorter of my two works…and so that i don’t end up drowning myself in wips lol.

anywho thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has left me comments and kudos and who has taken the time to read my fics :’) i adore all of you and want to put you all in my pocket and carry you around with me forever ugh!!

[choshifics]

Another First Kiss: Chapter 2

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“’How ‘bout another first kiss?’ she said” Ithos sat in front of a well organized plot of various items atop a blanket, his brand new-used, Rescue Society Issued bag right beside. He had orans and apples up in the top left that he’d counted twice already, yet Max still couldn’t remember how many he said there were. Besides that, he had a few rocks and some spikes that he meticulously organized in the opposite corner.

He looked absurdly prepared; some things never change. She hadn’t even gone to pick her own bag up after seeing the ratty mess they gave Ithos, preferring to munch on an apple she’d swiped while Ithos wasn’t looking. It was their first mission, after all. Besides, it was too much fun watching Ithos. This whole time, he’d beamed from ear to ear as he pulled together all the assorted items he managed to find. Despite the trepidation the night before, he seemed beyond eager to take on his first mission. Looking over his haul one last time, though, he eyed the berries and apples with a furrowed brow.

“Hey, Max?” Ithos asked. “Have you seen,” he started turning to face her and watched her munching on the apple, “—Max!” He hopped up to snatch it out of her paw. He looked over the apple with a frown as he assessed the damage to find she’d eaten about half of it already. “What are we supposed to eat in the Dungeon!?”

“The other,” Max said, turning to check the fruit, “three apples.” One ear fell. No wonder he’d noticed one apple of four go missing. Standing over her, he crossed his arms as he stared down. “Well, y’know,” she mumbled, “gotta have a good breakfast?” Her tail flicked nervously behind her. He’d looked so excited preparing for this. Now, she didn’t even want to look up at him.

“Oh, breakfast,” Ithos mumbled. “Right, I knew I was forgetting something.” He forced out a nervous chuckle and held the apple out, reminding Max’s instincts that food was on the line.

With a painful twist in her gut, Max bit the apple out of his paw and scurried a few steps away to tear into it. An aching hole in her stomach made her make up for every second lost ten times in intensity. She barely tasted as she scarfed it down. Within seconds, she found herself hunched over empty paws with the remains of an apple’s flavor in her mouth.

“Wh-what happened?” she asked, looking around for the discarded core. Sparks bounced from her cheeks as she couldn’t find it. Instead, she caught a glimpse of Ithos counting his fingers. She flopped to the ground, pulling her tail over her head to hide while sparks spewed from her cheeks.

“Hey, are you all right?” Ithos asked, carefully walking over to lay a paw on her back. “Is this that, uh,” he paused to look around, “Dungeon Sickness?”

Max nodded her chin into the ground and forced herself to sit up. “I have trouble being normal about food,” she grumbled. She reached up to scratch the back of her neck. “Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s all right!” Ithos said with cheer so sweet it made her teeth hurt (though that may have been the apple’s stem). “I’m just glad you’re okay!” He sat next to her and rubbed his paw down her back. After she managed to nervously glance up, she caught him on the edge of a chuckle. “Honestly, it’s kinda cute.”

Max looked away to hide her own chuckle, growling, “Okay! Just get your bag packed.” Ithos flinched back a bit until she looked back with a smile. “It’s about time you went on your first mission, don’t you think?”

“Right!” Ithos cheered. He hopped up like a kid Life Day morning, and it wasn’t until he started for his bag that Max realized he had hold of her forepaw. Right as he was about to start dragging her, he paused to look back. Max hopped up as quick as she could while he raised a brow. “Don’t you mean ‘our first mission’?”

“You know it,” Max said with a forced smirk. Ithos side-eyed her, but left it at that and let go of her to head for the bag. Max took a breath of relief. She really needed to be more careful.

Ithos started at the top left, double folding the fruit into a pocket before going over to roll the rocks and spikes up around them. What he thought those would do, Max didn’t know, but he was the one carrying it. Watching him get so prepared while she prepared to go in with basically nothing somehow managed to feel nostalgic, even though she couldn’t remember the last time this happened.

“All right!” Ithos said, fitting the filled blanket perfectly into his bag. He closed the clasp and tossed it over his shoulder to look proudly at Max, a paw on each hip. “Let’s go!”

“And you think I’m the cute one?” Max chuckled under her breath. “What’d you say?” Ithos asked. A tiniest bit of his confidence faltered, too small to even notice, yet it was far too much for Max’s liking. “I said you look great!” she said. She scurried up beside him and grabbed his arm. “C’mon, let’s go!” Before he had a chance to say a word, she’d already started yanking him along. Within a few steps, though, he caught up and passed her. He started tugging her a bit before forcing himself to slow.

“Oh, right!” Ithos said. He slowed his pace to let her catch up while looking around for any eavesdroppers. Once he knew he was in the clear, he leaned down to whisper, “Pikachu are usually more comfortable on all fours.”

Max chuckled, letting her paw slip down his arm and wrap around his paw. She may as well make the most of the time she had. “That’s all right,” she hummed. “I’m pretty comfortable like this.” Ithos flushed and turned away while Max considered kicking herself for being so cheesy. Not only that, but she had a bit of doubt creeping into the back of her mind.

She wasn’t supposed to be there. She wouldn’t be there for long, and they’d definitely never so much as flirted. This Ithos didn’t know who she was two days ago, but she’d already spent years with him. Years she forgot, but the more time she spent with him, the more memories returned. If Grovyle showed up tomorrow, she’d have to leave. Would she even get to say goodbye?

“Hey, Max?” Ithos asked. He poked her side with the paw she held. She looked up to see his worried eyes staring down at her. “What’s wrong? You look sad all of a sudden.”

“Nothing!” Max said, forcing a smile. Ithos twisted his mouth before turning back to the path ahead.

“If you’re sure,” Ithos said. Max tried not to look, but felt his frequent worried glances her way. When her forced smile started to fade, he squeezed her paw. “Let me know if you need anything, though, all right?” His lips suddenly pulled into a smirk. “I am part of a Rescue Team.” He grabbed the flap of his bag to proudly display his ‘Junior Rescue Society’ badge. “That means I help people, you know.” Max shook her head while a chuckle forced its way past her melancholy. “Wooow, you must be so brave!” she giggled. Without thinking, she started leaning against his arm. Somehow, despite knowing she wasn’t supposed to be there, she felt like she belonged. They were already on the outskirts of the town (which Ithos called Serene Village), so they didn’t have to walk far to get out of it. Ithos led the way since Max let him pick the mission, and he was eager to lead them there. The path didn’t look remotely familiar to Max, but she was pretty used to not recognizing places. Despite her typing giving her a literal internal compass, she was really bad with directions.

Holding his paw in hers, she was glad she’d stayed so comfortable walking upright.

“Okay,” Ithos hummed. He pulled Max around one last right turn and stopped after a few paces. “It should be right through here?” He glanced around, suddenly looking a bit uncertain. “Well, around here, anyway.”

“Around here?” Max asked, looking around with him. “What do you mean? Do you know where it is?” She couldn’t see any sign of a Dungeon entrance around them. It looked like little more than a path with a dead end that lead to a normal forest.

“Yeah, it’s about here,” Ithos reiterated. Max wanted to challenge him, but she couldn’t come out and say he was wrong about something she wasn’t supposed to know anything about yet. “Well… shouldn’t they have these things clearly marked?” she asked. “I mean, Mystery Dungeons are pretty dangerous, right?”

“Oh right, sorry,” Ithos said, shaking his head. “You’ve never even seen one. You must be really confused.” He smiled awkwardly down while nervously scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, they can be dangerous. They’re constantly shifting, though, so you can’t just mark their borders.” He looked at Max to see if she was following along and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Max said. She was stuck nodding along as if he had made even the slightest bit of sense. Dungeons didn’t work like that at all. He was wrong, and she had years of experience to back that up, yet she couldn’t reference even a single day of that. Was she supposed to fall for this with him? Hopefully he’d catch on after they waited around for a bit.

“Oh, I think it’s here,” Ithos said. Max hadn’t felt the slightest shift, though. She started to wonder if he confused a forest he got lost in for a Dungeon. “Hey, I know it can be disorienting, but it’s all right.” He turned her to face him and grabbed her shoulders, beaming down at her with a smile. “I’ve got you, all right?”

“Th-thanks,” Max stuttered, cheeks sparking as she turned away. Idiot or not, she’d missed hearing him say that. She looked around to humor him and found the path behind them had disappeared. “What?”

The forest around them had shifted all at once. The dead end path turned into a rectangular plot of dirt path surrounded by trees far too thick to even try going through. Ithos let go so she could jerk her head around, but she could feel him on standby. He was right. It had sucked them in, and she hadn’t even noticed. She didn’t even feel it agitating her instincts like Dungeons always did.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” Ithos said, grabbing her shoulder. “I’ve still got you.”

“Thanks,” Max said. She started leaning into him a bit. She wasn’t scared like he thought, but feeling his scales against her fur helped anyway. Unlike Eleos, Ithos adapted his balance to her presence and leaned a bit against her as well. It felt more natural, more comforting.

“If you need to take a minute, we can,” Ithos said. Max nodded as she brought her paw up to grab the one he had on her shoulder. She had gone nearly years without his touch. Now, she could grab his paw whenever she needed it, wanted it. She wasn’t even sure if they’d ever held paws before, but it was hard to let go. It felt like finally being in the right place again.

They only had so much time together. She tried to ignore it, but a constant pit of worry in her gut knew that once Grovyle figured this all out, she’d be gone. She pulled Ithos in to hug his arm while trying to hold back the tears.

His free paw came to her head. Ithos gently brushed her head fur down to the back of her neck with a smile while she melted into him. With every stroke, she felt the timer more. Keeping time right fell to the wayside as their limited time together tortured her. Every second might be her last. She might not have ever told Ithos how she really felt before. This could be her last chance.

“Fuck it,” Max whimpered. In panic, in passion, time be damned, she hopped up to wrap her arms around his neck and tackled him to the ground. Before he could even yelp, she pressed her lips against his beak.

Ithos threw her off. “Max!” he yelled, rolling back up at the same time as her. “I-what was that?!” Max froze in place while her cheeks combusted into a storm of sparks and embarrassment. “We—I met you yesterday.” Right. She’d known him for years, and he’d known her for hours.

Oh God. He’d known her for less than a day. And she kissed him.

“I-I’m sorry!” Max sputtered. If only time had collapsed around them. Whatever that did, she’d prefer it to that moment. “I just thought, I don’t know, it’d be romantic? I’m sorry!” She dropped down to the grass and pulled her tail up to hide under. Why did she think he’d want that—and why did she keep kissing perfectly platonic friends?! “Look, Max, I’m sorry,” Ithos said, not stepping an inch closer. Max felt the distance. “I like you, okay? I didn’t mean to give the wrong impression. You’re, y’know, sweet!” Max tried to push her head into the dirt with her tail with limited success. “I just don’t like you like that.” If she’d known how she got there in the first place, she would’ve loved to zip right out. “Max?”

Unfortunately, Max was stuck there. She turned her muzzle up to say, “Please give me a minute.” Message sent, she got right back to hiding under her tail.

“Right, sure,” Ithos mumbled. “But, hey! We can still be friends!” Max couldn’t help a grumbling whimper at that. Despite wanting to help so bad, Ithos really sucked at it. “Sorry for, y’know, throwing you like that.” It hadn’t even been half of the minute Max asked for, and already he’d forced her to roll up and sit (keeping her eyes anywhere other than on him).

“Sorry for tackling you,” Max said. She tried to stay up, but it was too much. Within seconds, she had her face buried in her paws, grumbling incomprehensible babble she was glad Ithos couldn’t understand.

“Hey, don’t worry about it!” Ithos mumbled. Even with her eyes in her paws, Max could see his forced cheer. “Besides! You’re, y’know, uhh. Soft!” His award winning sweet talk made her want to spontaneously combust permanently. “And… yellow! It looks great on you!” She’d be concerned if it didn’t. “And, well, plenty of pokémon like, ah, beefier girls?”

“Beefy?” Max half-whimpered, half-chuckled. She was pretty sure Eleos called her that one before. It was getting hard to stay embarrassed with Ithos humiliating himself like this for her sake.

“Sorry!” Ithos sputtered, throwing his paws up. Max finally built up the courage to look up and watched him look around desperately for a better compliment. “You’re… pretty?” He looked up at her with a desperate, forced smile while his tail flickered and flared in embarrassment.

“Ithos,” Max mumbled in disbelief. This had to be the most humiliating moment of her life. Yet, seeing him desperately try to recover again and again with compliments ranging from mediocre to insulting had her fighting a chuckle. She couldn’t believe he’d be the one coming out of this embarrassed, and yet. Eventually, seeing his horrified face was too much. She burst into giggles, and he let out a sigh of relief.

“Can we just move on?” Max asked. She pushed up to her hindpaws and dusted off her fur. With a few trepidatious steps, she made it by his side without glancing anywhere near him once. “Also,” she mumbled, “Pretend this never happened?”

“Yep,” Ithos chirped. His paw started to reach out before he caught it, course correcting in a panic to punch her shoulder. “Sure thing, ah, pal.” Max tried to covertly look for the nearest rock to crawl under and die. She was pretty small. It shouldn’t be too hard for her to find one that fits. She wasn’t picky, either. She could always use the mini mountain of pebbles in Ithos’ bag.

“I’ll take the lead,” Ithos said. He readied himself to get moving, but waited for Max’s go ahead.

“Good idea,” Max said, falling in line behind. Ithos nodded and started heading for the nearest offshoot of the path. Unfortunately, she had to give up on finding a rock. She just kept her eyes trained on his back to follow behind. The thin path he’d found kept unreasonably straight. Max had expected it to wind in and around itself, but it only had ninety degree turns.

It made it impossibly easy to zone out while she followed. She kept her eyes on his back, tracing the subtle twists and flexes it did while he walked. The motion led her eyes down in search of the real action and struck gold. His legs kept a much straighter gait than she could, the subtle suggestion of strength rubbing against the slightest bit of pudge with every step.

Once she found her eyes lingering around the base of his tail, she slapped her cheek.

Ithos jumped around, frantically looking at the minuscule corridor they found themselves in for the source of the sound. “Did you hear that?” he said.

“Yeah, what was it?” Max asked, hopping around to hide her wide eyes. She pretended to look around as well, praying that he’d buy this. As she did, she noticed a speck of white in the corner of her vision. She looked closer and found a white… checker? “What?” She bent down to pick it up. It was just a white disk. “It looks like a board game piece?”

“Oh, good find!” Ithos said. “Here, I’ll keep it in my bag.” He put out his paw and eagerly waited for her to give it over.

Yet again, Max stared up at him in hopeless confusion. She hesitantly obliged, mumbling, “Okay?” He snatched it up and dropped it into the front left pocket of his bag. “What, do we need to be prepared for a surprise game of checkers?”

Ithos nodded along to the joke as if it was remotely close to the truth. “Almost,” he said. “Backgammon.” Max was now certain he was messing with her, though she did deserve it. “Every dungeon has one,” he mused as he glanced around them. “This one’s pretty harmless, at least.” Once satisfied looking for whatever he was, he nodded. “Keep an eye out for more of those.”

He started forward without noticing Max stuck in place. “What the hell does Backgammon have to do with a Mystery Dungeon?” she whispered. Dungeons were supposed to be full of feral pokémon that wanted you out of their territory. She simply wouldn’t believe that had changed—and she certainly wouldn’t believe it had changed to fucking Backgammon.

Max realized he’d been walking away this entire time and dropped to all fours to run after him. She hadn’t lost sight of him, but she was a bit insulted he hadn’t even noticed. On her approach, she watched him scanning the ground as he walked, as if actually looking for those pieces.

Ithos suddenly stopped to grab another piece (this one black) off the ground. When he went to toss it into the front right pocket, Max snatched it out of his paw. She brought it right up to her eyes to examine it. It was a simple wooden piece that fit comfortably in her paw with a coat of black paint that didn’t quite cover up the grain of the wood.

“Max?” Ithos prodded, flinching away when Max held the piece up to his face with a glare.

“What is this?” Max asked. Ithos stared at her for a second and tentatively answered, “A Backgammon piece.” Max narrowed her eyes at him, and he looked at her like she was the insane one.

“Ithos,” Max said, barely holding back a snarl. This had to be a joke. He was messing with her. “Why is this here?” She brought it back down to reexamine without any idea what she was looking for. “What are you trying to pull?” Despite her best efforts, though, Ithos continued to stare down at her, baffled.

“This Dungeon’s Lotus is Backgammon,” Ithos repeated, much slower this time. He very carefully reached forward to pluck the piece out of her paw and put it in his bag’s right front pocket. “That’s how Mystery Dungeons work, okay?” He kept a closer watch on her this time to make sure she followed. “At least, most of them.” Max kept staring up at him, losing her own certainty. He wasn’t dropping the act. She couldn’t even see him holding back a smirk, or a chuckle. If anything, he looked worried.

“Max?” Ithos said, lightly shaking her shoulder. “Here, it’ll be easier to show you. Are you okay to keep going?”

“Sure,” Max said. She tried to shake her head out of it. Maybe that attempted kiss had shattered reality already, and this was the result. Ithos gave her a nervous look before nodding and heading forward. This time, he kept better watch to make sure she was following. Max half-expected Grovyle to drop out of time and strangle her for meddling.

Ithos shot out his arm to stop Max as they reached another field. He was already surveying the place, but Max ducked under his arm to take a look for herself.

She was losing her mind.

All around, she saw scattered boards, dice, and pieces for Backgammon. None of the boards had enough pieces, yet the place as a whole had to have twice as many pieces as necessary for a full set. Every inch of the place had some bit of Backgammon.

“All right, the coast is clear,” Ithos whispered, turning back to look at her. “You keep an eye out, I’ll try to grab what I can.”

Max started to ask any question that might help, but none came. He’d already headed over to grab pieces off the nearest board. If this was a prank, she at least appreciated the dedication it took. She genuinely began to question her grasp of reality. This had to be a different universe.

Without anything better to do, Max did as he asked. They’d been in the Dungeon for at least half an hour at that point, so she tried to tune in to her awareness. Despite how long they’d been in, though, it hadn’t extended at all without her prompting. In fact, her instincts were barely more than usual, and that could’ve been from the intense confusion.

It was nice, confusing as it was. They hadn’t left her, but the little break from her constant worsening battle with them in Dungeons gave her much needed time to relax. She watched the entrances around them carefully, but no one seemed to come.

“Max,” Ithos called, waving her over. She scampered over, keeping her eyes on the lookout along the way. After one last scan, she looked up to Ithos’ beaming face. “Here, you wanna pick the board?” He gestured across a scatter of three. Max walked over to each of them, still confused why she was doing this. They all looked like Backgammon boards, albeit of varying wear and tear.

“Is there a wrong answer?” Max asked, pushing up to her hindpaws. She could get a better look at all three at once, but that didn’t really help. She looked timidly back at Ithos for help, ears flopped down. “Oh, no!” Ithos said, rushing to her side. He pat his paw on her back a few times and smiled. “Just whichever one you want!”

Max let out a breath of relief. So long as she didn’t get them killed by choosing the secretly evil game board. She didn’t know what to expect anymore. “All right, then,” she mumbled, scanning the three of them. “This one?” She grabbed the left one and closed it up. “The handle looks the easiest to carry?” Snapping the latch shut, she tried to hold it by her side, and the corner hit the grass. “Oh.”

“N-no worries,” Ithos chuckled out in the most even tone he could.

“Here, let’s swap!” He took the game board out of her paw and tossed the bag over her shoulder. The strap hadn’t been adjusted, so it hit the ground on her left while the strap slipped right off her side.

“O-oh.”

“Don’t worry,” Max mumbled. She bent down with a chuckle, shaking her head slightly. “I’m used to it.” She grabbed the strap and tightened it until it could hang off her shoulder without hitting the ground.

“Used to it?” Ithos asked. Max froze. She didn’t have anywhere to hide her panic this time. “How?”

“I… adapt fast?” she said with a thin attempt at a smile. Ithos had a brow raised, but he was smirking, too. She didn’t know what he suspected, but she could feel him probing her. “All right, then,” Ithos chuckled. He turned and headed off. “Keep your secrets, shortstack.” Max let out a breath of relief. When she straightened up, she saw Ithos smirking back at her. He merely shook his head and continued on.

Max scurried up behind him. With the bag, she had to stay upright. It wasn’t designed with a quadrupedal posture in mind, but it was surprisingly light. She curved around to his right side and kept her eyes peeled for any potential ferals. Aside from a few amused glances, Ithos didn’t acknowledge what happened.

“So, how many floors does this place have?” Max asked. Even if he didn’t want to pry, she wanted to put it behind them. It wasn’t until he responded that she realized she’d dug herself deeper.

“Dungeons do have floors, don’t they?” Ithos mused, tapping his chin. Max flinched away. Yet still, he didn’t acknowledge it. “I’m not sure, but our objective’s on the third, so at least three.” He had no reason to let her keep getting away with this.

“Oh, right,” Max said, still failing to stay calm. “What’s our mission, anyway?” It had to be something easy, so she hadn’t really paid attention to their objective.

“A caterpie got lost,” Ithos said. “Her brother thinks she’s in here. They’d come in on a dare, but he lost track of her.” Max nodded along, making sure not to stare blank in shock that their first mission was a rescue. Ithos lightly pet her back with a quick scratch through her fur, suggesting she hadn’t quite succeeded. They went into another tunnel, but it was still wide enough for them to walk side by side.

“Look, it’s all right,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me what you don’t want to.” Despite the promise, his smirk looked more like he was holding back a laugh. “But if I guess right, you have to tell me. Deal?” Max brought her paw up to laugh behind it. Somehow, she knew she’d heard those exact words before. The way he tilted his head back to look over his shoulder at her strained against the block in her head, trying to burst free. She felt her lips fighting her cheeks again.

“All right,” she finally answered. She stopped to turn, extending her paw. “Deal.” Grovyle would kill her if Ithos ever guessed right, but Max was certain that would never happen.

“Perfect,” Ithos said. He switched the board to his left paw and snatched her right paw up in his. After one firm up and down, he let go and gave his paw a curious glance. He held it up to his eyes and looked between it and her a few times. Max rolled her eyes at the theatrics until he snapped his fingers to point at her and said, “You used to be a guy.”

Max froze in place, her jaw went slack, and Ithos burst into laughs. She yanked her paw back, cheeks spewing sparks while she looked it over with the closest eye she could manage. “D-do I—the shake?” she stammered out.

“Maybe,” Ithos sang. He plopped his paw on top of her head and started ruffling her fur. “But the real giveaway was when you screamed at the lake about being a girl.”

Max smacked his arm with the back of her paw, barking, “Asshole!” He just laughed harder, switching the board game to his other paw again to rub his smacked arm. “Come on, I already have to worry enough about not….” She trailed off as she glanced back to her perfectly heart-shaped tail. “Right.”

While she was distracted, Ithos snuck around to her right and tugged her into a side-hug. He made her yelp, but he graciously kept his reaction to reserved chuckles. “I was trying to figure out why you kept looking so happy when you saw it,” he said. He tilted his head to rest it on top of hers. “It was a long shot, but I couldn’t really think of anything else.”

Max could only shake her head. She had too much focus dedicated to keeping her cheeks from shocking the both of them. It really wasn’t that impressive a deduction, all things considered, but it absolutely made her more nervous. She nestled into his hug for the warmth and tried to pull nerve from its comfort.

“Hey,” Max started to say. She still needed to find the right words, but Ithos didn’t urge her. “Just don’t… treat me like it, okay?” She tried to shrink away, only for his head to follow. A few of the nerves bounced away while she had to resist rolling her eyes. “Like I used to be… y’know. That. Can you just treat me like I’m a girl?”

Ithos tugged her into a tighter hug, then suddenly let go. “Yeah, of course!” he said, ruffling her head fur like a little sibling. “I wouldn’t dream of treating you differently.”

Max let out a sigh of relief. They started to move forward again, and her smile grew wider. Maybe this Ithos was better than she gave him credit for. She wanted to reach her paw out to his again, but shrank away at the thought. She’d pushed her luck as far as it would go already.

They ducked out of another narrow passage into a much smaller field with a shimmering wall on the opposite side. “That must be the next floor,” Ithos said. He watched Max staring up at it in barely concealed terror with open curiosity. The only barrier she’d seen this clear collapsed her mind in on itself near instantly. “You all right?” Max swallowed her trepidation and nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Just give me a second.” She tugged the bag a bit forward to stuff her paw in until she felt the badge. “In case,” she went feral, “things get hairy.” Her paws held it tight.

They only had one. If she blacked out while she had it, Ithos might be stuck in there, but Ithos wouldn’t know she needed to leave if she started fading. It usually would’ve been an easy choice for her—she wouldn’t sacrifice Ithos—but she started shaking thinking of last time. It still affected her speech after a few days. She didn’t want to lose any of this time.

“Here,” Max said, shoving the badge towards him. He slowly brought up a paw to grab it, eyeing her with worry. “You remember what I said about instincts?” He nodded, flipping the badge over in his paw. “If I start to lose it, hit the badge and run, all right?”

“Run from you?” Ithos said. He immediately shook his head at the thought. “No, I can’t just leave you behind!”

“You have to!” Max shouted. “I might-” She could remember the last conversation she’d had with Ithos before she left. She attacked him and ran away. He started trying to give the badge back, but she shoved it over to him. She looked up with wet eyes, gritting her teeth. “Don’t let me hurt you.” She had to bite her cheek to keep from adding, ‘again,’ to the end.

After some hesitation, Ithos finally took the badge. He tossed it into the Backgammon case to free a paw, then held that paw out to her. Max tilted her head, but slowly put her paw in his.

“If you need to go, but you can’t tell me, squeeze three times,” he explained, squeezing her paw to demonstrate. “Anywhere I can feel it, all right?” He let her paw go, smiling down, and she cradled the paw he’d squeezed. “First place you can reach. I’m never leaving you behind.”

“Ithos,” Max growled. He didn’t get it, too sweet for his own good. As he looked down on her, though, she knew he’d made up his mind. She wanted to scream at him that he was more important, but she held back. “All right.” She took a breath to brace herself for the next floor while a warmth bubbled into her heart. Through the frustration, she glanced up with a hint of relief. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” Ithos cheered. He squeezed her shoulder, and she had to force herself not to lean in to the touch. “We’re a team!”

Taking another deep breath in, Max sighed, “Thank you.” Just that one touch gave her all the confidence she needed to go on. Well, almost all. She started to ask if they could hold paws while they went through before shaking her head. She looked up with a nervous smile and said, “Let’s go.”

[the-bi-space-ace]

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ SPEECH SPEECH SPEECH SPEECH ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

(for the “directors cut” ask thing lol, any wip ya want :D (although i’m particularly invested in The World Tumbles Down ofc))

OOOOOOH BOY. Thanks for asking 🩶

Okay I have been really excited to share some more stuff about The World Tumbles Down so I’m sorry this is going to be long 😅😅😅

I think the best way to start this is to open it up with dialogue from a later chapter that came to me randomly that I wrote down the other day:

“Has anyone seen Rex?”//“It’s okay. It’s okay to cry, Rex.”

Both said by Echo….have fun deciding when (and why) that’s going to happen!

This fic means a lot to me. For a lot of reasons. Calling Me Home was the first fic of mine that I put any serious planning into. It has a storyline I’m particularly interested in. It’s about a lot of things but at its core it’s about Echo learning to grieve Fives and start sharing his life with the rest of the batch. Yes, it’s an order 66 fix it, but it’s Echo intentionally finishing what Fives started and learning to not let his grief ruin his memory of Fives.

He started opening up, he really has. It really started with Hunter and I spent a lot of time building him up to that. Hunter asks for the first time way back in the third chapter of the first story and Echo doesn’t even give in until chapter 14 of the second one. He puts walls back up pretty fast bc of… well… everything. In the chapter I’m going to post today he’s going to let that wall down a little more with another batch member. It’s a somber moment but it’s also heartfelt and he really needs it. He’s slowly opening up to them. He’s learning. It’s just taking a lot of time. It’ll be worth it, though.

The World Tumbles Down is the struggle era of this fic. Everything they know is getting torn down and typically strong characters are going to be broken down throughout this. everything else has been more or less in their wheelhouse. It’s a mission. They’re used to missions. This is different and they’re struggling to reconcile everything.

Especially after this next chapter. I hate to say that things have been easy so far but… things have been easy. Chapter 7 is when everything falls apart/together so we’re almost to the most intense parts of the fic.

I want to touch on Trick for a moment because he’s going to become important as we move forward and… his life is really irreversible changed after all of this. He’s my sweet, lovely, snarky boy and I love him dearly but oof. He doesn’t come out of this unscathed. I’m not going to kill him don’t worry don’t worry. But he is going to suffer :)

Lastly I think I want to touch on how I go about writing this fic. I have a goal of writing the first draft of two full chapters plus one new fic idea each month. I’m currently up to writing chapter… 12? I think it’s 12. That’s my last writing goal for the month of May. I write veryyyyyy far in advance. Mainly because if I don’t have concrete goals I likely won’t write and I’ll get overwhelmed. It’s also to give my partner time to edit and make suggestions. We’ve changed the timeline of major events in the middle of the fic and we only caught those plot holes from me writing this far ahead. This plot is more complicated than I’ve written before and I was incredibly anxious about it leading up to posting it. Writing ahead like this gives me the time to see how a decision in chapter 3 impacts chapter 13. I am almost constantly writing, along with working on new stuff too. It’s fun, I enjoy doing it like this. It works for me! All of that to say that I’m working very hard to make this fic great for everyone and I am excited that it has been getting so much love <3

Thanks for sending this ask I will never pass up a chance to talk about this fic 🩶🤍🩶🤍

Link for the ask 😊

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

It Can't Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 27-28

CHAPTER XXVII

MARY GREENHILL, revenging the murdered Fowler, was the only one of the conspirators who seemed moved more by homicidal hate than by a certain incredulous feeling that it was all a good but slightly absurd game. But to her, hate and the determination to kill were tonic. She soared up from the shadowed pit of grief, and her eyes lighted, her voice had a trembling gayety. She threw away her weeds and came out in defiant colors—oh, they had to economize, these days, to put every available penny into the missionary fund of the New Underground, but Mary had become so fire-drawn that she could wear Sissy's giddiest old frocks.

She had more daring than Julian, or even Buck—indeed led Buck into his riskiest expeditions.

In mid-afternoon, Buck and Mary, looking very matrimonial, domestically accompanied by David and the rather doubtful Foolish, ambled through the center of Burlington, where none of them were known—though a number of dogs, city slickers and probably con-dogs, insisted to the rustic and embarrassed Foolish that they had met him somewhere.

It was Buck who muttered "Right!" from time to time, when they were free from being observed, but it was Mary who calmly, a yard or two from M.M.'s or policemen, distributed crumpled-up copies of:

A Little Sunday-school Life of

JOHN SULLIVAN REEK

Second-class Political Crook, & Certain Entertaining Pictures of Col. Dewey Haik, Torturer.

These crumpled pamphlets she took from a specially made inside pocket of her mink coat; one reaching from shoulder to waist. It had been recommended by John Pollikop, whose helpful lady had aforetime used just such a pocket for illicit booze. The crumpling had been done carefully. Seen from two yards away, the pamphlets looked like any waste paper, but each was systematically so wadded up that the words, printed in bold red type, "Haik himself kicked an old man to death" caught the eye. And, lying in corner trash baskets, in innocent toy wagons before hardware stores, among oranges in a fruit store where they had gone to buy David a bar of chocolate, they caught some hundreds of eyes in Burlington that day.

On their way home, with David sitting in front beside Buck and Mary in the back, she cried, "That will stir 'em up! But oh, when Daddy has finished his booklet on Swan—God!"

David peeped back at her. She sat with eyes closed, with hands clenched.

He whispered to Buck, "I wish Mother wouldn't get so excited."

"She's the finest woman living, Dave."

"I know it, but—She scares me so!"

One scheme Mary devised and carried out by herself. From the magazine counter in Tyson's drugstore, she stole a dozen copies of the Readers' Digest and a dozen larger magazines. When she returned them, they looked untouched, but each of the larger magazines contained a leaflet, "Get Ready to Join Walt Trowbridge," and each Digest had become the cover for a pamphlet: "Lies of the Corpo Press."

To serve as center of their plot, to be able to answer the telephone and receive fugitives and put off suspicious snoopers twenty-four hours a day, when Buck and the rest might be gone, Lorinda chucked her small remaining interest in the Beulah Valley Tavern and became Buck's housekeeper, living in the place. There was scandal. But in a day when it was increasingly hard to get enough bread and meat, the town folk had little time to suck scandal like lollipops, and anyway, who could much suspect this nagging uplifter who so obviously preferred tuberculin tests to toying with Corydon in the glade? And as Doremus was always about, as sometimes he stayed overnight, for the first time these timid lovers had space for passion.

It had never been their loyalty to the good Emma—since she was too contented to be pitied, too sure of her necessary position in life to be jealous—so much as hatred of a shabby hole-and-corner intrigue which had made their love cautious and grudging. Neither of them was so simple as to suppose that, even with quite decent people, love is always as monogamic as bread and butter, yet neither of them liked sneaking.

Her room at Buck's, large and square and light, with old landscape paper showing an endlessness of little mandarins daintily stepping out of sedan chairs beside pools laced with willows, with a four-poster, a colonial highboy, and a crazy-colored rag carpet, became in two days, so fast did one live now in time of revolution, the best-loved home Doremus had ever known. As eagerly as a young bridegroom he popped into and out of her room, and he was not overly particular about the state of her toilet. And Buck knew all about it and just laughed.

Released now, Doremus saw her as physically more alluring. With parochial superiority, he had noted, during vacations on Cape Cod, how often the fluffy women of fashion when they stripped to bathing suits were skinny, to him unwomanly, with thin shoulder blades and with backbones as apparent as though they were chains fastened down their backs. They seemed passionate to him and a little devilish, with their thin restless legs and avid lips, but he chuckled as he considered that the Lorinda whose prim gray suits and blouses seemed so much more virginal than the gay, flaunting summer cottons of the Bright Young Things was softer of skin to the touch, much richer in the curve from shoulder to breast.

He rejoiced to know that she was always there in the house, that he could interrupt the high seriousness of a tract on bond issues to dash out to the kitchen and brazenly let his arm slide round her waist.

She, the theoretically independent feminist, became flatteringly demanding about every attention. Why hadn't he brought her some candy from town? Would he mind awfully calling up Julian for her? Why hadn't he remembered to bring her the book he had promised— well, would have promised if she had only remembered to ask him for it? He trotted on her errands, idiotically happy. Long ago Emma had reached the limit of her imagination in regard to demands. He was discovering that in love it is really more blessed to give than to receive, a proverb about which, as an employer and as a steady fellow whom forgotten classmates regularly tried to touch for loans, he had been very suspicious.

He lay beside her, in the wide four-poster, at dawn, March dawn with the elm branches outside the window ugly and writhing in the wind, but with the last coals still snapping in the fireplace, and he was utterly content. He glanced at Lorinda, who had on her sleeping face a frown that made her look not older but schoolgirlish, a schoolgirl who was frowning comically over some small woe, and who defiantly clutched her old-fashioned lace-bordered pillow. He laughed. They were going to be so adventurous together! This little printing of pamphlets was only the beginning of their revolutionary activities. They would penetrate into press circles in Washington and get secret information (he was drowsily vague about what information they were going to get and how they would ever get it) which would explode the Corpo state. And with the revolution over, they would go to Bermuda, to Martinique—lovers on purple peaks, by a purple sea—everything purple and grand. Or (and he sighed and became heroic as he exquisitely stretched and yawned in the wide warm bed) if they were defeated, if they were arrested and condemned by the M.M.'s, they would die together, sneering at the firing-squad, refusing to have their eyes bandaged, and their fame, like that of Servetus and Matteotti and Professor Ferrer and the Haymarket martyrs, would roll on forever, acclaimed by children waving little flags—

"Gimme a cigarette, darling!"

Lorinda was regarding him with a beady and skeptical eye.

"You oughtn't to smoke so much!"

"You oughtn't to boss so much! Oh, my darling!" She sat up, kissed his eyes and temples, and sturdily climbed out of bed, seeking her own cigarette.

"Doremus! It's been marvelous to have this companionship with you. But—" She looked a little timid, sitting cross-legged on the rattan-topped stool before the old mahogany dressing table—no silver or lace or crystal was there, but only plain wooden hairbrush and scant luxury of small drugstore bottles. "But darling, this cause—oh, curse that word 'cause'—can't I ever get free of it?—but anyway, this New Underground business seems to me so important, and I know you feel that way too, but I've noticed that since we've settled down together, two awful sentimentalists, you aren't so excited about writing your nice venomous attacks, and I'm getting more cautious about going out distributing tracts. I have a foolish idea I have to save my life, for your sake. And I ought to be only thinking about saving my life for the revolution. Don't you feel that way? Don't you? Don't you?"

Doremus swung his legs out of bed, also lighted an unhygienic cigarette, and said grumpily, "Oh, I suppose so! But—tracts! Your attitude is simply a hold-over of your religious training. That you have a DUTY toward the dull human race—which probably enjoys being bullied by Windrip and getting bread and circuses— except for the bread!"

"Of course it's religious, a revolutionary loyalty! Why not? It's one of the few real religious feelings. A rational, unsentimental Stalin is still kind of a priest. No wonder most preachers hate the Reds and preach against 'em! They're jealous of their religious power. But—Oh, we can't unfold the world, this morning, even over breakfast coffee, Doremus! When Mr. Dimick came back here yesterday, he ordered me to Beecher Falls—you know, on the Canadian border—to take charge of the N.U. cell there—ostensibly to open up a tea room for this summer. So, hang it, I've got to leave you, and leave Buck and Sis, and go. Hang it!"

"Linda!"

She would not look at him. She made much, too much, of grinding out her cigarette.

"Linda!"

"Yes?"

"You suggested this to Dimick! He never gave any orders till you suggested it!"

"Well—"

"Linda! Linda! Do you want to get away from me so much? You—my life!"

She came slowly to the bed, slowly sat down beside him. "Yes. Get away from you and get away from myself. The world's in chains, and I can't be free to love till I help tear them off."

"It will never be out of chains!"

"Then I shall never be free to love! Oh, if we could only have run away together for one sweet year, when I was eighteen! Then I would have lived two whole lives. Well, nobody seems to be very lucky at turning the clock back—almost twenty-five years back, too. I'm afraid Now is a fact you can't dodge. And I've been getting so—just this last two weeks, with April coming in—that I can't think of anything but you. Kiss me. I'm going. Today."

CHAPTER XXVIII

AS usually happens in secret service, no one detail that Sissy ferreted out of Shad Ledue was drastically important to the N.U., but, like necessary bits of a picture puzzle, when added to other details picked up by Doremus and Buck and Mary and Father Perefixe, that trained extractor of confessions, they showed up the rather simple schemes of this gang of Corpo racketeers who were so touchingly accepted by the People as patriotic shepherds.

Sissy lounged with Julian on the porch, on a deceptively mild April day.

"Golly, like to take you off camping, couple months from now, Sis. Just the two of us. Canoe and sleep in a pup tent. Oh, Sis, do you HAVE to have supper with Ledue and Staubmeyer tonight? I hate it. God, how I hate it! I warn you, I'll kill Shad! I mean it!"

"Yes, I do have to, dear. I think I've got Shad crazy enough about me so that tonight, when he chases good old Emil, and whatever foul female Emil may bring, out of the place, I'll get him to tell me something about who they're planning to pinch next. I'm not scared of Shad, my Julian of jewelians."

He did not smile. He said, with a gravity that had been unknown to the lively college youth, "Do you realize, with your kidding yourself about being able to handle Comrade Shad so well, that he's husky as a gorilla and just about as primitive? One of these nights—God! think of it! maybe tonight!—he'll go right off the deep end and grab you and—bing!"

She was as grave. "Julian, just what do you think could happen to me? The worst that could happen would be that I'd get raped."

"Good Lord—"

"Do you honestly suppose that since the New Civilization began, say in 1914, anyone believes that kind of thing is more serious than busting an ankle? 'A fate worse than death'! What nasty old side-whiskered deacon ever invented that phrase? And how he must have rolled it on his chapped old lips! I can think of plenty worse fates—say, years of running an elevator. No—wait! I'm not really flippant. I haven't any desire, beyond maybe a slight curiosity, to be raped—at least, not by Shad; he's a little too strong on the Bodily Odor when he gets excited. (Oh God, darling, what a nasty swine that man is! I hate him fifty times as much as you do. Ugh!) But I'd be willing to have even that happen if I could save one decent person from his bloody blackjack. I'm not the playgirl of Pleasant Hill any more; I'm a frightened woman from Mount Terror!"

It seemed, the whole thing, rather unreal to Sissy; a burlesqued version of the old melodramas in which the City Villain tries to ruin Our Nell, apropos of a bottle of Champagne Wine. Shad, even in a belted tweed jacket, a kaleidoscopic Scotch sweater (from Minnesota), and white linen plus-fours, hadn't the absent-minded seductiveness that becomes a City Slicker.

Ensign Emil Staubmeyer had showed up at Shad's new private suite at the Star Hotel with a grass widow who betrayed her gold teeth and who had tried to repair the erosions in the fair field of her neck with overmuch topsoil of brick-tinted powder. She was pretty dreadful. She was harder to tolerate than the rumbling Shad—a man for whom the chaplain might even have been a little sorry, after he was safely hanged. The synthetic widow was always nudging herself at Emil and when, rather wearily, he obliged by poking her shoulder, she giggled, "Now you SSSSTOP!"

Shad's suite was clean, and had some air. Beyond that there was nothing much to say. The "parlor" was firmly furnished in oak chairs and settee with leather upholstery, and four pictures of marquises not doing anything interesting. The freshness of the linen spread on the brass bedstead in the other room fascinated Sissy uncomfortably.

Shad served them rye highballs with ginger ale from a quart bottle that had first been opened at least a day ago, sandwiches with chicken and ham that tasted of niter, and ice cream with six colors but only two flavors—both strawberry. Then he waited, not too patiently, looking as much like General Göring as possible, for Emil and his woman to get the devil out of here, and for Sissy to acknowledge his virile charms. He only grunted at Emil's pedagogic little jokes, and the man of culture abruptly got up and removed his lady, whinnying in farewell, "Now, Captain, don't you and your girl-friend do anything Papa wouldn't do!"

"Come on now, baby—come over here and give us a kiss," Shad roared, as he flopped into the corner of the leather settee.

"Now I don't know whether I will or not!" It nauseated her a good deal, but she made herself as pertly provocative as she could. She minced to the settee, and sat just far enough from his hulking side for him to reach over and draw her toward him. She observed him cynically, recalling her experience with most of the Boys... though not with Julian... well, not so much with Julian. They always, all of them, went through the same procedure, heavily pretending that there was no system in their manual proposals; and to a girl of spirit, the chief diversion in the whole business was watching their smirking pride in their technique. The only variation, ever, was whether they started in at the top or the bottom.

Yes. She thought so. Shad, not being so delicately fanciful as, say, Malcolm Tasbrough, started with an apparently careless hand on her knee.

She shivered. His sinewy paw was to her like the slime and writhing of an eel. She moved away with a maidenly alarm which mocked the rôle of Mata Hari she had felt herself to be gracing.

"Like me?" he demanded.

"Oh—well—sort of."

"Oh, shucks! You think I'm still just a hired man! Even though I am a County Commissioner now! and a Battalion-Leader! and prob'ly pretty soon I'll be a Commander!" He spoke the sacred names with awe. It was the twentieth time he had made the same plaint to her in the same words. "And you still think I ain't good for anything except lugging in kindling!"

"Oh, Shad dear! Why, I always think of you as being just about my oldest playmate! The way I used to tag after you and ask you could I run the lawnmower! My! I always remember that!"

"Do you, honest?" He yearned at her like a lumpish farm dog.

"Of course! And honest, it makes me tired, your acting as if you were ashamed of having worked for us! Why, don't you know that, when he was a boy, Daddy used to work as a farm hand, and split wood and tend lawn for the neighbors and all that, and he was awful glad to get the money?" She reflected that this thumping and entirely impromptu lie was beautiful.... That it happened not to be a lie, she did not know.

"That a fact? Well! Honest? Well! So the old man used to hustle the rake too! Never knew that! You know, he ain't such a bad old coot—just awful stubborn."

"You do like him, DON'T you, Shad! Nobody knows how sweet he is—I mean, in these sort of complicated days, we've got to protect him against people that might not understand him, against outsiders, don't you think so, Shad? You will protect him!"

"Well, I'll do what I can," said the Battalion-Leader with such fat complacency that Sissy almost slapped him. "That is, as long as he behaves himself, baby, and don't get mixed up with any of these Red rebels... and as long as you feel like being nice to a fella!" He pulled her toward him as though he were hauling a bag of grain out of a wagon.

"Oh! Shad! You frighten me! Oh, you must be gentle! A big, strong man like you can afford to be gentle. It's only the sissies that have to get rough. And you're so strong!"

"Well, I guess I can still feed myself! Say, talking about sissies, what do you see in a light-waisted mollycoddle like Julian? You don't really like him, do you?"

"Oh, you know how it is," she said, trying without too much obviousness to ease her head away from his shoulder. "We've always been playmates, since we were kids."

"Well, you just said I was, too!"

"Yes, that's so."

Now in her effort to give all the famous pleasures of seduction without taking any of the risk, the amateur secret-service operative, Sissy, had a slightly confused aim. She was going to get from Shad information valuable to the N.U. Rapidly rehearsing it in her imagination, the while she was supposed to be weakened by the charm of leaning against Shad's meaty shoulder, she heard herself teasing him into giving her the name of some citizen whom the M.M.'s were about to arrest, slickly freeing herself from him, dashing out to find Julian—oh, hang it, why hadn't she made an engagement with Julian for that night?—well, he'd either be at home or out driving Dr. Olmsted—Julian's melodramatically dashing to the home of the destined victim and starting him for the Canadian border before dawn.... And it might be a good idea for the refugee to tack on his door a note dated two days ago, saying that he was off on a trip, so that Shad would never suspect her.... All this in a second of hectic story-telling, neatly illustrated in color by her fancy, while she pretended that she had to blow her nose and thus had an excuse to sit straight. Edging another inch or two away, she purred, "But of course it isn't just physical strength, Shad. You have so much power politically. My! I imagine you could send almost anybody in Fort Beulah off to concentration camp, if you wanted to."

"Well, I could put a few of 'em away, if they got funny!"

"I'll bet you could—and will, too! Who you going to arrest next, Shad?"

"Huh?"

"Oh come on! Don't be so tightwad with all your secrets!"

"What are you trying to do, baby? Pump me?"

"Why no, of course not, I just—"

"Sure! You'd like to get the poor old fathead going, and find out everything he knows—and that's plenty, you can bet your sweet life on that! Nothing doing, baby."

"Shad, I'd just—I'd just love to see an M.M. squad arresting somebody once. It must be dreadfully exciting!"

"Oh, it's exciting enough, all right, all right! When the poor chumps try to resist, and you throw their radio out of the window! Or when the fellow's wife gets fresh and shoots off her mouth too much, and so you just teach her a little lesson by letting her look on while you trip him up on the floor and beat him up—maybe that sounds a little rough, but you see, in the long run it's the best thing you can do for these beggars, because it teaches 'em to not get ugly."

"But—you won't think I'm horrid and unwomanly, will you?—but I would like to see you hauling out one of those people, just once. Come on, tell a fellow! Who are you going to arrest next?"

"Naughty, naughty! Mustn't try to kid papa! No, the womanly thing for you to do is a little love-making! Aw come on, let's have some fun, baby! You know you're crazy about me!" Now he really seized her, his hand across her breasts. She struggled, thoroughly frightened, no longer cynical and sophisticated. She shrieked, "Oh don't—don't!" She wept, real tears, more from anger than from modesty. He loosened his grip a little, and she had the inspiration to sob, "Oh, Shad, if you really want me to love you, you must give me time! You wouldn't want me to be a hussy that you could do anything you wanted to with—you, in your position? Oh, no, Shad, you couldn't do that!"

"Well, maybe," said he, with the smugness of a carp.

She had sprung up, dabbling at her eyes—and through the doorway, in the bedroom, on a flat-topped desk, she saw a bunch of two or three Yale keys. Keys to his office, to secret cupboards and drawers with Corpo plans! Undoubtedly! Her imagination in one second pictured her making a rubbing of the keys, getting John Pollikop, that omnifarious mechanic, to file substitute keys, herself and Julian somehow or other sneaking into Corpo headquarters at night, perilously creeping past the guards, rifling Shad's every dread file—

She stammered, "Do you mind if I go in and wash my face? All teary—so silly! You don't happen to have any face powder in your bathroom?"

"Say, what d'you think I am? A hick, or a monk, maybe? You bet your life I've got some face powder—right in the medicine cabinet— two kinds—how's that for service? Ladies taken care of by the day or hour!"

It hurt, but she managed something like a giggle before she went in and shut the bedroom door, and locked it.

She tore across to the keys. She snatched up a pad of yellow scratch-paper and a pencil, and tried to make a rubbing of a key as once she had made rubbings of coins, for use in the small grocery shop of C. JESSUp & J. falck groSHERS.

The pencil blur showed only the general outline of the key; the tiny notches which were the trick would not come clear. In panic, she experimented with a sheet of carbon paper, then toilet paper, dry and wet. She could not get a mold. She pressed the key into a prop hotel candle in a china stick by Shad's bed. The candle was too hard. So was the bathroom soap. And Shad was now trying the knob of the door, remarking "Damn!" then bellowing, "Whayuh doin' in there? Gone to sleep?"

"Be right out!" She replaced the keys, threw the yellow paper and the carbon paper out of the window, replaced the candle and soap, slapped her face with a dry towel, dashed on powder as though she were working against time at plastering a wall, and sauntered back into the parlor. Shad looked hopeful. In panic she saw that now, before he comfortably sat down to it and became passionate again, was her one time to escape. She snatched up hat and coat, said wistfully, "Another night, Shad—you must let me go now, dear!" and fled before he could open his red muzzle.

Round the corner in the hotel corridor she found Julian.

He was standing taut, trying to look like a watchdog, his right hand in his coat pocket as though it was holding a revolver.

She hurled herself against his bosom and howled.

"Good God! What did he do to you? I'll go in and kill him!"

"Oh, I didn't get seduced. It isn't things like that that I'm bawling about! It's because I'm such a simply terribly awful spy!"

But one thing came out of it.

Her courage nerved Julian to something he had longed for and feared: to join the M.M.'s, put on uniform, "work from within," and supply Doremus with information.

"I can get Leo Quinn—you know?—Dad's a conductor on the railroad?—used to play basketball in high school?—I can get him to drive Dr. Olmsted for me, and generally run errands for the N.U. He's got grit, and he hates the Corpos. But look, Sissy—look, Mr. Jessup—in order to get the M.M.'s to trust me, I've got to pretend to have a fierce bust-up with you and all our friends. Look! Sissy and I will walk up Elm Street tomorrow evening, giving an imitation of estranged lovers. How 'bout it, Sis?"

"Fine!" glowed that incorrigible actress.

She was to be, every evening at eleven, in a birch grove just up Pleasant Hill from the Jessups', where they had played house as children. Because the road curved, the rendezvous could be entered from four or five directions. There he was to hand on to her his reports of M.M. plans.

But when he first crept into the grove at night and she nervously turned her pocket torch on him, she shrieked at seeing him in M.M. uniform, as an inspector. That blue tunic and slanting forage cap which, in the cinema and history books, had meant youth and hope, meant only death now.... She wondered if in 1864 it had not meant death more than moonlight and magnolias to most women. She sprang to him, holding him as if to protect him against his own uniform, and in the peril and uncertainty now of their love, Sissy began to grow up.

[celiaelise]

I got caught up on the Shadows House manga! (spoilers!!! don't read this if you haven't read it :p)

(well, almost. The latest chapter hasn't yet been posted on the app I have that gives me manga in English, so I haven't read 158.)

I have SO many thoughts!! First of all, it did throw me off how the anime stuck so closely to the manga except for, like, adding an ENTIRELY NEW PLOT ARC which completely disrupted the timelines of when certain things were revealed to the characters. Like, if I remember correctly, the main characters in the manga still haven't ever infiltrated Grandfather's house, Kate only used a Veiled Doll disguise when they were in the Star Bearers' tower to avoid Suzanna, and they have no information about Edward's soot powers. So that's weird. And the Edward of the manga seems much more subtle than to do something as brash as kidnap Emilico.

I guess they wanted a very dramatic ending for the first season? But it seems probably unnecessary to me. Like, I didn't hate that part of the show, but I don't think I would've liked the show less without it. Plus, it removes a lot of the mystery and raises plot hole-type of questions about who knows what and who's, like, in the house. (and also how John got back? I think he said he held onto Edward's bird, but then where was he when Edward got there???) I think it probably would've been dramatic enough to end with the fallout of the debut, and the brainwashing/human reveal.

I am now going to share a bunch of my thoughts on various parts of the story, in no particular order. Sorry about the super long post, I know probably more people would read this if it was broken up, but I didn't want to flood the tag or my own blog.

Maryrose and Rosemary omg!!! 😭🥺😭🥺😭 I love them so much! I think their story was pretty much exactly the same as the show. I did notice, I think just because it was my second time around, that Rosemary doesn't talk, like, at all in the big showdown, or afterward when she's detained, except for when she reveals herself and then hugs Shaun and Emilico. Maryrose does all the talking, and it's kind of set up as just a fight between her and Kate and John, and then, later, Edward. Which I guess makes sense, given the circumstances of their relationship, and especially how they're used to interacting with others, or maybe that's just their personalities. But it would have been sweet to see them behave more like equal partners. I guess I may be projecting Kate and Emilico onto them a bit 😅 They are still great though, of course.

ANYWAY, I have a THEORY!! Or maybe more of a wish? I think it would be really cute if Rosemary and Maryrose ran away to join the circus! 🎪 They already have a lot of parallels to Kate and Emilico, so it kinda makes sense!! Especially considering that Maryrose can't disguise her shadow form, so it will be hard for them to integrate into normal society. (like Kate...) We already know they love to perform, they can do supernatural tricks with soot powers, and "the beauty and her shadow" would be an easy gimmick, as well as an interesting inversion of their relationship at Shadows House. Hopefully they can find one with a nicer ringmaster than Emilico's, but they're also much more prepared to throw down with a grown man than she was.

It was SO satisfying to me when the Patrick and Louise pairs finally got filled in on everything!!! Frankly I did not understand why nobody told poor Patrick about the soot powers right after the debut; it's not like Kate cares about respecting authority. And then even Rum came back 💜 I love when they all get to be a happy little family together 🥰🥰

In general I appreciate how many things seem to go well in this story, especially because it's usually because the characters have decided to work together and trust each other. Even though the fate of their uprising is far from sealed, it's still already had a lot of success, like them befriending the Star Bearers and eliminating the coffee. I feel like in a lot of other stories everything would have to fall apart so much more for the main characters before they got anywhere close to their goals. Which, like, of course there's nothing wrong with that, I just prefer a bit less hopelessness in my stories. Like, the Star Bearer election was such a huge victory!! And they just got to have that! (obviously there will be fallout, but they still got it, y'know?)

The criticism of capitalism really is, like, glaring. I feel like it's most obvious for me in the chapter where Emilico considers that she may have been less miserable if she kept drinking the coffee, but then Kate tries to help clean, and shares her table with her, and cheers her up. It's a tiny piece of the overall story, but it's such a sweet little reminder of, "this system exists to control us by breaking us down, and it will absolutely succeed if we are not there for each other. Relationships, empathizing with one another's struggles, and providing hope and help where it is needed are essential for progress." As someone who has dealt with burnout, that was really...yeah...🥺

I am so curious about where the story is going with Lou and Louise!!! Even before the recent invitation, I kept thinking, "we really don't know that much about them..." Louise's obsession with Lou's beauty is clearly unhealthy, and I assume it's inhibiting her own sense of identity. She's not the most thoughtful, and of the main team, seems to understand the least why what Shadows House is doing is wrong. I'm not even convinced she ever stopped brainwashing Lou, though I don't think she'd realize that's what she was doing. Especially because, in the manga, her powers weren't a huge discovery for her, she was just like, "oh yeah, that's something that I do". And when all the human kids are remembering their home and the selection together, Lou struggles to have an emotional reaction the way everyone else does. That reminded me of when Kate first broke Emilico's brainwashing after the debut, and she was confused at not being able to associate sadness with the memory of Rum and Shirley's loss. However, I do think Louise is firm enough in her connection to the group and their ideals that she won't be comfortable going along with unification. Even if she doesn't feel Edward is giving her a choice, she won't be like, "oh okay this is fine".

I have NO idea where they're going with Sarah and Mia. Someone in the tag pointed out that it looks like Sarah is crossing to the other wing along with Louise, and idk what to do with that!! Honestly, I have been a little confused by their characterization in general, because the first things we learn about them are the Sarah is mean and cruel, while Mia is helpful and kind, only for that to... not quite seem to be the case. Everyone seems to think Sarah is well-meaning but immature, and Mia begins to be the driving force behind Emilico's antagonization. I mean, it does seem like nobody would be aware of Sarah's abuse, and I can see that Mia's attitude toward Emilico would change once she is perceived to be a threat. But the abuse in particular seemed to sort of be swept under the rug? Like, they introduced it and then never mentioned it again, until Mia herself initiated it, which may not be odd if Sarah hadn't become a much more central character. (idk, I'm probably overthinking it!) Anyway, some people were saying they don't think Mia's going to make it, but idk...if either of them dies, it would be the closest-to-the-main-characters character to have a confirmed death yet. And if Mia, specifically, were to die, we'd have a faceless shadow, which we've never had to deal with before, because the Belles were able to share their...Belle. (speaking of whom, is Emi the only one who cares that she LOST HER TWIN SISTER??) Would Sarah be doomed to the death Rum described, or would our group have to rescue and hide her, somehow?

Speaking of all the Belles, again, I really feel like Barbara ought to apologize to them, specifically. She tried pretty hard to kill all of them, and succeeded with one out of four. Because if Belle hadn't made it, they'd have gotten rid of Isabelle and Mirabelle, right? I know Barbara has enough angst happening right now already, but, like, are we gonna talk about that??

Oh yeah, ANTHONY. What a little freak. His backstory puts him in one of the most sympathetic positions in the whole story, but after only a few short appearances, every reader is creeped out by him!! Truly an accomplishment. I mean, we can assume he was emotionally broken by the loss of Christopher, but still. Be cool, dude. One very interesting mystery surrounding him is that of Christopher's soot powers!!! I assume he has some of his soot in the vial, (a bit macabre, to think of him gathering it from a corpse) and is using it to do mind control of some sort?

(I do feel very bad for Barbara btw. Especially after she made such progress by opening up to everyone! I don't mean to gloss over that, I just don't have much to say about it.)

Okay, okay. KATE. 🎀🌹 Dearest, darlingest, mysterious girl. I was so happy when we finally learned the truth about her doll!!! Emilico meeting her (and everyone else tbh) in the village before they went to the House seemed kind of jarringly coincidental, but once I was able to suspend my disbelief in serendipity, it was really sweet!!! 😊🥰 And her having a different history then the other shadows makes her so much more interesting! (Though it does make Maryrose seem like more of an anomaly...) It's kind of funny that so many characters have a second, secreter backstory behind their secret backstory. Has anyone else considered that Kate may already actually be the equivalent to an "adult" shadow, the perfect union of a morph and a human?? I was going to say that she's the death-free version of what Gramps is trying to do, but then I remembered her mother died, so that's a lie. Possessing and killing pregnant women is actually not more ethical than whatever is currently going on.

Romance! As a lesbian who finds most "teen romance" stories grating, I kind of like what Shadows House has done so far, with the characters having various crushes and largely not acting on them, and that taking a backseat to both the main plotlines and their friendships. The crushes are more a vehicle for the characters learning about themselves than for drama. Probably eventually people will start getting together and that will change and I'll get annoyed, but 🤷🏻‍♀️. The only ones who are like "uwu we're made for each other 😚💕" are the ones who literally WERE. I like the head canon that Kate is a lesbian, and I don't really ship anything except the Roses, of course, and kinda Kate and Emilico. But that's, like...the whole story is about their love for each other, regardless of the form it takes? Not to be like, "they don't need to be gay because their friendship is just as strong", but it is. (I do think they're gay, though) I think I picture them ending up together, but, maybe, like, in a few years?? They are still learning that they are even people. (no hate if you do ship more, though. That's just me.) And I like imagining the main squad as found family besties. Like, "I used to be in love with you when we barely knew each other, then we got close, did a revolution together, and now both we and the shape of that love have changed so much, but we're all still here," type of friends.

Speaking of years, I wonder if the story's timeline will be clarified? rn it's, like, super ambiguous, and I think that might be intentional, but I wonder if we'll get answers.

Oh, okay! I think this'll be the last topic, and it's a totally superficial one. Kate's new digs!!!! ♥️ The scene where everyone came to say hi was so cute, I loved that. Do you think she'll have it redecorated to fit her color scheme more? Also, does this mean Emilico gets a nicer room, too??? And will this make it harder or easier to meet up with the others? Farther away, well, except for Patrick, now, but possibly more space and more freedom? And does Rum always patrol the tower? Cause then they'd get to see her all the time! In general I'm excited for what new things Kate will have access to as a star bearer, but that also means that if the adults find out about the coffee, she'll be blamed for sure.

All right, that's finally it! Thank you for reading, if you read all of this, I love you so much!!! Please tell me what you think about any of my theories or thoughts or whatnot. 💕

[landinoandco]

An Unlikely Grand Prix

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

Warnings: flufffff

Word count: 2.1k

Requests are open :)

The Belgium Grand Prix was one that was highly anticipated - not only did it mark the end of the summer break and start to the second part of the season but it also promised some quality racing with its high speed corners.

You and Daniel were sitting in your hotel room on Sunday morning, a drink of coffee in your hand and a vitamin smoothie in his, your laptop open in front of you as you made some edits to the latest version of your book. You were an author and about to finish the final edit of your new novel.

“Have you seen the weather forecast for today?” He asked, leaning onto his forearms. You looked over your laptop lid and nodded, taking off your glasses.

“I have, you better be careful. It was bad enough in qualifying yesterday - “ You paused, saving your work and closing your laptop down. “I don’t care what people say - wet races always make me nervous. They shouldn’t have sent you out in Q3, it was hard to watch.”

A silence fell between the both of you, Daniel watched with a softness in his eyes. He knew exactly how you felt and he loved how supportive you were of him. You were his biggest fan and he could not be more thankful for it - you were there for him every weekend through rain and sunshine and through good races and bad races. You knew him better than anyone.

“I will be as careful as I can -” He reached across the table and took your hand in his. “I really feel like I’m getting somewhere though - P4.” He exclaimed, a smile flashing across his handsome features. You brushed your thumb over his hand.

“It was a really good lap - especially given the weather.” You agreed.

You moved your gaze to the window - the steady sound of rain hitting the hotel window filled the room.

“It’s definitely going to be a tense one.” Daniel muttered, pushing his chair back and getting up. You followed and made your way to the door, shrugging on your coat as you went.

The rain was pouring down as though the heavens above had opened - Daniel held an umbrella above both of you, sheltering you from the downpour. Members from different teams raced around the paddock to dry shelter - the buzz of conversation could already be heard from the grandstand in front of the pitlane. You admired the dedication of the fans; it was far from just a shower and for those exposed without even the slightest of cover would be drenched to the bone even by now and the grand prix was far from starting.

You looked over to Dan, his eyes twinkling and a spring in his step told you that he was looking forward to today’s race. His eyes flickered down to meet your gaze, bumping his shoulder into yours causing you to chuckle.

It was incredible to think about all of the things you two had managed to fit into 3 (going on 4) years. You met each other on the top of Table Mountain in Cape Town, you were there plotting for your next novel and Daniel was there hiking with his friends…

You were sat on a rock, looking out to the city of Cape Town tucked away under the mountain range - you were out in South Africa on an escape from the cramped conditions of London. You had a deadline quickly approaching to come up with a plot for your next book and as of that moment you still weren’t any closer to coming up with the next bestseller. Sure, you had ideas but they were yet to set a light a fire of motivation in you.

You had zoned out, your gaze attached to a bird soaring across the landscape ahead of you when a sudden voice pulled you swiftly out.

“Whatchu’ writing about?” The man asked, his tone was bright and as you looked over at him you saw the beaming smile stretched across his features. His eyes showed a confident but kind manner, brown curls stuck to his forehead and the beginnings of a beard covered the bottom half of his face.

“If I knew, I would tell you.” You quipped back, turning to face the man in order to see him properly. He had a muscular physique, no doubt a sportsman - you had thought at the time - an explosion of colour seeping out from his shorts caught your eye as you clocked the tattoos; they weren’t the only ones either as little drawings were littered over his hands and arms.

“Nice tattoos.” You complimented, nodding over to him. If it was at all possible, his smile grew larger and he put his fist out.

“I’m Daniel, by the way, Daniel Ricciardo.”

The rest was history - an adventure packed history. One filled with enough adrenaline to last you for the rest of your existence. The introductions had also prompted your next plot idea so the following week when you had returned to London you turned it into your agent - who had immediately loved the outline you had presented.

A few hours later and the start of the Belgium grand prix was approaching but still the track was resembling more of a spa - ironically - than a safe and functional track. Dan walked in from the drivers parade and shivered - his coat having provided no cover.

Frowning, you got up and handed him a towel, “What are the conditions like?” Nerves laced your tone. Dan sat down, shrugging, “They’re what we expected them to be like but it’s really rough. If we can even see 6 feet ahead it would be a miracle.”

A miracle was something they were all desperate for and before they knew it the race had been red flagged - deemed too dangerous to race so all of the teams were in their garages coming up with ways to entertain themselves.

You had made your way out of the McLaren garage to join Daniel who was wandering up and down the pitlane looking for a way to cause havoc.

You crept up to him and grabbed his shoulders and shouted: “boo,” in his ear causing him to jump up in shock and scream. You and many witnesses were doubled over in laughter as the Australian held his hand to his chest.

“I just came to say -” You started, “That you looked like you were about to do something mischievous and I wanted in on whatever your plan was.”

Dan looked at you with complete adoration in his eyes, a lopsided grin formed on his face. At that moment, he had never loved you more. It was a strange feeling that he couldn’t quite describe - it was just one he felt warming up his entire body. One thing he had always adored about you was the way you understood him - at the beginning of the relationship he knew you had found it hard to deal with his childish, devil may care attitude. As soon as you relaxed more around him, you two became more comfortable with one another - you decided to try his way of living. Letting fate take you to your next adventure and enjoying the unpredictability of it all. From your first adrenaline seeking adventure Dan had managed to persuade you to join him in - he knew he had found his partner in crime. Most importantly, Dan had taught you a way of living that was more enjoyable, a way of living that allowed you to get more out of life and push your comfort zone right to the limit.

“I have a few ideas.” He smirked, then grabbed your hand twirling you around as though you were ballroom dancing.

“What are you doing?” You giggled, the corners of your eyes crinkled as he pulled you into his chest, guiding one of your hands to rest on his shoulder as he grasped the other in his and held them up as though you were dancing the waltz; finally placing his hand on your waist.

“I don’t suppose you would have seen it but in 2015, the American qualifying was cancelled due to rain and to pass the time I danced with my teammate. I figured I would make a tradition of it.” He explained, twirling you around again.

“Did Lando not want to dance with you?” You questioned, the corners of your lips quirked up. Daniel stopped and took a step back. For a moment you thought you had said something wrong but then a spray of water splashed up the front of your coat. Gasping, you wiped the water from your face and Daniel’s smug smile came into focus. You looked down to where he was standing and saw a gaping hole that had now filled up with water.

“You little-” You had begun, a smile betraying you entirely as it crept upon your features. You wanted to pretend to be angry but he had caught you off guard.

“I thought that you would be a nicer dance partner - but apparently not.” He retorted, biting down on his lip in an attempt to stifle his laughter at your facial expressions. You looked at him and then down at the puddle, back at Daniel and then decided what your next move would be; before you could however he had picked you up over his shoulder, spinning around happily.

“Daniel-” You protested, having to close your eyes to avoid feeling motion sick. You heard him chortle then give in as you felt your two feet touch the ground once again. You pouted at him, strands of hair now stuck to your forehead - it was a sight to behold. Daniel’s heart skipped a beat, his breath becoming shallower as he brushed the loose strands of hair from your face. He had decided at that moment that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, he was ready to start the next chapter of his life with you. It would be a brand new adventure and probably the scariest yet.

“Marry me.” He mumbled, brushing his thumb over your cheek. He froze, an idea sparked, turning on his heel he fled in the direction of the McLaren garage.

Your eyebrows drew together in confusion, your heart thumping against your ribs. Drawing your lower lip between your teeth, you glanced around you only to realise the whole of the pitlane and grandstand of fans had fallen silent - watching on in anticipation. Had they heard what he had said? How could they have, Daniel had muttered so quietly even you had struggled to hear the words that tumbled from his lips. Little did you know, a camera had caught every moment and you were now the sole focus as you waited for Daniel to come back.

Moments later and he was running out of the McLaren garage, something in his left hand. You squinted to get a better look, from where you were standing all you could see was a flash of blue - but as he came closer you realised what he was holding was in fact a Haribo packet.

Your hands flew to cover your mouth, you knew exactly what he was about to do. You were fighting back tears of joy as he opened the haribo packet and pulled out a gummy ring, got down on one knee and said: “Marry me. Our new adventure, just you and me. My partner in crime.”

Tears ran down your cheeks as you nodded fervently, words appearing to fail you. You flung your arms around his neck. There was an eruption of cheer from around you, as fans whistled and clapped and fellow teams called out in congratulations.

You placed a hand either side of Daniel’s face, tears shone in his eyes. To most a gummy ring would seem immature - laughable even but to you, it confirmed to you how much you loved the man standing in front of you. The gummy ring he had presented to you meant so much more than being a Haribo. It represented you both as a couple. A love that was unconditional and would never get old and yet whilst you both would age - the love you had for one another would stay youthful, unpredictable and exciting.

You were more than ready to start the next chapter of your adventure with the man you loved most.

[farfromstrange]

Foreigner's God: Chapter 11

Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OFC

Chapter Summary: Hunting down one lead leads to another, but this time, Eliza gets knocked down hard. A ghost from her past returns. It's bound to lead her down an even deeper rabbit hole. Can she prevent the disaster that is looming on the horizon?

Warnings: drugs, language, a lot of plot, Matt's wound up and he says some things he shouldn't

Word Count: 16.1k

A/n: it’s less the title that fits, it’s the song. some of the lyrics spoke to me during the climax of this chapter.

Read Chapter 11: New Invention here on AO3!

18+ MINORS DNI

The darkest parts of Hell’s Kitchen are the most terrifying, even with the sun on full rise. There was little tourist activity, the streets were chronically empty and when someone did end up walking the streets, they were most likely carrying some kind of weapon.

Eliza supposed this was the place where Daredevil mostly operated. He never swayed further than Hell’s Kitchen, and there happens to be enough crime to go around in that part of New York for him to be satisfied for years to come. 

“Where are we going?” Foggy asked her eventually. 

They reached the brownstone. It looked all the same, old and broken down, and the homeless people on the front steps were still the same crowd she’d left back then. 

“Here,” she answered. 

She smelled the heroin reek through the cracked windows, fixed with newspapers like the works of an amateur. 

“Here? Are you sure? This is a drug den.”

“Exactly. Don’t tell Matt.”

An addict in a drug den has the same energy as a lamb in a lion’s cage. The door opened and a man stormed out. He had the pockets of his hoodie stuffed, his face pale, and sweat all over his body. When he saw her, he panicked. She wasn’t sure who he thought she was. He didn’t recognize her, she was sure of that, though it kind of seemed like it for a second. She opened her mouth to ease his conscience, but the man ran before she got the chance to speak.

She caught the closing door, still trailing after the man. She decided it was his choice like it had been hers. She wasn’t allowed to make conclusions or to judge. Part of her wanted to run after him and offer him redemption, but who was she to offer him the same thing she refused herself to achieve? Alcoholism was as much part of addiction as consuming other substances was. Alcohol made her forget. Sobering up had been the hardest thing she ever had to do, not to mention the withdrawal and physical side effects. She was proud to have overcome it, but she was nothing but a hypocrite in the end.

The wooden tiles creaked under their shoes. She met an even heavier whiff of freshly cooked heroin and crack. The grainy scent of weed clung to the ceiling. She stepped through the smoke. Drugs mixed with vomit – the blend made her want to throw up, too. 

Foggy tripped over what seemed to look like a bag. Her hand shot out to catch him. “Careful,” she said.

“Thanks.” He shook the hair out of his face. “Man,” he asked, “What’s that smell?”

“Some heroin and cooked cocaine, I suppose.”

“So, crack?”

Eliza snorted - the reaction to hearing something funny, may I add; she did not snort cocaine. “Yes, crack.”

“Are you sure you should be here?” he questioned. “With your history and all.”

“I shouldn’t do a lot of things, Foggy, doesn’t mean I won’t do ‘em.”

“Yeah, I figured. Considering we had to bail you out of jail the first time we met.”

“Guilty as charged,” she said.

“You know,” – she wasn’t exactly sure what told him that they could have a full-blown conversation in the middle of a drug den – “The way Matt looks lately I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job at showing him a mirror.”

“How so?”

“He seems to have developed the ability to actually care for someone as deeply as he cares for you, and while he has tried to push me away again, he didn’t. This is the first time he actually lets me help. All thanks to you. I think… yeah, Matt is starting to become more human.”

“He’s always been human,” Eliza stated. “The state he’s in… all this pain, it’s what makes us human in the first place, so there’s no one quite as human as someone who has suffered the pain of two lifetimes. And he’s lived just a little over thirty years, so of course, he is the way he is.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, well, the only difference between me and Matt is that I’ve never been human and I probably never will. That makes him so much stronger than anyone else. You know why?”

“No, why?”

“The things he had to suffer through should have killed him, but they didn’t. He’s still here. He’s still standing. If I were him, I don’t know where I would be right now. I guess that’s why he acts that way around me; he knows I know what he’s going through, and he knows that I can catch him if the need arises because I’ve been through it many times before. I know what it’s like to feel broken beyond repair. Trust me,” she stopped in front of the stairway at the end of the hallway, “There is no one more human than Matt Murdock.”

Foggy scratched his neck. “Wow,” he muttered. “I actually haven’t thought about it like that before. Now that you mention it though…”

“He just doesn’t want to lose you,” she answered his unspoken question. “The only reason he treats you this way. I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying that Matt requires an ungodly amount of patience. He’s afraid the people he loves will eventually leave him, that’s why he never tells them. He’s trying to show it, but he can’t do that either because the only person who’s ever shown him, real love, died when he was a kid. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“I’m not. It’s just… it’s hard. I can’t fight for him if he keeps breaking my back. You know what I’m saying?”

She nodded gently. “I know. Just,” she said and leaned into him, “Don’t leave him. You and Karen, you’re all he’s got.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“We all know how this is gonna end,” what she hadn’t dared to voice before became shockingly clear. It hit even harder than the drugs in the air. “He’s gonna need you guys when I’m gone,” she said. “But let’s face it, once this is over, I will be gone. There is only a five percent chance I will actually survive, and that is kindly put.”

Foggy stopped her before she could ascend the stairs. “Eliza,” he called softly.

“Foggy?”

“Don’t say that. This is not over, okay?” He grabbed her by the shoulders. His soft eyes bore into hers. “And don’t you dare say you’re gonna die. I won’t allow that. Not on my watch, young lady!”

She chuckled. “You can’t change the inevitable.”

“How are you so calm? Stop it!”

“I’m just facing the truth,” she said. “That’s my life. I’ve been prepared for my life to end my whole life. As someone who’s never quite felt human or like she even belongs here, I’m okay with where this is heading. And what’s more human than dying?”

“You know, if you only took me with you to tell me that you believe you’re gonna die and you don’t want to hurt Matt,” he took a shaky breath, “this was a real dick move.” He looked so hurt like this.

“I’m sorry,” Eliza sighed. “I just thought it’s best to tell you in case this all goes downhill today or- or even tomorrow. I’m not sure, I just got a bad feeling. You’re the only one with a clear mind right now, Foggy,” she said, “and I think you’ll understand what I’ve just told you once you need to.”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with this info now,” he said truthfully.

“Don’t say anything. Shit hasn’t hit the fan yet. I’m trying to hold on to hope as long as possible, but my gut is hardly ever wrong, and it’s telling me that this – all of this – is not gonna end well.”

“But we can talk about that when it’s time.”

“Sure. When it’s time.”

“Which, hopefully,” he said, “is never.”

She chuckled, her mind absent. She was floating somewhere over the Grand Canyon. Her headspace was undetermined. She wasn’t sure what to believe in anymore, so she simply stopped. Hope was nothing but empty promises now.

She waved for him to follow her up the stairs. “C’mon,” she told him. “We’ve got a job to do.”

Foggy wanted to push the conversation away. He refused to believe that this was the direction she had set sail on. He refused to believe that there was no other way. And no matter how many times she told him not to worry about it until the time came, he couldn’t stop replaying her words over and over in his mind, suddenly overcome by nausea and the looming feeling that everything was about to change very soon.

Eliza guided them up the stairway to the first floor. There was a commotion in the hallway. She pressed a hand to Foggy’s chest and pushed him against the wall, the doorframe making him almost invisible to anyone coming at them. She pressed a finger to her lips. He nodded. He knew what that meant. 

She slid her hand around the gun in the back of her pants. The barrel was cold against her heated back. “Hi,” she said casually. The two men guarding the door turned at the same time. “I’m looking for Royal?” 

They huffed. Their automatic weapons were charged and ready in front of them. 

“Who are you?” one of them asked. 

“A well-paying customer. Who are you?”

“Yeah, right. As long as you don’t have an appointment, we have to ask you to leave.”

“Appointment? What is this, the doctor’s office?”

The other scowled at her. “Get lost!”

“Okay.” She pretended to turn away, the hold on her gun long gone. The men chuckled at each other; they were making fun of her. Eliza sighed. “Why does it always have to come down to this?” she said. “Don’t you guys know any better by now?”

“Lady, we told you-”

“I know what you told me,” she landed her elbow in his nose, then went straight ahead to kick his partner’s side flat with the sole of her boot, “but I simply don’t care.” Her fist was finally enough to leave them motionless on the floor. She unloaded their weapons and tossed the ammunition to the other side of the room. 

She waved at Foggy. He followed hesitantly, his satchel a pathetic excuse for a shield. At the end of the hall, they stepped through the door into the makeshift office. The man she was looking for stood at the wooden table, bags of white powder and green leaves scattered around. “Royal,” she called out. The man flinched, ready to grab his gun. The barrel clicked against the back of his head. “Na-ah.”

He lowered his arms and the gun into her hand. “What do you want?” Royal asked.

Eliza handed the weapon over to Foggy to take, but he simply stared at the black object with wide eyes. “Take it!” she said. 

“Me?” he stammered. “I’m supposed to- I don’t believe in guns.”

“Trust me, they’re very real, now take it.”

“Geez, okay. Um-” he held it with his pointy finger, dangerously close to the trigger. 

She groaned, grabbed the handle, and turned it around so he was holding it far away from their possible demise. “The safety is undone,” she told him. “Jesus, Foggy, you want to kill us?”

He panicked. “How was I supposed to know?”

“You- alright, never mind! Just hold it like that and do not drop it. Please.”

“Got it,” he nodded. 

“Thank you.”

Royal peaked over his shoulder. His dark brows were furrowed in an amused frown. “What is this?” he asked. “Kindergarten party?”

Eliza dug her gun deeper into his skull. “If you don’t stop talking, this is gonna be your funeral,” she shot back. 

“Sorry, sorry! I’m sorry. Just don’t shoot me, Jesus.”

“Turn around.” 

He did. “Liz?” it dawned on him. “Man, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I want answers.”

“And who’s this guy?” he asked. 

“A friend.”

“A friend, huh? What kinda name is Foggy?”

Foggy blushed bright red. “It’s short for Franklin,” he defended himself. “It’s a family name. My mom’s very proud of it.”

Royal laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made everyone want to cut it off his face. The sound could’ve easily been the cause of mass murder. 

“Okay, sir,” – and just as Eliza was about to shush him because god forbid, she would’ve been the next one to die if something happened to him, Foggy stepped up like a genius and said, “You know, I’m the one holding your gun right now. And from what I’ve heard, the safety’s off, which means it can shoot. You don’t have a gun anymore, so, I’d be careful what names you want to make fun of. Sir.” 

Eliza raised her eyebrows. 

“Was that good?” he asked her.

“That was- it was something, yeah,” she said. 

Royal crossed his arms behind his head. “Look, I don’t want trouble,” he said. 

“You should’ve thought about that before insulting us, punk.” 

She shook her head. “That’s going a bit too far now, Foggy.”

“Right,” he retreated, “Sorry.” 

Eliza eyed the heavy supplies of drugs around him. “Business is flowing, I see,” she pointed out.

“You looking to buy something?” Royal asked. 

“No, I’m not doing that anymore.”

“Explains why I haven’t seen you for a couple of years. Where are you these days?”

“Trying to catch dirtbags. Which brings me to you, Royal…”

“What do you need, Liz?”

She smirked. “I need information.”

“Information?” he questioned.

“On something that went down in Hell’s Kitchen, over by the docks, last night,” she said. 

“The explosion,” he knew exactly what she meant. “They’re saying it was a gas leak.”

“It wasn’t. But I think you know that. I heard about what was going down on the dark web. If they knew about the Viper, you certainly do too.”

Royal scoffed. “The Viper,” he repeated. “Yeah, I know him.”

“You do?” Foggy asked. 

“Of course, he does,” Eliza said. 

“Not personally, of course,” Royal stated. 

“Of course not.”

“But if I did I’d say his name was Ivan Borodin.”

She expected something, but it certainly wasn’t Ivan’s full name or the fact that Royal knew him. Curiosity was spiked. Eliza crossed her arms. “You know his name?” she asked to clarify. 

Royal nodded. “You want any more than that, it’s gonna cost you.”

“Seriously?” she scoffed at his approval. “I’m not gonna buy anything, but here,” she handed him a fifty-dollar bill, “That enough?”

He didn’t answer, at first. “Ivan Borodin. The Viper,” he told her. “I had some dealer come up to me two weeks ago, told me he got hired by someone called The Viper. He was scared and all that told me he didn’t have much time but that he was supposed to get an order from one end to the other.”

The pair shared a look. “What’s his name?” Foggy asked.

“That’s confidential.”

Eliza wasn’t having it. She cocked the gun. “Is it still confidential or do I have to shoot your dick off to get answers?” 

The wisest choice was to cave, he realized. The way she looked at him left no space for interpretation. With his arms raised, he admitted, “People on the streets know him as Venom.”

“Venom? The enormous black rage monster?”

“No, not that thing. His real name is Jerome something.”

The gun wavered.

“Jerome Walton! His name’s Jerome Walton.”

“And?” she pushed. 

“He used to operate out on 12th Avenue by the docks. That’s probably where they caught him. He came here from the Bronx. Real tough guy. Seeing him scared like that was, whew, something else.” 

“Thanks.” She tucked the gun away. “Wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

“With a gun to my face, I beg to differ.” 

“Oh, relax. You’ve had worse.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I don’t like to be threatened in my own home,” Royal argued.

“Your home?” Eliza asked and looked around. “Man, I feel bad for you.” She didn’t know if it was the smell of drugs or the vomit or perhaps both.

He only scoffed. “Jerome didn’t tell me what was sold, just that he had to do it or else they were gonna kill him. So I did my research.” 

“Did you find anything?”

“Bitch, what you take me for? A fool?”

“Sorry, I was just asking.”

“I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have, man. I always do my research with precision. I figured out where the deal was gonna go down and when. My guy told me it was some kind of serum, but he couldn’t talk about what it was exactly. Guess he needed a witness in case something went south. So I tracked the stuff to some German guy in a cancer research lab.”

“Robert Pfeiffer.”

“Yeah.”

“Did it look something like this?” She pulled the vial from her back pocket. The clear liquid inside hadn’t changed since she got it. 

Royal gasped. “Where did you get that?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“This is exactly what Jerome showed me,” he said. The serious look on his face changed into something more distant, something that resembled fear, even. She felt the confidence shift. “Listen, I don’t know what this is, but people are clearly willing to kill for it, so maybe you should just leave.”

Eliza grabbed him by the collar. “This isn’t some new drug, Royal,” she said. “This is the kind of stuff that could pay millions. I need to know more about the people Jerome was working with. As you said, they’re willing to kill for this, and I would like to stop them before any more people have to die.”

His lip quirked up. “You know what it’s inside.”

“I do, but I’m no scientist. I’m not like Pfeiffer. This is only my insurance.” She stuffed the vial back where it came from. “Now, talk before I shoot you.”

“Geez, woman! Alright… so, the guy died, right? My dealer told me he’d die if something happened because it was the last of it, but somehow he got another order because they got that stuff from someone else, right? Don’t know who because the Viper guy got dangerously close to figuring me out so I dropped it and after last night, I’m pretty sure the guy is dead. And my dealer, which is pretty unfortunate.”

That was disappointing. “Anything else?” Eliza grasped at straws. “Any more names, places, coordinates?”

“What else you want? My bank number?”

“I do,” Foggy raised his hand. 

“He doesn’t,” she said. “Ignore him. He’s just my bodyguard. Anyway, what were you saying?”

Royal flinched away at the look on her face. “He may have said something about a storage unit where he picked up the order, but you know, he was scared and we only talked swiftly because he was pretty damn sure he was being watched. What’s all of this about, anyway?” he asked. “Why you so obsessed with this?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“I do wanna know.”

“If you know, the same thing that happened to your friend will happen to you.”

“Oh, my- why so fucking mysterious?”

“That means you wanna tell me about the storage unit so I can make this all go away, right?”

“Right,” he patted his pants down, “I only remember the sign thing-y. He made me a little note but I threw it away because I’m not that stupid. I can draw it for you, but that’s all I have.”

“Thank you, Royal,” this time her words were soft, genuine.

He finished drawing the logo. She barely could make it out because of his shaky hands, but what he showed her seemed familiar. Eliza nodded at the note. “Thank you,” she said again.

“Just make this go away, whatever it is,” Royal said. “It’s bad for business, especially when my dealers drop like flies.”

“I promise.”

Before they left, Foggy had the courage to speak directly to him. “Maybe you should think about relocating,” he suggested. “The drug numbers are rising.”

“That’s good for me, bruv.”

“Think about it. Maybe you should go somewhere else, start another business, maybe one that’s not illegal.”

“You want to tell me about justice, Liz’s bodyguard? Mind your own business!”

“I’m a lawyer, I could help you.”

“Lawyer? What the fuck? What you bringing a lawyer here for?” he asked Eliza. 

She rolled her eyes. “Security, I told you,” she said. 

“You’ve gotten boring, man.”

“I know. Just trying to make the world a better place.”

“You’re at the wrong address here. Now, you better give me my gun back and leave before I change my mind.”

“Change your mind?” she snorted. “I can kick your ass in my sleep. Thanks for the info though. It was nice seeing you again, Royal.”

He took his gun back quickly as Foggy handed it to him. “Can’t say the same about you,” he said.

“Ouch.”

“Get outta here!”

She threw up a peace sign. “See ya around, Royal!”

“No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t.”

Eliza punched Foggy hard in the shoulder as soon as they were out. “You could’ve gotten yourself shot!” she said. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry, I panicked!” He hugged his satchel tighter. “Maybe you should’ve taken Matt. He’s way more intimidating than I am.”

“The guy would be high by now, with his senses and everything. No, you’re good, you’re just a bit stupid sometimes.”

“Wow, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“So, what do we do about the logo?”

Eliza scanned the note with her phone. “I have this app,” she explained. “Tony taught me how to code, so I know a thing or two about writing programs.”

Foggy looked over her shoulder. “What does it do?” he asked.

“The app runs the drawing through every database there is. Storage Units and every other business are documented in ledgers and on websites. The program filters logos that look like this one or might resemble it and gives me a list of possible hits.”

“Can I download it on the App Store?”

“Not yet. Didn’t want to sell the code. I could create it for you though. Shouldn’t be too hard, I have the blueprint somewhere. I mean, it’s not as smart as Jarvis, but it’s something.”

“I’m so impressed right now.”

“Okay, Foggy, I think we’re going a bit too far now.”

“Sorry. I just think you made me fall in love with you.”

She chuckled. “Happens to the best of us.”

The phone pinged after another minute. Bingo.

“StorQuest Storage!” Eliza burst through the door into the apartment. Matt almost dropped his cereal bowl.

Foggy entered after her. It looked like he had been running up the stairs. “How is it that your little legs manage to run faster than mine?” he panted. 

“Those little legs are about to kick your ass,” she retorted. “Anyway, StorQuest Storage. We got it, Matthew!” 

Matt frowned. “What?” he asked.

“StorQuest Storage,” she said. “The seller that brought the serum to the warehouse met the supplier at this storage facility.” She slapped her phone down on the table. He eyed it first, then trailed his head up to Eliza. His mind reeled.

“You know he can’t see that, right?” Foggy said. 

“Right, my bad. Sorry.”

“How did you find that out?” she’d never seen his eyes so wide and impressed before.

The honey brown of his irises looked so adorable in the soft sunlight; she could’ve sworn she saw speckles of green, whenever the sun stood right in the sky. His hair was still disheveled in all directions and the cuts on his face slowly turned from red to blue to green. He stood like a lost puppy in his kitchen, attention diverted completely toward the girl in his apartment. 

“I talked to the right person,” she said.

“Was that person a drug dealer?”

She knew he’d bring that up.

“Let me guess, I smell like heroin?”

“Foggy does. Among other things.” His jaw clenched. “What were you doing in a drug den?”

“Getting information. From a drug dealer.”

“Why the fuck would you go to a drug dealer for information?”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I? Drug mules actually prove to be pretty reliable sources."

Matt's sigh was one of disappointment. "Alright," he mumbled to himself.

"Matt," she realized she'd made him upset. "Matt, talk to me."

"Take your shirt off," he said instead.

Her jaw dropped. "Pardon?"

Foggy stood there with his eyes wide. “I’m not down for a threesome,” he said. 

"I don't see how that's relevant."

“Take it off, now,” Matt repeated. 

“Why?” she asked. 

"The smell's killing me. Now, I know you don't like to talk about it and while I don't like you going out and about with drug dealers, I won't force you to speak about something you're not ready to share with me yet. But please, for the love of all that is holy, let me wash that shirt!"

Matt Murdock didn't settle. He didn't move on after something like this. He closed chapters before they were finished and then he abandoned them, scared of the ending, even if there was a silver lining hidden somewhere in there.

Eliza had the choice once again. Like the night they first met though, she was sure she had made a bad judgment call and she would regret it, but it would always be worth more than doing nothing at all. Perhaps she could still fix him. Perhaps…

“StorQuest Storage," he said. "What’s it mean?”

Eliza scrambled to pick up her brain again. “Uh, it’s- it’s where the seller got the serum from the supplier, I told you that,” she said.

“Yes, but there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

Foggy stepped forward. “The seller’s name was Jerome Walton. Here,” he searched for the name on his laptop. “The guy’s got a record. Larceny, B & E, assault, attempted murder, possession of illegal substances, possession with the intent to sell, possession of an illegal weapon–“ he stopped. “That’s a lot of possessions for a single person.”

“He’s a drug dealer,” Eliza deadpanned. “What’d you expect?”

“Oh, there’s more! He was the suspect in an alleged human trafficking case in which Russian girls were found in a container at the Hudson.”

Matt opened his mouth. Trafficking. Young girls. He felt sick. “Foggy, how long ago was this?” he asked.

“Three weeks,” he read. 

“Three weeks…”

“My source said they’d approached him about two weeks ago,” said Eliza. “This can’t be a coincidence. I mean, Jerome used to work down at 12th Avenue. They must’ve recruited him there.” 

“This could be it,” Matt told her, nudging her slightly. He sensed the hesitation. She tried to pull away. He took her hand regardless. 

"This could be the key," she kept saying to herself as she paced the kitchen floor. "This could be it. I solved it. I solved it."

This could be it. This could be the key.

Eliza dried her cheeks with the rough insides of her palms. “We, uh, we need to talk about our next move,” she said. “StorQuest Storage. What do we do?”

She realized they were staring at her. “What?”

“You sure you’re okay?” Foggy asked.

“Yeah, fine. I’d be better if this were all over. It’s just… the anxiety, I can’t control it.” She returned to the laptop.

The truth was, she didn’t know how to feel. She freaked out, that was normal. She worried too much. She worried too much about the wrong things and that was dangerous. Feelings were dangerous. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She was terrified. The anxiety she could deal with, but fear was something else entirely. The fear struck through her skin into her bones. It became part of her. She was scared of herself – she was scared of her feelings, scared of him, scared for him. No right way to explain it, words weren’t enough. 

The state of not knowing is the most unpredictable state known to man, and that was exactly why Eliza couldn’t help but be numbed by the fear it came with. 

“Karen, Karen, Karen!” Matt’s phone called out from the bedroom. 

The three of them exchanged a look before Foggy blurted out, still bitter from the fight before, apparently, “Oh, so it does work!”

“I plugged it in,” Eliza admitted. Matt was more than glad for her save. “You know before you busted me in his bedroom.” She grinned cheekily back at him. 

 “Doesn’t matter,” Foggy said. “You gonna answer that, or not?”

“No,” Matt said. 

“Why? It’s Karen.”

“She’s just gonna ask me what’s going on. I don’t have the nerve to lie to her right now.”

She saw what he was about to say. “Don’t,” she warned. “No more fighting.”

Just in time, the ringing stopped, followed only seconds later by Foggy’s ringtone filling the apartment. “You gonna get that?” she asked him. 

He scoffed. “I hate you so much sometimes.” He pushed the green acceptance button. “Karen!” he answered. “What’s up?”

Matt tilted his head to listen in. For a second, Eliza considered asking him to translate, but then she remembered that it was their law firm and for once, this was a personal issue she shouldn’t get involved in, so she ignored the urge to be curious. Instead, she went into the kitchen to fix herself another coffee. The lack of sleep was slowly putting more and more weight on her burning eyelids. 

“I was checking on Matt,” Foggy said. “I think he has the flu, that’s probably why I feel a little sick myself. You don’t know how he is when he gets sick. It’s almost like he’s having a psychosis.”

He shook his head at her. “Not true,” he mouthed. Eliza chuckled. Then, his smile dropped. 

“NO!” Foggy almost yelled. It was loud enough to echo. “You don’t need to come over,” he said. “Really, I can take care of him just fine. It’s- well if the case is that important, I’m sure you can just send me an email- we don’t even know if we’re gonna take the case, Karen. For all we know, it may be useless to defend this guy… yeah, I know he’s in jail, but maybe there’s a reason for that. If I had the file, I could take a look and then get back to you.”

Matt motioned a hand at his friend. He excused himself and placed the phone on his shoulder, “What?”

“Go,” he said. 

“What?”

“Go to the office. Take the case.”

“Matt-”

“This is not about you helping us, this is about Nelson & Murdock.”

“If I go there, Karen will know that I am not sick with the flu!”

“We need to keep our doors open, Foggy.”

“Oh, so just because you don’t like doing your job, I have to?” He scoffed. “Unbelievable. And I hate that you’re right.” Foggy lifted his hand off the speaker again. “You know what,” he told Karen, “I’ll come over and take a look at it in person. Just try to keep your distance because I might be infectious and the last thing we need is for us all to be sick and hallucinating. Not- not that I am hallucinating. Matt is, but he’s asleep right now, so I guess I can spare a couple of hours. I just need to lock all the doors and make sure he doesn’t get on the roof. I swear he’s like a cat when he’s sick. Anyway-” he reached for his bag, “I will be right there. Call the family and tell them to meet us at the office.”

Eliza wordlessly handed him a to-go cup she found stashed away in the kitchen after he had hung up. 

“Thank you. You guys stay safe, alright?” 

“We’ll be fine,” Matt said. 

She wanted to punch him. “We’ll try our best and call you if there’s anything new,” she phrased it way better. 

“I’ll be counting on it,” Foggy said. 

The door fell shut behind him, leaving Matt and Eliza alone in his apartment. She hadn’t realized before that he was wearing his glasses. She got so used to him not wearing them around her, it confused her a little. 

She felt confident to make an assumption after she made sure Foggy was gone. “You don’t like it when he sees your eyes because that makes it easier for him to read you.”

“What?” he asked. 

“Foggy. You’re wearing your glasses again. You don’t do that around me.”

He appeared behind her in the kitchen. This time, she allowed him to take the beer bottle from the fridge. He tried to remove the cap with his hand, but he flinched away in pain as his muscles tensed. The stitches pulled hard and heavy, and the wound underneath began to throb. 

Eliza took the cold glass. She twisted the metal to the left. It gave in with a loud click. 

“Thank you,” he said, but she didn’t hand it to him, not yet. She guided the bottle to his hand, though not without trading it for the glasses on his face. He raised his eyebrows. She could’ve sworn he was staring at her, following her with his eyes, although it wasn’t possible. The challenging look he held made her shiver. 

It wouldn’t have been Eliza if she had just taken the awkwardness of the situation and dealt with it. She slipped them on her face. “I have a question, Mister Murdock,” she said. “How exactly do you see through these?”

The thought process flashed perfectly across his eyes. No matter how miserable the joke was, his tense expression cracked up the second he managed to make sense of what she had just said. He laughed. It was a quiet one, and it was barely there, but his grin was enough to make her smile. 

“Thank God. I was starting to think you’d lost your humor completely.”

“You see,” Matt began, “There is this thing I have, Miss Bennett.”

“Oh, really?”

“It’s called chronic blindness.”

She snatched the beer bottle from him, took a sip, and then gave it back to him. “Sounds serious,” she said. 

“Incurable, I’m afraid.”

Eliza chuckled to herself. “I like this version of you better.”

“What version?”

“The one who isn’t afraid to be himself.”

“Well,” he reached for his glasses, “At least I’m not a thief,” he said, and promptly, he stole them back. He put them back on his nose. “Now, don’t we have a storage unit to investigate?”

She sighed. “I mean, yeah. We should go there.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. Something soft hit him in the face. He knew what it was, judging by the horrendous smell, but he didn’t make an effort to catch it. “Ow?”

“May I make use of your closet to get a new shirt, Mister Murdock?” she asked. 

He felt stupid. The blood rushed to his cheeks knowing she was standing there in only her bra – lace, he could tell by the way it moved against her skin – and that she didn’t even try to hide it. Karen had done it too, the night she spent at his apartment after he and Foggy got her out of jail. He had told Eliza it was fine, he couldn’t see, but the knowledge alone made him feel like a teenager all over again. 

He scrunched his nose. “Yeah,” the answer came quietly. 

“Thank you. Anything, in particular, I am not allowed to wear?”

“Knock yourself out.”

She disappeared into his bedroom. The fabric kept brushing against more fabric as she gently rustled through his drawers. She steered clear of his dress shirts, knowing they were ordered a certain way. His collection of sweaters and sleep t-shirts was messy though; the only way he could tell them apart was by fabric. The clothes he wore more often were all sorted in a certain way, but since he hardly wore anything other than his suits and sweatpants on off days, there was a lot he didn’t mind being taken. 

Not that he would’ve minded if Eliza had walked out with one of his suits. The thought alone excited him in a perverted way and he hated himself for thinking that way. 

Her boots patted against the floor. “You know,” she said, and he turned his head in her direction, “This is actually a tight fit.”

“What’re you wearing?” Matt asked.

“I don’t know. It’s black, that’s for sure. And it’s tight. Long sleeves, too.”

He smelled the faintest remains of sweat and blood that stuck to the fabric. “That’s my-“ he didn’t finish. 

“What?” he only imagined the innocent look on her face. 

He thought he had a problem with her wearing it, but those times were over and he no longer needed it. The shirt was just that, a shirt. Nothing more. It had been a symbol once, but that symbol had long been replaced by something else. 

“Never mind,” he waved her off. “Probably looks good.”

He knew it did. She felt comfortable in it, too. And she smelled like him, which was a bonus. 

“It’s comfortable. Not too loose, not too tight. Feels like I’ve seen you wear it before, but I can’t remember when. It’s weird.” 

“Yeah. Weird what tricks your mind can play, right?”

Maybe she looked like him, minus the mask and the black jeans. She was wearing boots though and her hair was braided, he could tell. It didn’t move against her shoulders too much and her natural scent radiated off her throat without any borders to filter it. 

“Anyway,” she said, reaching for her old shirt. He frowned at the simple action. As she walked through the open bathroom door, her voice sounded back to him. “We need to go to StorQuest Storage and see what connection the place has to Jerome.”

He heard the washing machine open. She popped the shirt in. The laundry detergent was hidden in plain sight. She poured some of it in, as written on the instructions. Exactly the right amount. 

“It’s, unfortunately, the only way if we want to find answers.” 

She was about to suggest something, but knowing her, he cut her off. 

“I won’t let you do this alone this time,” he said. 

His washing machine made the sound it always made whenever the chosen program started. She peaked her head around the corner. “But-”

“No. You said you can’t do this yourself and I won’t let you.”

“You’re probably right,” she came out with a sigh. “I’m worried about your injuries though. You can’t walk around like you’re healthy and risk internal bleeding. I mean, it wouldn’t help any of us.” 

He directed his eyes to the ceiling. “I’m gonna be fine. I fought a bunch of guys in a hallway after my lung almost collapsed and I survived. It’s no big deal.” 

Eliza stared at him in absolute horror. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?!” she asked. 

“No, probably not. Heh.”

“God,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s say you go in as yourself. Maybe not tell anyone you’re Matt Murdock. This is a storage facility. It’s not like anyone cares. And even if they do, I have ways to lie my way out of things.”

“I’m not Matt Murdock if I can’t be Daredevil, Eliza.” 

Her eyes softened. “For all I know, you’re just a lawyer. People look at you and they see a blind man. They don’t see a city-wide known vigilante. I mean, we can hide the bruises. There’s concealer for that. And if anyone asks, you just had a fight with a raccoon.”

Matt deadpanned at her. “This is your understanding of a good excuse?” 

“You were drunk,” she suggested.

“No.”

“Well, what do you tell your friends when you come in with a shiner like that?” she pointed to his eye. “You know, before even Foggy knew, how did you explain all the bruises?” 

He pursed his lips. “I stumbled, hit my head. I once said I got into a car accident, but I doubt Karen believed me. I know she didn’t.” 

“Really?” Eliza glared at him. “And she didn’t believe you?” 

“Yeah. Although I did look the part.” 

“I can’t believe you made it this far without anyone finding out. Blows my mind.”

“Well, I am blind.”

“Your excuses are terrible. Do better.”

“Ha ha,” he breathed out. “Very funny. I mean, do we even know what we’re looking for?” he quipped.

“No,” she said, “but we have a face and a name. How hard can it be?”

Very hard, apparently. 

“On second thought,” - Eliza stared at the maze of storage units - “Maybe I was wrong.”

When they arrived at the storage facility, the woman at the front desk eyed them wearily. 

“She’s not gonna give us anything,” Matt whispered in her ear.

Eliza figured as much. 

“Welcome to StorQuest Storage. What can I help you with?” the woman asked.

“Sorry to barge in like that,” Matt greeted her with a charming smile. “It’s just that I and my wife were looking to rent one of your storage units to keep our furniture before we move into our house. A friend of ours recommended this place.”

The woman eyed Eliza. Something didn’t feel right. Her fingers drew circles. The smoke conquered her soul. For a second, the woman’s body went entirely stiff. When her eyes opened, there was a glow inside of them. Her mood shifted. Eliza felt the pressure of an unloving husband and kids that danced around the house, not cleaning a single inch. They struggled with money and it made her sad, it made her bitter. She wasn’t open to persuasion. With one flick of her finger, all of that disappeared. Left behind was the kind of woman that was willing to help them out.

“Hi,” her voice sounded higher. “I’m sorry, what were you saying again?”

Matt tilted his head in the direction of the sizzling. The sound made the air smell sweet. 

“Me and my husband are looking for a storage unit,” Eliza said.

“You’ve come to the right place, then.”

“One of our friends came here some time ago. He, unfortunately, died in a car accident yesterday.”

“Oh, my God. I am so sorry.”

“Yes, very sad. Anyway, would you mind if I showed you a picture of him? I kinda forgot which lot he had rented and I was thinking of maybe taking it for our furniture. You know, get his belongings back to his family.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m the only one working here lately, so I remember most faces that come and go. Something about lack of staff or something.”

Eliza handed her the picture she previously printed. “His name’s Jerome Walton. Was,” her eyes teared up.

“I am so sorry,” the woman said again. Pity tasted almost like cinnamon. 

“I know,” she made the tear slip down her cheek. “So shortly after the wedding, too. He was such a good friend and now he’s just gone.”

Matt was completely bewildered.

“That must be so hard for you.” The woman eyed the picture. She caught a glimpse of her name tag. Brenda. 

“Thank you for doing this, Brenda,” Eliza said, still crying. “It means a lot. We swore to name our son after Jerome, he even had this little blanket he wanted to give us. I believe it’s in the unit too.” 

“I remember him.”

She suddenly had to put more pressure on her powers. 

“He came here about a week ago with some ‘friends’. They didn’t seem legit though.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know Jerome had friends here in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“They didn’t look too close. He rented this unit by himself a couple weeks ago, and then he suddenly started coming in more often, leaving some things there every once in a while. I’m not sure what was going on. I just hope your friend hasn’t gotten himself in trouble.”

Eliza placed a hand over her heart. “That is so overwhelming,” she sniffled. “Jerome was a good man. I can’t see why he’d come here so often.”

“I’m not sure either, but I can give you the spare key if you want. You have to find it yourself though because it’s against policy for me to even tell you this.” 

“You’d do that for us?” 

“Of course,” Brenda smiled. “Anything for your closure. I’m sure you’ve got plenty enough trouble already.”

“We do, yeah. I mean, my husband’s blind-“ Eliza patted his cheek.

He laughed awkwardly. “I was born like this,” he told her. “Birth defect. I’ve never been able to see anything, not even my wife’s lovely face.”

His grip around her hip tightened. He wasn’t enjoying this, but fortunately, his charming voice didn’t betray him. 

“There’s a chance our children might be blind too,” he added.

Eliza has never been so proud of anyone before. “Yeah, but we make it work, don’t we, baby?” She poked his side.

He bit his cheek. “Of course, sweetheart.”

“Oh, that is such a lovely story,” Brenda almost swooned. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, tears of pity, fake tears. They weren’t real, and neither were her feelings, but to her, they seemed real.  “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. I can’t even imagine!”

She searched for something inside the key box. “Lot 435,” her eyebrows furrowed, “Though his name isn’t listed as Jerome Walton.”

Eliza twisted her finger again. She was fighting it. “What?” 

“Yeah, he signed under the name Alyosha Popovich. I don’t know what that means.” 

Her head cocked to the side. For a moment, she almost lost control. “That’s his Russian name,” she found her way around it. “He’s not Russian, of course, but my family is.”

That was such a blatant lie, Matt struggled to make out any of her usual markers. Her hand fisted around his suit jacket. The name hit a nerve. She was thinking hard about something. 

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Brenda said. She used that word an awful lot.

“Yeah, our culture is a bit… different. I’m not orthodox, but my family’s very traditional.”

“Well, if that’s so. Here- “She handed them the key. “And I’m sorry for your loss, again.”

“Thank you.” 

As they turned away, Matt leaned in. “What was that?” he rasped into her ear.

“Relax,” Eliza eased him as she eased her hold on Brenda. She slowly slumped back in her seat. “I’m not hurting her.”

“I know that, but it’s risky to use your powers right now.”

“I’m gonna delete the footage anyway.”

“How are you gonna do that?”

Eliza tilted her head. The lines behind the TV screens began to crackle. The energy seeped through it like a worm. And just like that, the feed went out.

“It was a live feed,” she stated. “There are no recordings.”

Brenda slapped the screen. “Damn it!” but at that point, the pair was already out of sight, out of mind. 

So that’s how they got there, standing helplessly in front of the maze of storage units. The key dangled loosely at Eliza’s side. 

“On second thought,” she said, “Maybe I was wrong.” 

“Lot 435,” Matt repeated back to her.

“I know that, I just don’t know where to start. If you could see this, you’d agree. There are like a thousand lockers here. How are we supposed to find this one?”

“I’m blind, Eliza. I can’t help you with finding the number on a door.”

“Wow,” she turned to him. “Thanks for stating the obvious.” She looked at the navigation signs that hung from the ceiling only to figure they weren’t helpful at all. 

Eliza pointed right. “Lots 350 to 450 are in that direction.” 

Matt folded his cane. “Then let’s go,” he said.

They began to walk in the direction she pointed them to. She checked every row for any indication that they were getting closer, but the path was long, and the finish line was nowhere in sight. After about five minutes of desperately searching, Eliza stopped.

She pushed at Matt’s chest. “We need to go down here,” she said. 

“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” he asked.

His dress shoes echoed off the linoleum floors. His plump lips formed a thin line and the muscles of his jaw clenched like bodybuilders during a staring contest. Eliza didn’t miss the obvious distaste that radiated off of him.

“Okay, hold on.”

“What?”

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he claimed.

“You look like someone just threatened to kill your dog. What’s wrong?”

The glasses hid his eyes, but she knew better than to narrow them down to the upper part of his face. His head tilted ever so slightly, and teeth dug into his cheek. 

“Didn’t know you could cry on demand like that,” he said. 

“Is this what this is about?” she asked.

“No… yes. I don’t know.”

It slowly started to dawn on her – the look wasn’t one of distaste. 

“You played with that poor woman like she’s the Sunday Morning crossword puzzle.”

“And that’s a problem to you?” 

“Hearing you talk about your powers is one thing, but experiencing them in action- experiencing what you can do with your mind alone, the mask of pretense you put on just to get what you want, it’s crazy.”

“I know I’m crazy,” her eyes darkened. “The question is just, can you handle it?”

He chuckled, out of breath. “Sweetheart, I’ve dealt with crazier than you,” he said. “What you are is powerful, and that’s much more terrifying than any psycho I’ve ever encountered.” 

“You’re scared of me?”

“I’m not scared, you’ve just- You’ve drawn me into your spider web and now I get to watch you play, and all of that, the uncertainty of it all, is breaking my mind.“

Eliza smirked. “At least you’re self-aware.”

“My mind can’t comprehend this. It’s like you’re two entirely different people.” 

She shook her head. “You don’t get to do that,” she said. “You don’t get to tell me I’m two different people when you’re the one acting like he’s this catholic good boy during the day and then turns into the devil at night. If you want to blame someone for being two-faced, blame yourself.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He tried to keep his voice down. The sound echoed dangerously loud through the hallway. “It’s just that with you, I never know what I’ll get. I never know who I’m dealing with because you change drastically so damn quick. I can’t predict what you’re going to do next. I should be able to, I mean we’re partners, but I can’t. Every time I think I’ve heard it all, you put another cherry on top.”

“Well, I don’t know who I am either if that makes you feel better. I don’t even recognize the person in the mirror most of the time, so don’t worry, you’re not the only one who’s fucking confused.”

“You’re blocking.” Matt placed his hands on his hips. “I know you, Eliza. I know you’re not fine. I know this is all too much for you, but you keep going because you feel like you have to. That’s the person I know, but this other side, the Avenger, it’s not just a separate part of you. She is you. You only feel brave in moments like this, in moments where you can be in control.”

She crossed her arms. They were really doing this, in the hallway of a storage unit.

“I’m not normal,” she reminded him. The definition of normal went out the window the second she came into the world. 

Matt shifted his stance. “In moments like these, you’re this power-hungry creature who thinks she can do it all,” he said. “Whatever it is you can do, it’s scary. It’s scary for people like me who can’t do what you do. I’m not used to it. I’m trying hard to get used to it. I know that if I want to work with you, I have to get used to this, but it just doesn’t sit right with me. God works in mysterious ways but I never truly believed this could actually exist.” He pointed to her hands.

“So I’m unholy now, is that it?” the calm tone of her voice broke the air in the room. 

“You’re not unholy, you’re just you. I believe in God – the supernatural is on a whole new level and it’s gonna take time. It’s gonna take time for me to differentiate between you and… and you. Alone me saying that is… I don’t know. It’s a lot. And I’m a blind man with super senses, so I would know.” 

A few beats passed. “Okay,” she eventually said. 

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Eliza tried to turn and leave, but keep searching for the right storage locker. Matt grabbed her arm. “Oh no, sweetheart. I’m not letting you off that easy.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Was it really so wrong what I just said?”

“It’s not what you said, it’s how you said it. I mean, what was that earlier? You only seem to have a problem with me when I do shit like this. After Foggy and I came back, you put your defenses up and I was already wondering what was going on. Is that- were you really scared of me because you saw the lengths I was willing to go to?”

He was searching for the right words. 

“Oh, my God! I can’t believe you. And you said we were partners. We fought together in that god-forsaken warehouse. You heard the story about how I killed a child, how I was sexually assaulted by the man who kidnapped me and you still kissed me. You begged me to fix your pain. You know I can do it for you or Foggy, simply fix what you’re feeling, but me controlling a person the way I was actually taught to use my powers is too much for you?”

“Eliza, you don’t understand-”

“I understand. You can deal with me being a vigilante, fighting with my fists, but as soon as I completely rely on my powers or- or whatever illegal things I can think of to accomplish a mission, your understanding stops. I get it. I really do. I just don’t know why it takes us fighting for you to tell me you still haven’t quite recovered from the truth.”

“You know I care about you,” he told her. 

“I’m trying to tell you that you can’t have one without the other, Matt!” she said. “You can’t like me one minute and then pull out the other because your brain is fried. You either stand by me completely or not. Make up your mind.”

“Alright.” His jaw was set in stone. “I don’t care if you’re a witch or a goblin or whatever else you might be. Just don’t undermine me again without telling me first. If you want to take control, tell me. Don’t make me look stupid again.”

“Are you afraid that I’m stronger than you?” she asked.

“No.”

“You sure? May I remind you, you’re not wearing your Daredevil suit right now? Which means you’re vulnerable.” She pushed him back. His pecks tensed under her touch, light as a feather and yet strong enough to make him stumble. Or was it her mind that was making him do this? He wasn’t sure what had the stronger grip on him anymore. “You’re right, I want to be in control. I’m power-hungry. All that’s true. You think you’re the only one who can play, Daredevil? You’re God’s disciple and get what you want just by letting the devil out?”

Once again, he found himself pushed back.

“Well, you’re wrong. You can try to force me into submission all you want, but when we’re like this, I’m the one with the advantage.”

He licked his teeth, not his lips. Like a wild predator ready to pull his prey. In the flickering lights of the facility and their height difference, he might’ve just started hunting her. Eliza knew that she would probably lose when it came down to it, but she liked the thrill of it. 

“Lot 435,” he stated. His arm extended to the metal door to his left. 

Eliza raised an eyebrow. “Impressive,” she said, though her voice said the opposite.

“Don’t lie to me,” he bared his teeth again.

“Why not? It’s been so fun arguing with you.”

Matt’s laugh was almost manic. “I promise you, if you keep this up, I’m going to snap and then you’re gonna suffer the consequences.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. 

“That’s another lie. I’d be careful now if I were you.”

“Why? What’re you gonna do, kick me out? This is my case as much as it is yours, don’t flatter yourself. I’m not doing this for you.”

“God, you think you’re so smart, don’t you?” he laughed again. “I wish I could keep you restrained for the whole fucking day and make you reflect on the way you just acted." 

“Look at you, saying the Lord’s name in vain.”

His head cocked. A dangerous turn, something she'd never seen before. To anyone not accustomed to him or his antics, the simple action would've seemed terrifying, but to her, it was nothing but a satisfying tingle of thrill. Eliza realized he was actually warning her this time. She had to admit, her teasing had been anything but gentle, but the reaction it coaxed out of him blew even her mind. 

She grunted, strangled. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “It’s not a good look on you.”

He shamelessly took a deep breath to breathe in her scent. “Open the door,” he demanded. The golden-boy smile was back, nothing like the devil that had peaked just minutes before.

Eliza licked her lips. This wasn’t the end. She wasn't sure what had come over her, but she couldn't keep this going for much longer without eventually succumbing to the fire he ignited deep in her chest. 

She slid the key into the lock. The door flipped open. Disappointment was the first thing that came to mind.

“It’s empty,” she stated. 

Except for a table on one side and a light bulb from the ceiling, the locker was absolutely empty. 

“Someone has been here recently,” Matt said. He passed by her and stepped into the darkness. “I can smell their cologne. Three people at least.”

Eliza turned the lights on. “Why is it empty?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t seem right.”

“What if they just used this place to make their deals?” 

“Then why rent an entire storage unit? What did Brenda say was the name listed for this place again?”

“Alyosha Popovich.”

“The name means something to you. What?”

She gave in. “Alyosha Popovich is an epic hero of the Kievan Rus era. He stems from Russian folklore. He was a mighty warrior and a trickster; one of three well-known bogatyrs, similar to other medieval knights-errant.“

“Russian folklore,” Matt said. “Do you think this unit might’ve been rented by Hydra? They could’ve used Jerome as a façade.” 

Eliza kept her distance, knowing he had his process and she didn’t want to disturb him again. Since she was apparently so distracting.  

“Did you know, in Byliny – that’s Russian ballads – he is described as a clever-minded priest's son who wins by tricking and outsmarting his foes,” she said.

So much for not distracting him. 

Matt chuckled slightly at the story. “Really?”

“Yeah. He defeated the dragon Tugarin Zmeyevich with trickery. And some say he’s also considered a mocker of women.” Her face faltered. “Mocker of women,” she breathed. The realization hit hard. “This is Ivan’s doing. He did this! The bastard’s mocking me.” 

Matt’s head tilted and suddenly locked in place. He lifted his finger towards the wall. “There’s an electrical current running through this wall,” he said.

“What?” Eliza watched as he inspected the wall. His fingertips brushed it only slightly. 

“There we go.” He pushed down on something. The buzzing reached enough decibels for her to hear it, too.

“What the fuck?”

The wall, raising itself off the floor, revealed another door behind it. It was locked with deadbolts. 

“It’s soundproof,” Matt stated.

“Not surprising,” she said.

“Can you pick the lock?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The wood fell out of its hinge. He nodded. “Or you could do that.”

She searched for the light switch on the left wall of the room. Her fingers hovered hesitantly and yet shook with anticipation. The white neon momentarily blinded her. Eliza placed a hand in front of her eyes to shield her from the artificial, painful lighting. As her eyes grew accustomed to the room, the lump in her throat grew. 

For the first time, she cruelly wished blindness upon herself, just so she wouldn’t have to see the danger seeping off the walls like mold. 

She sucked the air into her lungs and then it just stopped. Matt was afraid she might’ve died, but her heart was still beating, though irregularly and way too fast for any normal human being to survive. 

“Holy fuck,” she breathed out. 

Pictures lined the walls from top to bottom. Red threads connected the prints with each other in a carefully thought-out spiderweb. Flashcards with hard-to-make-out handwriting adorned some of them while the rest was painted on with black markers. The entire room was rigged like dominos - kick one over and the whole place might come down. 

One side of the wall was covered in at least dozens of pictures of her face. In some, she had barely turned a teenager. The others appeared to be more recent. Eliza recognized the route from her therapist’s office to the coffee shop she frequented. Someone had photographed her on runs in Central Park, on her lunch dates with Pepper, and even on small hang-outs with the Avengers at the bowling alley. All of her official outings were meticulously documented. 

Looking further, she caught a glimpse of Wanda’s face. The protests in Sokovia inevitably lead to the Maximoff’s volunteering for Hydra. After the city came down, she joined the Avengers, and someone made sure there were photos of her arrival in New York. The documentation stopped right after Lagos, her face clear as day as she had to stare at the mess she made. Red circled her face and drew upon it, a target. After that, her trail went cold. 

Eliza turned. They kept tabs on Bucky too, she realized. Pictures from his time as the Winter Soldier lead to the fight with Steve and Natasha on the bridge, and then melting over into the fall of SHIELD  and his disappearance into nothingness. The timeline went all the way to the UN bombing, and his descent into madness just to be reborn again. After Berlin, he was wiped off the face of the earth. 

THE WINTER SOLDIER PROJECT.

Wanda offered herself to experiments with the Mind Stone. Pietro died protecting a boy’s life. Von Strucker glowed with pride before the Avengers put an end to him. His name stood somewhere between Wanda’s name and her family history.

Over her own face, Eliza read the bright letters of PROJECT CHAOS. Familiar faces of young children formed something similar to tree roots out of her existence. DECEASED. FAILED. The red circle brought attention to the true victory – Eliza.

The thread connected Eliza to Wanda and those two were connected to Bucky in the middle of the maze. She reached for the card that hung from the center.

X.

Just X.

“There are pictures everywhere,” Eliza said. “Me, Wanda, Bucky… they were monitoring us, even when we thought we were in the clear.”

Matt traced his fingers over the thread above their heads. “What are they planning?” he wondered. 

“We started this.”

She stared at the X just a little longer, wishing for it to give her a different answer, to change her conclusion, but her intuition was hardly wrong. 

“All of this, I’m the epicenter.” She reached for her picture on the wall. “I did this.” 

“That can’t be true.” It was sweet how Matt tried to keep hope for the both of them. To no avail. 

“It started with me, the first enhanced person in Hydra history.” She followed the thread across the room. “The Winter Soldier project started long before me, but that was easy work. Just a serum and some brainwashing, nothing quite like what they did to me, someone who was born like this. They took Bucky and then they-“ she stopped at Wanda’s wall, “waited until they got volunteers for what they were planning with Loki’s scepter, and poof!”

Eliza stopped in the middle.

“They made three absolutely powerful creatures. But that wasn’t enough, was it?” she asked herself. 

Her eyes stopped at the laptop in the corner. 

Matt followed her distinctive movements to the X on the ceiling. “They wanted to combine what they did to you,” he said. 

“One of us wasn’t strong enough to make Hydra invincible, so they needed not only two but three blueprints. Me, Bucky, and Wanda. All three of us combined could make the most deadly weapon known to man, easily granting them control over everything they desire. More than just one combination? Now that calls for world domination.”  

She should’ve been happier about figuring out the truth, but there was nothing but dread about where the realization came from.

“They could topple the entire government. Destroy what’s left of the Avengers. Destroy the Accords. Cause a Battle of New York similar crisis. They infiltrated SHIELD. Who’s to say they couldn’t get into the White House or the United Nations. Who’s to say half the Secretaries aren’t Hydra operatives? Wouldn’t be the first time. I think they’re preparing for a war they’re going to start.”

Eliza couldn’t wrap her mind around it, or maybe she didn’t want to; either way, her skin crawled at the mere thought of what they were trying to accomplish.

She flipped the laptop open. “Maybe there’s something on the hard drive that can help us figure out who this unit really belongs to,” she said.

Matt appeared behind her, chest pressed to her back. “Are you okay?” he dared to ask.

She merely scoffed. Her fingers danced over the keys, playing the tune to open the doors. The laptop was protected over three different security passwords, set to delete everything at even the slightest misstep. Eliza wasn’t sure if the override would work, though when the laptop finally gave the green light, she felt prouder than ever in her abilities. 

An open tab popped up on the screen. “That’s the security feed,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, listen!”

Matt tilted his head towards the speakers. “I can’t hear anything,” he said. 

“Exactly. If this were on time, you’d be able to hear our conversation from before or see our faces, but there’s nothing on here. This feed is linked to the front desk. Whoever this belongs to has been playing one and the same footage on loop for at least a week.” 

She skimmed through the programming history, but she couldn’t find anything. 

“The cameras stopped recording around the same time, but I can’t figure out when this all started. Whoever did this knows how to hide their tracks even on their own device.” 

Matt slipped the glasses from his face. His torso ached all over, eyes tired from being awake for so long. He lazily rubbed over them. “So Jerome and his friends could slip in unnoticed, no one would’ve been able to prove it,” he said, voice hoarse. 

Eliza met his bare eyes. “This is definitely Hydra.”

He didn’t bother to put his glasses back on. “I’m sorry,” knowing she’d feel more at ease if she could meet his eyes, even for a moment. 

She smiled. It was fake. Her attention diverted and he chose to cover back up. 

The laptop wasn’t tied to anything. She searched for cables or a flash drive, but the room was void of any of that. There had to be a tracker inside, she figured. Leaving it unattended and untied was amateur work and the room looked nothing like it had been made by an amateur.

She slapped her hand down. “Damn it!” the table nearly broke.

“We should pack it up,” Matt suggested. “Take as much as we can carry and go over it back at my place, see if we can find anything.” He placed his hands on his hips. 

“No, I need the laptop,” Eliza said. “I need what’s on it, but I can’t take it without risking our safety. It could take a while to filter out any bugs or tracking devices, time we don’t have. Fuck!”

“Can’t you just take the hard drive?”

“Knowing Hydra, the tracker is the hard drive.”

“How about you pull the information into your phone? You did it before.” 

She frowned. “Okay, I’m not gonna spend the little time we have left to explain technology to you because what you just said was wrong on so many levels, but this is different! The whole place is probably filled with booby traps. One wrong move and we’ve got all of Hydra’s soldiers knocking this door down. Or, what’s left of it anyway. No, we can’t risk that. Hacking a hacker’s laptop is like stealing money from the bank.”

“We’re gonna be colored in blue paint?” Matt asked.

“Metaphorically, yeah,” she said. “Even opening this video feed was risky enough. If I could just get in there… If only I had Friday.”

“I don’t think the weekday’s gonna matter much.”

“It’s not- never mind!”

She hated to admit it, but maybe she shouldn’t have given up on Tony that easily.

A phone rang. It wasn’t hers and when Matt didn’t move, his was out of the question too.  Eliza looked to her left. The sound came from the first drawer on the desk. She eyed him first, waiting for his silent agreement. He nodded. She dove in. It was a burner phone, the number unknown.

He sensed the glint in her eyes. “Don’t answer that,” Matt warned. 

She huffed. 

“Eliza-“

The phone flipped open. 

“Who’s this?” she asked.

He groaned, head in his hands. She had to do the one thing he asked her not to do. Curiosity killed the cat. A call from a strange phone in an unoccupied storage locker with a secret door and pictures of her hanging all around should’ve been a red flag; Eliza went straight ahead, acknowledged it was there, and then walked right through it anyway. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep her safe with an attitude like that.

The hairs on her arm stood at full attention, the laugh on the other end low, mocking. “You can put the Russian act down now,” he said. 

She choked on nothing. The language center of her brain seemed to short-circuit. 

“Did I take your breath away, Liebes? Or has your Russian gotten rusty? We can do it in German if you’d like. I’m certainly still very fluent in both languages.” 

She kept staring at the only blank spot on the wall across from her. 

“Still no? Well, I thought we could have a nice little chat now that you have dug your nose into business you shouldn’t have.”

“How’s this possible?” she asked.

“How’s anything possible? It all depends on your mindset, but you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“I put you away,” Eliza’s fist clenched. “You’re in jail. Frank Mueller, you’re supposed to be in confinement.”

“Oh, I am,” he said. “Unfortunately, that didn’t change. But I have been making amends. I was just waiting for the right time to call you, honestly.”

“The phone, how did you know? Did you put it there?”

“Don’t you want to talk about this in person?” she heard him smirk. 

“I’m not here to play games, Mueller. What do you want?”

“I told you, I want to chat with you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“What a shame, considering you’re looking into something that could get you killed if you don’t figure out what it’s about.”

“The fact you knew about this phone - that you knew I'd be here today, looking into this - tells me you’re involved.”

“Not necessarily. I know you'd like to figure out how I know this, how I know that - if you're willing to talk to me, I can answer all your questions. You just have to come and see for yourself.”

“Mueller, you little shit-“ She didn’t even get to finish.

“Nu-uh,” he clicked his tongue. “You and your little friend, Daredevil I believe he is called these days, the masked vigilante running out and about in New York, are moving on dangerous territory, but I’ll allow it if you do something for me in return, little girl”

She looked at Matt. He was even more tense than before. He heard every little sound coming from either side of that phone and it didn’t sit right with him. Eliza touched his arm and tried to take the edge off, but he flinched away. Perhaps someone so riled up shouldn’t be helping someone who was equally disturbed.

She sighed. “What do you want?”

“You,” Mueller stated simply. “Just twenty minutes of your time. I suppose you have questions and I have some, too. We can help each other out, like old times.”

“Fuck you!” she hissed.

“No, thank you. I’d like to see you tomorrow before lunch. You can figure out when that is. If you don’t show, I’ll make your little secret public. If you decide to show though, I’ll reward you nicely.”

She was full-on panting. The anger sizzled off her like a ticking time bomb. 

“Who’s to say you’re not behind this, huh? Who’s to say this isn’t just some twisted game of yours that Ivan got you into? You can be evil even out of prison.”

“The last part is correct. But no. Unfortunately, I am not involved. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. That's just one of the downsides of being detained in a little glass chamber away from everyone else. I don't have contacts, I don't have anything other than my books and some walls of glass. Would I be calling you if I wanted you dead? No? You see, child, it's not always as bad as it seems to you. Sometimes an old friend only wants to talk, not hurt you.“

"We are not friends!" She hesitated, “But maybe you're right. You wouldn't call and want me dead. That's not you. I hate admitting it, but it's true.” 

“See? We should definitely catch up. I’m already trapped in here, what business would I have in trying to harm you? Certainly not to get the kicks. I couldn't even savor it if I wanted to.” he said. “I just want a little something from you, Liebes. To talk to you, spend time with you. After all this time I've gotten lonely and there are some things that I need you to hear. This is the only time I’ll be asking you this nicely.”

Eliza swallowed her fury. “You said before lunch?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“How about tomorrow morning instead?” 

Matt stared at her, completely blank. “What are you doing?” he mouthed. 

“Just wait,” she mouthed back. 

Mueller hummed in agreement to her offer. “That would be very fitting for me, indeed,” he said. 

“Okay, then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. If you dare to even think about breaking the terms of this agreement, I swear to God-“

“No need to swear, I always keep my promises.”

The line clicked, though his laughter kept echoing in her head. The dreaded song that’s playing on the way to your own wake, a tsunami destroying the city of your dreams. The phone snapped in between her fingers. Metal flew across the room. She stared at the mangled device in her clutches. 

“Matt, we need to talk,” she said with such tranquility.

Matt still stood there, hands on his hips. The muscles in his arms twitched. He scratched his stubble. Composure was faltering. He could only stand so much.

He exhaled loudly. “What did you do?”

“Not here.” 

Eliza took another look around. She had to do something. The evidence hung high on the wall, used as nothing but wallpaper. It all meant something, essentially, and she would’ve been damned to leave it behind. 

He must’ve realized what she was planning. Before she could move, his arm shot out. He pulled her aside, finger on his lips, shushing her. 

“Someone’s outside,” he said. 

She eyed the door. “Who?”

“I don’t know, but they just asked for this lot. We need to go. I got a bad feeling about this.”

Eliza pointed to the chaos. “We can’t just leave this here,” she argued. “What if they take it back?“

She hoped he caught the pleading look on her face somehow. “Alright,” he gave in. “Take what you find most important. I’ll buy us some time. Five minutes, tops. Then you’re out of here.” He unfolded his cane.

She watched in awe as he straightened out his suit. Matt said he didn’t know how to act; the truth was, he knew very well how to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. He did it every day. He put on the same suit and the same glasses every day and made everyone believe he was a helpless blind man working as a lawyer. People believed he took charity cases because he cared. Not a single soul who didn’t know him would’ve suspected him to be Daredevil. Eliza never suspected it and she was trained to do it. He was that good, and watching him get ready to buy her some time without even questioning it proved her point because he didn’t care to be seen – he knew he could sell this without them ever knowing. 

“Matt,” Eliza called out.

“What?” he turned around.

“Thank you,” she said. 

Silence was the answer. She heard both doors fall shut, leaving her in the barely lit hidden room of the storage locker with all the pictures of familiar faces and files that would’ve taken ages to filter out. Five minutes. It wasn’t a lot but it wasn’t nothing. She could extract a lot in five minutes. 

Eliza didn’t waste another second. She began to turn the room upside down. There were several files she threw into a box. She took some of the pictures as evidence. She even picked up the broken burner phone off the ground, making sure the SIM card was still intact. The question about the laptop remained. Usually, ideas came easily to her. She knew her way around technology. She knew how to hack, how to restore information, and retrieve it from servers that seemed impossible to infiltrate. She knew how to do it. She’d learned how to do it. If she knew it, why did she hesitate? 

Fear is a paralytic. 

“Damn it,” she cursed. The table shook under intense pressure. What would Natasha do? 

Certainly not panic. Who was she if not spy first and person second? Her hand swayed in the air before it went down with the biggest ball of electricity she could muster, burning the insides of the laptop to a crisp. The release of energy eased her nerves a little. 

Natasha probably wouldn’t have done that, on second thought, but it was the only thing she could think of that made sense. Without a flash drive, there was no other choice but to bring the entire thing back with them. The charge of her powers must’ve burned just about everything inside. Pulling information off a broken laptop was complex, even for her, but not entirely impossible. Eliza put a lid on the box. She had to get out of there.

The faint sound of grunts on the other side of the door caused her to halt. She leaned against the metal to detect the direction of the sounds. The loud thud that followed was unmistakably a heavy body. She considered staying in, but checking the time she knew she had exceeded her five minutes, and there was no other way but to face the music. 

Eliza took a deep breath before she opened the storage unit as quietly as possible with the unoiled hinges. She clutched the box tight to her chest, daring to look around the corner for the first time since they had gone in. The sight surprised her - she shouldn’t have been, really, but she still stopped and stared at the suited, glorious backside she had grown accustomed to. 

Matt straightened his tie. The cane lay somewhere next to a brunette guy at least half a foot taller than him, knocked out with blood trailing down his nose on the ground. He picked it up, casually, and flipped it back open. 

“That was longer than five minutes.”

He dared to scowl at her. She gawked back at him and if she had been more in control of herself, she would’ve said something, but she still wasn’t over the sight before her. 

He strutted up to her, his suit perfectly buttoned back up again. There was a soft blood stain on his cheek that he wiped with his thumb. 

“Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies,” he said. 

Eliza pointed at the guys on the floor, then back at him. “I…”

“Yeah. Come on.” His grip was harsh on her elbow, his steps relentless. She almost dropped the box of evidence in the process. Behind his glasses had to be the wildest pair of eyes - she could only fathom what he looked like without them at that very moment. The adrenaline was as high as the nights he went out as Daredevil, but the comfort of his suit was so far away. It had never occurred to her that he could come out of himself without a mask to protect him. 

Matt kicked the backdoor open with his expensive dress shoes. Not a single scratch was to be seen on them. He shoved her out first just so he could lock the door behind them. When the sunlight finally hit his face, her own features darkened. She saw it - she was in for it. 

The gravel crunched loudly under them as they attempted to put space between them and the storage unit. By then, someone must’ve clearly found the knocked-out men, or they must’ve woken up and were in an uproar, either way, it was only a matter of time before people - authorities or not - would come to scout the premises. That was something, Matt, out of all people, wanted to prevent. 

Somewhere near the main road where the cab driver had dropped them off earlier, he finally stopped. Eliza was out of breath by the time they got there. She met his glasses. He stood with his hands on his lips and it seemed like he was staring holes into her soul. That was supposed to be her job. She couldn’t feel anything though. Her fingertips were numb and her heart kept on racing out of her chest. 

He huffed the air out of his nose. An attempt not to growl. “Do you ever think before you act?” he condescended. 

“Do I?” Eliza said. 

“I’m asking you. Do you ever use your head before you make decisions or do you just think ‘fuck it!’ and go with the first thing that comes to your mind? Because I feel very much compelled right now to walk you back there and have them arrest you.”

She had to correct whatever thoughts she had in the morning - his silent anger was worse than anything else. She missed his yelling, at least to that, she could find an easy reply. The tone in his voice though was dangerous and she knew if she said the wrong thing, she would’ve made things much worse. 

He cocked his head to the right. “Hm?” he said. “You know, when I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

The box wasn’t acting as much of a lifeline as she had hoped. 

“Eliza, I am giving you permission to speak. Do not make me force you.”

“I was doing us a favor,” she said. Her voice was quiet. God, it was pathetic, really. She was stronger than him. She could’ve stopped him then and there, but no, she couldn’t. She physically wasn’t capable of teasing him anymore. 

Matt laughed. “A favor?”

“Yes! I mean, we needed what was in that storage unit. We needed the laptop. We- we need the answers, Matt. I mean, that’s what we came here for. It was better than doing absolutely nothing if you ask me.”

“Watch your tone, sweetheart.”

Shit. 

“Sorry.”

“So you’re telling me you thought about this beforehand?”

“I…” There was no satisfying answer to that question. 

“No, you haven’t.”

“You know, I stole that stuff because we needed it-”

“I’m not talking about the fucking evidence, Eliza!” He bared his teeth. “Look, I just want to know, what on earth were you thinking?”

“Is this about the phone call?” she asked. 

“Yes!”

“What should I’ve done, not answered it?”

“You don’t just answer a strange phone call in a room full of pictures of yourself and then agree to meet that person, even if you know them!” He was talking to her like he would to a child and it was offensive, but at the same time, she deserved it. Truly. Her actions had been beyond stupid, brainless, and absolutely childish. 

Of course, Eliza would never admit that out loud. 

“You said you needed to talk. Who the hell was he?”

“Matt, maybe we shouldn’t do it here-”

“No, you tell me now! I deserve to know the truth,” he said. “Who is Frank Mueller?”

She released a set of silent curses. “He was the man who experimented on me when I was a child,” she stated. To say it out loud felt weird, way too real. “You must’ve read his name in my file. I, uh, helped SHIELD put him away for the illegal human experiments after they started dismantling all the Hydra bases. The trial itself is confidential, but I think they’ve mentioned his name somewhere regarding my- my history.”

Instead of experiencing circuit failure again, Matt simply shook his head. “Brilliant!” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. I know you mean it, but this is not something you should be sorry for. What you should be sorry for is just making this decision without consulting with me.”

“And how was I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know, you always find a way for everything, don’t you?”

“I didn’t know he’d call!” Eliza said. 

He expected this all to be so easy.

“You could’ve just hung up,” he told her. “It would’ve been the smartest choice. I mean, what the fuck was going in your head, I really want to know because it makes absolutely no sense to me whatsoever.”

“Matt-”

“No. What about the fact he knew you were gonna be here today out of all days? What about the fact that he had the number to a burner phone inside a storage unit with a hidden room that was obviously established to stalk you and your friends? Or that- that this unit obviously links back to Hydra, what about that? And he used to be a doctor for Hydra. He used to be your-  He was Hydra, Eliza. And he called you to get you to talk to him because he knew you’d come to both StorQuest and now his prison cell as well. He knew you’d do it because it’s what you do!”

At this point, they were both loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. 

“This isn’t just for me,” she argued. “I protect your ass too!”

“This is not what I’m talking about. You can protect me even when you tell me what you’re planning. I’m your lawyer, you know that, right? So as long as you don’t fire me or Foggy, we’re the ones who have to get you in there tomorrow. We’re the ones responsible for you in a legal sense and I am responsible to you in a personal sense now, too. This is- this was the most foolish decision you could’ve possibly made.” His chest heaved. “But you knew. Oh, you knew I’d tag along, no matter how it makes me feel. And you know that, even now, I’d even go in there for you. Hell, I’d walk through fire for you! These guys- I didn’t know what they were, but the thought of them hurting you was enough for me to beat them senseless. Do you realize what this does to me? What you do to me?”

Eliza gnawed at her bottom lip. He was so much taller in front of her like he could step on her any moment. “Matt, I’m so sorry.”

“This whole thing’s fragile as it is,” he said. 

“I know.”

“And you go ahead and put even more cracks in it. When instead, you could’ve just… you could’ve just talked to me and then called him back or- or you could’ve just not answered it and we could’ve made sure we were smarter.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

“God, stop it!” There it was, the yelling. Even though she had missed it, she hated it just the same. “Just stop it! Stop fucking apologizing all the time! It is not your fault!”

“Then stop making me feel like it is!”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!”

He choked out a strangled sob at the taste of her salty tears in the dry air. Eliza rubbed her eyes with the sleeves of her - his - shirt. 

“Don’t,” he said.

She threw the box at his feet. “Since you know so much better than me, do it yourself!”

Matt grabbed her bicep and pulled her back into his side. “God. Why do you always have to act like such a fucking child?” 

She had waited for him to say it, eventually. Everyone ended up saying it one way or another. From him though, it hurt much more. He was the first man who had made her feel like she wasn’t just a stubborn child. Turns out, Eliza had been wrong about so many things. 

The second he said it, he regretted it. Her muscles slacked underneath his touch. Even her tears stopped. She simply slipped from his grasp and then she was gone. She didn’t simply disappear; she took the box back, the silent treatment heavy on her lips, and then she turned around and just walked away.

“Eliza!” he shouted after her. “Eliza, please, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it.”

The steady tap, tap, tap of the cane followed closely behind her - Matt refused to leave her alone, but he also knew if he had gotten up to walk next to her, he wouldn’t have survived it. 

“Can you slow down?” he asked. She pretended not to hear. “Eliza, can you slow down, please? I’m trying to talk to you.”

She sniffed. “Why don’t you call a kindergarten teacher to do it for you?”

“Eliza, I didn’t mean what I said! I don’t think you’re a child.”

“Of course not. That would make you a pedophile!”

“Come on, this is so not fair. I didn’t mean it!”

“Then why did you say it?”

“Because- I was angry, okay? I didn’t think. This isn’t about your age, I promise. I think you’re the most mature woman I’ve ever met and that says a lot. Just please, slow down! I already feel like a dog for yelling at you, don’t make me look like one, too.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when her footsteps finally ceased. She closed her eyes and waited for the tap, tap, tap to catch up to her. The cane nudged her foot slightly, a silent plea for her to turn around. 

“Matt,” she said. 

“Hey,” he answered. He kept poking her until she caved. Her red, swollen eyes fell on his fallen face. He was truly sorry and she could see it, which made being angry at him an impossible task. Hell, he was pouting at her. He had been following her for at least a mile just so she wouldn’t be alone, still hoping for redemption, and now his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. How could she ever be angry at a sight like that?

She ground her teeth. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Okay. You done?”

“I get that you’re mad and you have every right to be, but let us take a cab back to my place, at least. I’m pretty sure it’s about to rain any minute now.”

“Then that’s fine by me.”

“Eliza.”

Like on command, the sky tore open. Matt looked back down at his feet with a prolonged sigh. They were going to get wet. But if it had to be with her, he was okay with that. 

“Great,” he said more to himself. 

She looked at him and he did his best to stare back. Neither of them seemed to want to budge any time soon. The box in her hand was slowly growing heavier. 

To his surprise, she turned around and kept walking. 

“This is ridiculous. Eliza, you’re gonna get sick.”

“I’m not,” she retorted. 

“Yes, you are.”

“No.”

“Jesus!” He closed his cane and undid his suit jacket at the same time. Fuck the distance, he thought. “Here,” he said, not taking no for an answer as he slipped the jacket over her shoulders. She was already shaking. Summer rain is nice, but it has the tendency to surprise with its fall in temperature. 

He wasn’t sure how long they kept walking in silence until she finally spoke again. “Your shirt is getting wet,” she told him. 

“That’s because it’s raining.”

“You can always call a cab, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get into one, I’m staying. How far is it, twenty more minutes? You know, I could take your box.”

She scoffed. “No.”

“To which one?”

“I can carry my own box,” she said. “And it’s five minutes because we’re not going to your place. I’m going home.”

“S- Eliza, we’ve talked about this!”

“I need clothes.”

Matt realized, “Oh.”

“You can call a cab from my apartment. But until then, I want to enjoy the rain in peace, if you don’t mind.”

He snaked his arm around hers. “I don’t mind the rain,” he said. 

She gave the faintest of smiles. 

“I don’t mind the rain with you.”

Matt said it so nonchalantly, so casually, she almost missed it.

Two broken people hardly ever make a whole. The pieces are too different, the broken edges on opposite sides of the puzzle. No matter how hard you squeeze, they won’t fit; the picture is inherently wrong, misplaced. Eliza didn’t want to be an unfitting puzzle piece. She wanted both of them in the middle of the jigsaw. She just wanted this to stick – for once in her miserable life, she wanted to be happy. But it wasn’t real, she had said it herself. They weren’t meant to be real. 

Deep down she knew they were cursed. She looked at him and she saw all the things wrong with him. Her reflection in his glasses, a broken face staring at a man too good for her. Maybe he was as bad as he was good, but for what it was worth, one thing they had in common: tragedy came easy and they were too blind to see it, no matter how many times they told themselves it was wrong. 

What’s wrong feels right until someone gets hurt, and then the glass shatters to the point of no repair. If there was a god, he sure had a shitty way of showing it.

And as the rain came down on them, Eliza wished nothing more than to take back all the things she said - though she never did because there was one thing she was really good at, and it was the process of ruining things beyond repair, and then she would give up, she always did, because all that she was good for was to destroy.